The Billionaire Daddy
Renee Roszel
Bringing up baby…Baby Tina needed a mom, and her aunt Lauren wanted to take on the role–as soon as she'd dealt with Tina's so-called "father," playboy Dade Delacourte.Determined to prove Dade unfit for fatherhood, Lauren was shocked to find herself mistaken for the baby's new nanny! Perhaps she could care for Tina and check out Dade's parenting skills at the same time. But her plan backfired because Dade expected Lauren to teach him about babies–and that involved spending twenty-four hours a day with this irresistible billionaire…BABY BOOMWhen two's company and three's a family!
“This is your room,” he said
Lauren tried to appear unmoved, as though the suite was nothing more nor less than she was accustomed to on a day-to-day basis. The place was wonderful!
“It seems…adequate.” She made herself turn his way, and frowned. The intensity of his gaze had a surprising seductive quality. She dropped her gaze to Tina.
Her heart swelled, and she marveled at her good fortune to have stumbled into such an extraordinary opportunity—the chance to be with her niece, and to unmask Mr. Delacourte as utterly unfit to raise an innocent child.
“Come. I’ll show you the baby’s room.” He glanced back, and with the quirk of a brow, added, “And you can show me how to change a diaper.”
Her boss’s suggestion finally penetrated. “Show you how to what?”
“Change a diaper. Is there a problem?”
Yes, there’s a problem. I can’t change a diaper! she cried mentally.
He crossed his arms and lounged against the wall, eyeing her with a furrowed brow. “If I am to raise this child, there are things I should know how to do….”
Dear Reader,
Back by popular request is our deliciously delightful series—Baby Boom. We’ve asked some of your favorite authors in Harlequin Romance® to bring you a few more special deliveries—of the baby kind!
Baby Boom is all about the true labor of love—parenthood and how to survive it! The Billionaire Daddy by Renee Roszel is this month’s new arrival….
When two’s company and three (or four…or five) is a family!
The Billionaire Daddy
Renee Roszel
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Norman V. Roszel
and
Randall Albert Roszel
You are much missed
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE (#u70ac7243-cf25-50f6-ab8e-f102249397a1)
CHAPTER ONE (#ua81175b3-2bdd-57b7-b8ae-a3c826596675)
CHAPTER TWO (#u4ae72704-ec65-50ea-b45a-bd51724e1161)
CHAPTER THREE (#u4123d413-39bd-514e-a59c-50dda40b1882)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
PROLOGUE
DADE DELACOURTE scowled at the tiny infant wrapped in pink. As the nurse wheeled the bassinet to the viewing window for his inspection, the baby slept on, innocently oblivious to his anger and shock. Dade’s narrowed gaze moved to a card, taped to the newborn’s bed. Baby Girl Delacourte was boldly printed there for all of New York City to see.
He peered at the tiny bundle, then glanced at the picture he’d been handed. His image smiled up at him from the glossy print. Wrapped in his possessive embrace was a beautiful, smiling blonde.
Flipping the picture over, he read the scribbled writing. “Dade and Millie. It’s love!” Below that declaration was the date, March 15 of last year. The baby had been born yesterday, December 15. Nine months to the day…
He flicked his glance to the child. Sometime during the night, the newborn’s mother had slipped unnoticed from the hospital. Before her disappearance, however, she’d listed Dade Delacourte as the child’s father on the birth certificate. Her coup de grâce had been this picture she’d left behind, a telling testament to Dade’s paternity.
The situation was all very cut-and-dried. The mother, Millicent “Smith” had abandoned her child. Dade, the father of record, would necessarily take custody.
There was only one small hitch in the scenario. Dade had never seen this woman before in his life.
But saying so would repair nothing, either legally or morally. He eyed the fidgety hospital administrator and gave a curt nod. “Naturally I’ll pay the bill.” He crumpled the photo in his fist. “The child is mine.”
CHAPTER ONE
Nearly six months later
LAUREN SMITH knew she was crazy. A sane woman wouldn’t burst into the lobby of a swanky Manhattan high rise, all marble and crystal and gold. Not a sane woman wearing a bargain basement shift and carrying a battered canvas suitcase. Yet, even as deranged as she was, she realized she was a far cry from the type who belonged in these surroundings.
Since her sanity was no longer a consideration, she might as well forge on, figure out a way to dredge up the nerve to force a confrontation with the rich and powerful scoundrel who occupied the penthouse.
