Baby, Oh Baby, Books 1-3

• Marriage of Convenience
• Cowboy Romance
• Boss Romance
• Single Dad Romance
• Angel Romance

Baby Daddy

Hutch Lonigan knows exactly what his mom needs for her birthday — a husband! And if that also provides him with a dad, he won’t complain.

Baby Angel

Angie Makepeace is trouble in a red dress and a slightly dented halo. Assigned to give Reed Harding his heart’s desire, she has no choice but to succeed with unlucky mission #13 or she’ll find herself on the wrong side of the Pearly Gates.

Baby Bodyguard

When gorgeous Noah Hawke turns up on her doorstep, Sami knows she's found the perfect man for baby-making duties. Only Noah has a far different agenda. He's been hired by Sami's mom to protect her. His solution? Wed and bed her, though not necessarily in that order.

REED HARDING heard the whispers start the moment the woman stepped through the front door of the office building housing Harding Construction. It began as a low buzz of curiosity and rose in intensity as she made her way across the reception area. What’s someone like that doing in a place like this?

He turned, leaning against the receptionist’s desk, and watched, impressed. She was a gorgeous creature, he acknowledged. Not his type—platinum blondes might appeal to some, but he preferred a more earthy woman. Certainly, one less aware of how to manipulate the male half of the population. Still... She had the sweet face of an angel and a figure wicked enough to tempt a saint.

She’d painted on a short, vivid red dress, and accompanying her—disbelief rippled through him. A dog trotted alongside, his clipped nails echoing the staccato tap of her high-heeled shoes against the oak floor. It was a dalmatian, no less, a red leather collar encircling its neck and a mischievous glint shimmering within its odd, pale eyes.

“Find out what she wants and take care of it,” Reed ordered. He had no time for women at this point in his life—even an angelic blond in a tight red dress. A truckload of work awaited him, the sheer volume a serious threat to the stability of both his desk and his sanity. “I’ll be in my office.”

He heard the receptionist intercept the woman with a quick, “May I help you?”

Then he heard a laugh—a laugh that caused every head in the office to turn, had every man stopping in his tracks and gravitating toward reception, and every woman grinning at the sheer predictability of the male animal. Reed didn’t prove immune, either.

The sound caught at his senses, twining around them and tugging. Damn. He hadn’t felt this disturbed by a woman since his early teens. Not even Emily had caused such an intense reaction. Furious with himself for not simply ignoring her and continuing on to his office, Reed folded his arms across his chest and waited for her response.

“Why, that’s very kind of you,” the siren said, her deep brandy-wine voice a perfect match for her laugh. “But I don’t need any help. At least, not yet.” With a brilliant smile, she kept walking—coming straight for him.

His mouth twisted. No. Whoever this was, she didn’t need help from anyone—a fact that challenged him to try and change her mind. Driven by some elemental force he’d sooner not analyze, he stepped into the middle of the hall and blocked her path. “Is there something I can do for you?”

She shrugged, long wayward curls playing hide-and-seek with her fine-boned shoulders. “It’s not what you can do for me, Reed Harding. It’s what I can do for you.” With that intriguing comment, she brushed past him and crossed to his office, the dalmatian following along behind.

His eyes narrowed in assessment. So... She knew him. And she knew her way to his office. What sort of game was this?

She paused at the doorway, sending a teasing look from huge, fantasy-blue eyes. “Well... Are you coming?”

“Oh, definitely,” he assured with a short, cynical laugh. “I wouldn’t miss this for anything.”

He followed her into his office and slammed the door closed. “Okay, sweetheart. Let’s cut to the chase, shall we? Who are you and what do you want?”

“I’m Angie Makepeace.”

With that pronouncement, she examined his office with interest. The dog followed suit, snuffling around the room for a few seconds before noticing the leather couch. With a yelp of what could only be described as sheer joy, he hurdled across the room.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Reed began, grabbing for the animal’s collar. He was a millisecond too late. Halfway to the couch, the dog leaped into the air and landed with pinpoint accuracy in the precise center of the cushions. “Hey! Get off of there, you mangy mutt.”

The dalmatian ignored him. Turning in circles, he finally settled, chuffing in contentment. He regarded Reed for an instant before settling his muzzle on polka-dot paws and closing his eyes.

“He doesn’t listen very well, does he?”

“He can’t hear you,” Angie explained, crossing to the couch. “Not with his eyes closed.”

She didn’t make a bit of sense. No surprise there. “Okay, I’ll bite. Why can’t he hear when his eyes are closed?”

“He’s deaf.”

“A deaf dalmatian.”

“Right. The breed is prone to it. Almost twenty-five percent of the puppies suffer from either a unilateral or bilateral impairment.”

“Come again?”

“Deaf in either one or both ears. Scratch is a bi. Can’t hear a blessed thing.”

“Fascinating, but—”

“So, whenever Scratch doesn’t want to listen, he just shuts his eyes.”

“Why?” Reed asked, momentarily distracted despite the inanity of their conversation. “So he won’t see what we’re saying?”

“Exactly. Not being able to hear, he can’t be distracted by what people say. Instead, he listens with his heart.” She spared a quick look toward the polka-dot puddle occupying the couch, then leaned closer to Reed, her mouth tilted at an angle that brought it to within inches of his. “This time, he’s ignoring us deliberately, I’m sorry to say.”

Her already low voice had dropped a further notch, sending another powerful ripple of awareness slamming through his body. It fired an image of sultry, humid nights, of slipping along a sensuous path of discovery over sweet, moist female skin. Her mouth was painted as wicked a red as her dress and Reed wondered what she’d do if he devoured the lipstick from those lush lips. She swayed out of reach before he could act, her movement as graceful and supple as a field of sun-drenched poppies caressed by a summer breeze. Her perfume lingered, teasing him with the scent of temptation.

“What the hell—” he muttered beneath his breath, shaking his head to clear it.

“Scratch has a leather fetish. Not exactly a sin, but far from angelic behavior. Don’t you think?”

“Oh, absolutely.” It was his turn to close the distance between them. “Sweetheart?”

“Yes?”

“Get your damn dog off my couch and get the hell out of my office.” He wanted her out of his life before he succumbed to overwhelming lust and gave her a personal demonstration of his own particular fetishes. How could he have thought he preferred a more earthy woman? This one was as earthy as they came.

She slanted him a glance from her outrageously blue eyes—eyes brimming with sunny laughter. “Let’s compromise. I’ll get Scratch off your couch, but then you hear me out. Agreed?”