“You will go up to that fancy doorman and demand entry.” She stiff-armed the revolving door. The uniformed sentry eyed her with mistrust. She swallowed. “Don’t let him see your fear,” she muttered. “Tell him you’ll chain yourself to—to…” She gave the cavernous, glittering lobby a panicked examination. “To what? With what?”
Plan B.
She yanked back her shoulders and marched toward the scowling watchdog in his fancy epaulets and frippery. “Make him understand this is a matter of life and death,” she muttered under her breath. She eyed the man with bloodthirsty resolve. “His!”
The guard opened his mouth, but she cut him off. “I must see Mr. Dade Delacourte immediately, on a matter of—”
“It’s about time!” He grasped her elbow and whirled her toward a bank of gilded elevators. “Get up there, girl!” He turned a key in a slot above the buttons marking the building’s eighty floors. “Mr. Delacourte is roaring like a wounded lion.”
Before she could demand or threaten or even breathe, Lauren found herself shooting upward. She grabbed the rail to avoid staggering to her knees, no longer curious about how it felt to be blasted into space. Dazed, she watched the floors zoom by—35-48-67…After soaring past eighty, the elevator kept going, though the space where the numbers had been displayed went ominously blank. “Where does this guy live?” She strangled the handrail, suddenly panicked. “Pluto?”
The rocketing conveyance came to a stop so smooth Lauren decided the engineering required for such a soft landing could be afforded only by the filthy rich. She had been so tense in her attempt to keep from crashing through the roof, she nearly fell backward from overcompensation. Lauren shook her head, working to focus on a world no longer falling away at the speed of light. The elevator doors whooshed open.
She stilled, hardly breathing, to take in the unknown—this alien, celestial region called “a penthouse.”
A spacious foyer appeared before her, with lush carpeting and white marble walls, luxurious yet austere. On either side of a set of double doors gray stone pedestals supported imposing earthenware urns, no doubt exhumed from some primal civilization. Lauren would bet her teacher’s pension they were priceless.
She heard a sound and shifted in time to see a woman in starched gray push open the double doors and rush toward her. “Hurry, hurry!” She beckoned, her gestures nervous, impatient. “He’s waiting.”
Lauren tentatively stepped out of the elevator. The heels of her pumps burrowed into the thick carpet, and she swayed precariously. In the process of righting herself, she realized she still held her suitcase. She hadn’t even had time to find a hotel, having rushed immediately to the Delacourte building.
She wondered if she should leave the bag by the elevator. Her quandary was cut short when it was snatched away. “I’ll get this into the limo,” the woman whispered. “Just go!” Before Lauren could get steady on her feet, she felt a hand at her back, then a brisk shove. “It’s the second door on your left, after you leave the foyer.”
Her equilibrium returning, Lauren twisted to ask what in heaven’s name the woman was talking about, and what was behind the second door to the left after the foyer. “But—” She cut herself off, dismayed to see the maid disappear behind the closing elevator doors.
Lauren would have been relieved by such a frenzied reception, except for the fact that nobody knew she was coming. She wanted nothing more than to have Mr. Delacourte relinquish her baby niece with speed and enthusiasm. Unfortunately he had no idea Lauren Smith existed. He didn’t know her little sister had been the woman who had given birth to his child.
Even if he didn’t want the baby—which she was sure he didn’t, having left Millie alone and pregnant—he could have no idea who Lauren was or the reason she’d come to New York City. So, why had she been rushed up to his penthouse as though she were a fireman and the place was a blazing inferno?
Nervously she peered beyond open double doors, twenty feet straight ahead. She saw a long hallway that opened into what no doubt was the living room. Eyeing the second door on the left in the hall, she chewed her lower lip. Assuming the “he” the maid mentioned was Dade Delacourte, she should stomp right in and state her business.
She would have her chance to explain who she was, and make it clear she had no intention of allowing him to be burdened with a baby he didn’t want. She had come to take little Christina Lauren Delacourte off his depraved hands.
She fought a shiver of loathing. No! Don’t call him depraved! She must be civil. Just because he’d lied to Millie, and told her he could get her into movies, seduced her, then dumped her was no reason to be nasty. Just because his little fling had left Millie pregnant, with no place to go but home to Oklahoma and Lauren, was no excuse to walk in and kick him in the shins. Though the idea had a certain merit. He probably wanted to get rid of the baby as much as she wanted custody. They could handle this in a rational, adult manner.
Lauren heard a click and glanced up in time to see a tall man wearing beige slacks and a navy knit shirt. As he exited the second doorway to the left, he raked a hand through hair, dark as midnight. “Dammit,” he growled, making her flinch. “Where is that nanny? She was supposed to be on her way up…” He turned. His gaze clashed with hers. “You!” The word sounded like an accusation, and Lauren took an unsteady step backward. “You’re the nanny the agency sent.”
His narrowed glare cut off her ability to breathe.
Muscles bunched in his jaw. “Don’t dawdle, woman!” He flicked a hand in a gesture that she follow him. “Come see to the child. We were supposed to leave for the Hamptons over an hour ago.”
With a quick snap of broad shoulders he pivoted away. She stared, struck by a purposeful, stalking grace to his movements, a man clearly in control of his world. Lauren realized instantly who this growling scoundrel was. She’d done research on him once the private detective she’d hired finally discovered where Millie had run off to, just before the baby was due.
It had taken the investigator nearly six months, but yesterday he’d called with news. Millie—bitter and bent on revenge—had hitchhiked to New York City, where she’d given birth to a baby girl, Christina Lauren Delacourte, listing Dade Delacourte on the birth certificate as the father. Her retaliation for being abandoned by him, had been to abandon her child to him, to raise, alone.
For a woman like Millie, selfish to the core, forcing Mr. Delacourte into years and years of parental responsibility was the perfect payback. Then she’d silently slipped away, no doubt back in Hollywood, using some stage name as she followed her single-minded dream to become a movie star.
As Lauren stared after Mr. Delacourte, she gritted her teeth, telling herself sternly that he was not all that handsome. Yet, even as she struggled to believe that, she took a step in his direction, then another, some part of her responding without the authorization of her brain.
You’re the nanny the agency sent.
Come see to the child.
The jumble of words echoed in her dazed brain. You’re the nanny the agency sent. Come see to the child. As the fog of panic and confusion began to clear, she went over those two sentences again, with more understanding. You’re the nanny the agency sent! Come see to the child!
He thought she was a nanny? Did he think he’d hired her to take care of his baby? Her niece? Her own little namesake? She blinked, focusing on his broad back as she absorbed this turn of events.
He reached another door and shifted to look back. His brows dipped ominously when he saw she hadn’t ventured beyond the foyer. “Miss Quinn, if you’re having second thoughts about this job, say so. I don’t have time to read your mind.”
His admonition jarred her out of her stupor. Miss Quinn? So that was the nanny’s name. Hadn’t he said he was planning to leave for the Hamptons? An hour ago! No doubt he needed a nanny to keep the “little nuisance” out of his way while he hosted wild parties on his private beach.
A stab of renewed disgust made her recoil. Oh, no, she vowed, little Christina Lauren won’t be tainted by the immoral lifestyle of this beast—not if she had her way!
The words of the lawyer she’d consulted came back, cracking like a whip in her brain. “Miss Smith, if Mr. Delacourte is not inclined to give over custody, no court in the land is likely to take his child away from him. He’s the CEO of the multibillion dollar Delacourte Industries, a highly respected man. The only way you could get custodianship of your niece would be to uncover damning evidence against him. Prove he is an unfit parent.”
Icy dread twisted in her stomach. What if he said no to her request, and tossed her out on her ear! She couldn’t stand the thought, couldn’t bear to go back to Oklahoma without Christina. Just imagining it shattered her.
On the other hand, there was no question that Dade Delacourte was a lecher. Poor Millie was a living example of his reckless lust. All Lauren would need to get proof of his utter lack of suitability to bring up an innocent little girl was to spend a few days in close proximity with the man. That would provide her with all the proof she would need. But how—
The two sentences he’d shouted at her came roaring back. You’re the nanny the agency sent. Come see to the child.
Her brain exploded with a profound insight. A nanny would spend time in close proximity with him—under the same roof! Here was her chance! Providence had dropped it right in her lap! Did she dare refuse?
“Well?” he growled, and she jumped.
“I—I’m coming—sir.” If proof of Mr. Delacourte’s unfitness is what it will take to get my niece, then I’ll get it, or my name isn’t Lauren Smith! Which, ironically, right now it wasn’t. Since she planned to make every effort to insure that Mr. Delacourte believed she was Miss Something Quinn.
Trying not to think about how foolhardy this slap-dash scheme might be, Lauren put one foot in front of the other, increasing her pace, scurrying down the long hallway toward the man she most despised in the world.
She sent up a prayer that Miss Quinn wouldn’t show up now to blow her cover. Since the woman was this late, and since Mr. Delacourte didn’t exactly live in an out-of-the-way hovel, it seemed that for whatever reason, Miss Quinn—the thoughtful, marvelous no-show Miss Quinn—wasn’t coming.
Mr. Delacourte turned the knob and looked inside. “Opal, Miss Quinn is here. Once she sees to the child’s last-minute needs, show them to the car.”
When Lauren joined Mr. Delacourte at the nursery entrance, he faced her. “Most of the baby’s things are already in the limo, and she’s been fed.”
Before Lauren could respond, he was striding away. “We’re leaving in fifteen minutes.”
He disappeared behind another door, but Lauren continued to gape after him. “Yes, Your Majesty,” she muttered, her hostility for the egotistical tyrant bubbling to the surface.
“Miss?”
The female voice startled Lauren, and she spun around. The nursery, furnished with a crib, built-ins and a changing table, held all the whimsy of a hospital room. Everything was white, except the inside of the crib. Its head and footboards were painted in a vivid palate of pastels. A mobile of dangling miniature teddy bears hung above the mattress, its sheets adorned with cartoon characters. The crib was a colorful oasis amid a scrubbed wilderness of white.
A rosy-cheeked woman in gray smiled when Lauren’s glance met hers. The middle-aged maid cuddled a frilly, pink bundle to her breast. One tiny hand reached up and grasped the woman’s chin, causing her to chuckle. “Tina, sugar-baby, meet your new nanny.”
Lauren’s heart did a flip-flop. Tina! Her niece was right there in the same room, not ten feet away! It was a miracle. This morning she’d stepped off the plane from Tulsa, and gone directly to Delacourte Industry headquarters. She’d been refused an appointment, stiffly informed the CEO would be away for a month. Her hopes had plummeted into the black depths of gloom. This rash cab ride to his Manhattan apartment had been an act of desperation. She’d had no idea—not even the flicker of a dream—that…
She shook herself. Why was she standing there like a frozen fish stick? With a fledgling smile she fairly floated across the room to gaze down at her niece. Lauren’s parents were dead and Millie had disappeared into the world of wanna-be movie stars. So, it was imperative to Lauren not to lose Christina.
As she stared at the tiny face, the tingle of threatening tears made her blink. “Such an angel,” she murmured. Her joy so overwhelmed her, it took monumental effort to keep from sobbing.
“She’s so sweet.” The maid handed Lauren the swaddled child. “Hardly ever cries. Sally, the other nanny, said caring for this sugar-baby was the most enjoyable job she’s ever had. But you know hormones.”
Lauren only half listened, her heart spilling over with a love that was almost maternal. She gently held Tina in her arms, taking in every detail, from the pale, blond wisps of her hair to her precious, heart-shaped mouth. Something in the maid’s chatter caught her attention and she looked up. “Hormones?”
Opal tittered. “No matter how much Sally loved and doted on little Tina, her hormones won out. She ran off with the night doorman sometime before dawn this morning. Said in her note she couldn’t bear to be separated from the guy for a whole month.” Opal shook her head, smoothing a strand of graying hair into her chignon. “Why do so many women turn into drooling idiots when it comes to a smooth-talking man?”
Lauren found the statement ironic. Opal was talking about the night doorman, but she could have been referring to Mr. Delacourte’s effect on Millie. “Whatever the reason, there’s a lot of that going around,” Lauren said with a sad shake of her head.
Opal laughed and nodded. “Ain’t it the truth! Ain’t it the truth.” She gave Tina a pat on her chubby cheek. “You have yourself a great time out there on the beach, little one.” Looking at Lauren, she waved toward a stuffed, leather bag. “I think I’ve got everything in there she’ll need for the trip—bottles, diapers and such. You’d best check her to see if she needs changing before you go.”
She lay a hand on the crib headboard, drawing Lauren’s gaze to it again. Upon closer inspection she noticed the painting was more than mere swirls of color, but seemed truly like art. “Who painted the crib?” she asked, surprised to hear herself speaking aloud.
Opal gave the crib a quick glance, then looked back at Lauren. “Oh, Benny did that while Tina was still sleeping in her bassinet. Benny’s Cook’s assistant, and quite a budding artist.” She laughed. “The whole staff’s so crazy about Tina. Poor dear child hardly gets any time to sleep, with somebody wanting to rock her and cuddle her all the time.” She checked her wristwatch. “Oh, goodness. Time’s flying. Yell out when you’re ready. I’ll be down the hall.”
After Opal left, Lauren stood for a long minute, gazing at her precious niece. “No problem,” she finally murmured, but it came out sounding dubious. The full weight of what she’d done was settling in.
She would be living with a man she hated—spying on him—and even more disturbing than that, the well-being of an infant, not quite six months old, was in her hands!
Hysteria welled up inside her. What had she done? Being a high school music teacher hadn’t exactly qualified her for digging up incriminating evidence on wild living playboys. Not to mention one other tiny detail. Though Lauren had done plenty of babysitting, and loved children, she’d never cared for actual babies! “Oh, Lauren,” she mumbled, “what have you gotten yourself into?”
Dade and his new nanny sped along the highway toward the Hamptons in his luxurious silver limousine. As he spoke on his cell phone to his secretary, leaving last-minute instructions, he glanced at his new employee. She sat stiffly in the forward seating area, which faced the back seat where he was positioned. The arrangement accommodated more comfortable conversation. He half grinned at the thought, since his new nanny had not only said nothing, she hadn’t even made eye contact. It seemed she had no interest in anything or anyone but the baby.
What was her name, again? Miss Something Quinn. Was it Nelda or Gilda Quinn? He couldn’t recall what the agency told him. He’d been in a foul mood at the time, so her given name had hardly been his main concern.
His business calls finally concluded, Dade slipped the phone into his slacks pocket. He surveyed the nanny as she gazed at Tina, secured in her car seat. The nanny had the strangest expression on her face. It looked like adoration. He lounged back, straightening his legs and crossing them at the ankles. His shoes almost touched her, but she paid him absolutely no heed, just kept gazing at Tina.
He supposed nannies—at least the really good ones—adored children. He’d certainly had good luck with the other nanny—until this morning. He cleared his throat to get his new nanny’s attention.
Nothing.
It irritated him that she ignored him so completely. She hadn’t even acknowledged him with a glance when Goodberry helped her into the car. Such total lack of notice didn’t happen to him. People came to attention in his presence, skittering around, catering to his every whim. Wealth and power had that effect on people. Especially people whose livelihoods depended on his approval.
In the eleven years since he’d taken over his father’s electronics business, he’d turned it into a multibillion dollar corporation, no small part of that success due to several of his own patents. He’d learned to take for granted that his vice presidents would snap to attention when he cleared his throat. So why couldn’t this wisp of a woman oblige him by at least glancing to see if he was choking to death.
She made a cooing sound and stuck a finger against the baby’s palm. When Tina grasped it, Miss Quinn smiled. Dade dipped his head slightly to get a better look. Were her eyes swimming with tears? He frowned. Tears? Perhaps the woman had allergies, or was in the weepy part of her cycle. She couldn’t be that overcome by having a baby grasp her finger. Or maybe she could. Nannies were most likely a very sentimental breed when it came to their charges.
He cleared his throat again. Seconds ticked by while he felt the ignominy of being scorned. He counseled with himself, Dade, buddy, I hope you haven’t become a pompous ass, expecting the world to revolve around you.
Her lack of attentiveness irked him. After all, the woman worked for him. She owed him the courtesy of acknowledging that he existed on the face of the earth! He scanned her from head to toe. She was pleasant looking, in a sensible-shoes way. Her brown hair was cropped to just above shoulder length in a straight, no-nonsense style. Her eyes were a no-nonsense olive-drab, and her lips had spent most of their time in his presence pressed together in a no-nonsense grimace.
Only now, with the baby, had he seen her smile. The sunny expression turned her cheeks a fetching pink and brought a radiance to her eyes that gave them a whole other dimension. A mossy green, soft and lush. The combination of her no-nonsense demeanor, plus her visible softness where Tina was concerned, pleased him, even if she did ignore him with what seemed like a very real desire to have him disappear.
He grinned to himself at the ridiculous thought. This was a well-paying job, and cushy as jobs went. She had no reason to dislike him. He decided to give up on subtle, and take the direct approach. “Miss Quinn?” He paused, with no intention of going on until she acknowledged him.
She didn’t make a single move to let him know she’d heard. He pursed his lips with annoyance.
“Miss Quinn, do you have a hearing problem?” he asked, more loudly.
Her glance flicked his way, though she didn’t quite meet his eyes, more like his cheek. “Oh, uh, no. I can hear.”
He crossed his arms before him. “Don’t you think, when your employer speaks to you, it would be polite to answer?”
Her no-nonsense face paled, and her brows quirked downward. “I didn’t—I mean…” When she met his gaze, tiny lightning bolts of unease flickered in her eyes. “Yes, sir.” She inclined her head, and Dade thought she was going to look at the baby. Instead, she watched him from beneath her lashes, like a feral cat peering out from the underbrush.
Lord, what was that look? Fear? Hate? He couldn’t tell if she was about to faint or attack. Attack? He grinned wryly at the crazy notion, concluding he knew what was wrong. He’d been a brute when she arrived, and she was afraid of him. He damned himself for his churlishness. She probably thought he was an ogre to be avoided at all costs.
In an effort to make amends, he decided light conversation was in order. After all, they would be living together. He didn’t want her to pass out every time he spoke to her. “What’s your first name, Miss Quinn?” he asked.
A flash of discomfort skidded over her features, and Dade wondered why the question might cause her trouble. He’d taken care to use his most diplomatic tone.
“I—” She swallowed and lifted her chin a notch. “I prefer Miss Quinn, sir. Or just Quinn.”
Her cool reply surprised him. He observed her silently for a moment, experiencing a mixture of amusement and exasperation. With a quirk of his lips, he nodded. “Okay, Just Quinn. Call me Dade.”
She didn’t smile, merely lowered her gaze to the baby. “No, thank you, sir.”
No, thank you, sir?
With a quizzical lift of a brow, he watched her features change from frosty to sweet as she gazed at the baby.
He didn’t recall a time when he’d felt so thoroughly dismissed. It appeared that the truly proficient nannies of the world felt superior, a bit arrogant, being in such demand. Not particularly familiar with nannies himself, their pecking order was new to him. Even if the agency hadn’t faxed him her résumé, Miss Quinn’s haughtiness alone had to mean she was one hell of a nanny.
Or maybe she simply hid her anxiety better than most. Some people defended themselves with belligerence. He decided to try again to develop a rapport. Perhaps a compliment. “You don’t look thirty-seven, Quinn,” he said. “I wouldn’t have guessed you are even thirty.”
She flicked him a wary glance. The smile he offered her was so courteous he could have been poster boy for the Kindly Scouts of America.
“I consider flattery a brother to sexual harassment, sir. How old I look is irrelevant to my position as nanny.”
He was caught off guard by her prickly rejoinder, his only response the astonished lift of one eyebrow. She had spunk. He had to give her that. But if she thought her lame threat would fly in his town, she was a little naive for thirty-seven.
Not one to give up easily, he decided to try again. “Tina’s a very good baby, Miss Quinn. My other nanny said so a thousand times.”
She cast him an oddly petulant look but didn’t reply. “I haven’t had much spare time to be with Tina, myself.” He paused, deciding she didn’t need to know he’d been busy trying to reorient his life to accommodate a child he’d neither expected nor wanted. Now that he’d finally worked out the necessary business adjustments, this month in the Hamptons would be the second, most difficult phase. Learning how to be a “father.”
“Will you be wanting weekly reports on her status, sir?” she asked, breaking through his thoughts. “Or bimonthly?”
“What?” He had no idea what reports she could mean. “I don’t—” His cell phone rang. With a halting lift of his hand, he excused himself, fishing the phone from his trouser pocket.
Lauren cringed at the memory of Mr. Delacourte’s shocked expression when she’d made her “sexual harassment” remark. He’d been taken by surprise. Clearly the last thing on his mind was flattery. He was making conversation, his motives not even vaguely sinful. Why that realization disconcerted her, she had no idea. She was not there to be flattered by the man, she was there to show him up for the irresponsible impregnator of women he was.
Troubled, she surveyed the posh interior of the limousine. It wasn’t huge, like those stretch limo’s she’d seen in movies. It was only slightly bigger than a regular luxury car. The major difference she could see was that the white leather seats faced each other. This arrangement unsettled her, since she would have preferred not to see him every time she looked up.
Tina had fallen asleep, so Lauren continued to scan the interior, trying to concentrate on anything other than the annoying man with his long legs casually stretched out before her. She hadn’t been able to help notice how the cotton trousers showed off nice thighs and well-developed calves. Nice thighs and well-developed—
She wasn’t doing a very good job of shifting her thoughts. She groaned. She sensed he heard and shot an apprehensive glance in his direction. He peered at her and covered the receiver. “Something wrong?”
She shook her head, compelling her glance to the hand-rubbed teak consoles, the CD and videocassette player. Even a color TV! She sighed. Lolling her head against the soft leather, she looked heavenward. Bright sky through the moon roof pierced her eyes and made her wince. Emotions frayed to the breaking point, she squeezed her eyes shut.
With a calming inhale, she recalled the man who’d assisted her into the car. In his late fifties, he’d impressed her as being kind. That surprised her. She’d assumed a man like Dade Delacourte would have a driver who looked more sinister. Of course, looks could be deceiving. She’d only seen the driver for a moment as he’d opened the door for her. He’d been as courtly as a footman helping a princess into her carriage.
A glass partition behind her separated them from the man. She thought about turning to check out the front seat of the car, but she didn’t shift around. She didn’t dare appear too much like a gawking hayseed. Surely Miss Quinn had been in limousines before and took them for granted.
She recrossed her legs, catching a glimpse of the luxury carpet. It was pristine white, as though it had never had a foot set on it until today. Regrettably, also residing on that snow-white carpet—much too close—was a pair of size twelve tan suede bucks attached to well-developed calves and…
This time she managed to stifle her groan. So he was good-looking! So what! What had she expected? The man was a seduction machine! She knew that already, so why was she surprised to find out that a seduction machine would most likely be seductive! Even when he wasn’t trying.
Rich laughter drew her gaze to his face and she made an involuntary examination of his features. The car’s halo lighting reflected in his gray eyes, kindling them with dazzling beauty. His straight forehead and aquiline nose were the sort of features women would stand in line for days to behold, not to mention that chin, square and slashed with a sexy cleft. She grew peevish and unhappy with herself for finding anything about him appealing. He was a lecherous weasel.
She threw him a withering glare, but he was too preoccupied with his conversation to notice.
She hoped, in the next few days, she could catch him knee deep in debauchery. Spending too much time around Mr. Dade Delacourte-of-the-pretty-boy-charm-and-complete-lack-of-scruples was a dangerous idea—and not just for the baby.
CHAPTER TWO
LAUREN didn’t know what she expected to see when they arrived at Dade Delacourte’s seaside home. The Hampton’s palatial estates were referred to ironically as “cottages,” though they bore as much resemblance to a cottage as a pencil resembled a computer.
Lauren supposed she expected a billionaire playboy to vacation in ostentatious, even tacky, luxury. She wouldn’t be surprised if the River Styx flowed right outside a twenty-foot, flaming gate. With this inflammatory vision in her head, Lauren was startled when Goodberry turned the limo onto a narrow, wooded lane marked by nothing more than a small metal sign reading Private Property. Perhaps the infamous river hid somewhere within the deceptively inviting forest of weathered pine and oak trees.
She frowned, staring out the window, trying to catch any glimpse. They emerged from the peaceful woodland, and Lauren was taken aback. She witnessed no fiery gateway. The pine-scented air held no hint of brimstone. Instead Lauren saw a wonderful house, more the image of a picturesque Vermont barn than a palatial mansion. Constructed of antique barn siding and stone, the home sprawled within an unpretentious, natural setting. Even from where Lauren sat, the bluff commanded a panoramic view of the Atlantic.
“Miss Quinn? Are you all right?”
Mr. Delacourte’s question yanked Lauren from her musings. She could tell he had raised his voice, so it was embarrassingly clear he’d been trying to get her attention. She glanced at him. “Yes, sir? I mean, yes, I’m fine.”
He watched her quizzically for another moment, as though it crossed his mind that she was more astonished by the house than a nanny of her qualifications and job history should be. “Quinn, if you’ll get the baby, I’ll show you to your room.”
Goodberry opened their door, and Mr. Delacourte flicked a glance at the driver. “The oceanfront guest suite has been prepared for Quinn and the child.”
“Yes, sir.” Goodberry stepped forward, offering Lauren a hand and smile. “May I help you, miss?”
The servant was so old-world gallant, Lauren couldn’t keep from smiling. “Why thank you, Goodberry.” She mused again about how sweet the driver was, and stole a quick look at her unprincipled employer.
Mr. Delacourte watched her with that same quizzical stare. Snapping her gaze away, she unbuckled Tina from her car seat and allowed Goodberry to assist them out of the limo.
Once safely out of the car, Lauren approached the stone walk meandering from the driveway of crushed seashells. There was no real lawn, just the grasses and low flowering vegetation that grew naturally in the sandy soil. Trees lined the walk and dotted the yard, enhancing the unaffected charm of the residence.
Lauren felt a hand at her elbow and jumped.
“It’s only me,” Mr. Delacourte said. “I thought it would be easier to guide you to your room. Besides, the path is a little uneven. We wouldn’t want you falling.”
She cast him a black glance. Was this a come-on, already? Did he “initiate” young, female help with a quick seduction on the first night? She jerked from his hold. She certainly had no plans to follow in her sister’s footsteps. “I don’t believe in physical contact between employer and employee, sir.” Jutting her chin, she focused on the front door, which was up several steps, across a broad, covered stone porch. “Why don’t you walk in front of me? I don’t think the baby and I will get lost.”
He cleared his throat and Lauren wondered if she heard a hint of amusement, as though he were hiding a chuckle. “Forgive me, Quinn. I’ll watch my hands very carefully in the future.” He bounded up the steps and proceeded to open the door. “Would you care to go inside, first?” He canted his head in query. “If I promise not to touch?”
His eyes sparkled, even in the shade of the porch. Lauren felt a prickle of irritation. He was laughing at her! As though it was just too funny that she thought, even for an instant, that he had anything more sexy in mind than to make sure she didn’t break an ankle and sue his pants off. Apparently that was the only way she might get Mr. Delacourte out of his pants.
So much for his seducing every female employee. She was definitely not on his I-must-have-her-tonight list. She gritted her teeth, wishing she could be sure she wasn’t blushing. The fact that her face burned was a bad sign. Scurrying inside, she concentrated on Tina and her sweet smile. The innocence of the sight helped calm her nerves.
“Please follow me, Quinn,” Mr. Delacourte said. She nodded, but refused to meet his gaze. She knew her cheeks were flushed, and she didn’t believe seeing amusement in his eyes would do anything to improve that situation.
Instead she glanced around. The great room looked as though it had been built around a real eighteenth century barn. The ceiling had to be thirty feet high, with thick beams of weathered pine supporting a steeply pitched roof. The floor was stone, the walls, old barn siding. A window-wall took up much of the ocean side of the house, with breathtaking views of surf, sand and sky.
Lauren was impressed, not so much by the fact that her boss had the wealth to own a coveted chunk of Long Island seacoast, but that his estate was more homey then she expected. Nevertheless, she counseled inwardly, Dade Delacourte doesn’t have to live in a golden villa in Sodom or Gomorrah to be a thrill-seeking-woman-chaser!
Lauren trailed a limousine’s length behind Mr. Delacourte, yet didn’t lose sight of him as he exited the great room and headed down a hallway. His soft-soled shoes made hardly a sound on the wide pine planks.
Lauren passed a kitchen brimming with sunlight, lush green plants and the delectable scents of cooking food. She got a quick glimpse of a woman bustling around amid pots and pans, but only a glimpse. It appeared Mr. Delacourte wasn’t inclined to make introductions.
“This is your room, Quinn,” he said, halting at a sunlit entrance. “It’s actually two rooms. The small one off to the left has been set up as the nursery. If there’s anything you lack, please tell Goodberry or Braga, the cook.”
Lauren tried to appear unmoved, as though the suite was nothing more nor less than she was accustomed to on a day-to-day basis. But, heavenly days, the place was wonderful! It had the idyllic grace of a rural cabin, but with the view of a palace. The furnishings were a mix of antique and contemporary, of warm woods and wicker and bright, sunny hues.
On one wall of coarse siding, a collection of old weather vanes gave a sense of drama and fantasy to the room. A shaker rocker sat before the French doors, giving the open space a welcoming, country porch feel. Frothy sheers puddled at the outermost reaches of the glass doors, looking as though they were there for show, never really employed to obscure visual access to the grassy dunes, beach and sparkling sea.
“Miss Quinn?”
His stern use of her name relayed, once again, that he was afraid she’d fallen into some peculiar brain fog. Which she had. Lauren blinked several times, hoping the small flutter of lashes wouldn’t alert Mr. Delacourte to the fact that she’d been deeply intent on computing the pros and cons of the place. “It seems—adequate.”
She made herself turn his way, and frowned. The intensity of his gaze had a surprising seductive quality, and she felt awkward and uncertain. “I—I’ll make a thorough survey, however—to be sure I have everything Tina and I require.” Deciding the situation was making her feel awkward and uncertain enough without staring into his watchful eyes, she dropped her gaze to Tina.
Her heart swelled, and she could hardly keep her happiness locked inside. Lauren marveled at her good fortune to have stumbled into such an extraordinary opportunity—the chance to be with her niece, and to unmask Mr. Delacourte as utterly unfit to raise an innocent little girl.
“Come.” He moved into the room, his scent pleasantly filling her nostrils as he passed her in the doorway. She noticed he took care not to touch her. “I’ll show you the baby’s room.” He glanced back, and with the quirk of a brow, added, “And none too soon. If I’m not mistaken, that expression on her face means she’s—occupied.”
Lauren didn’t understand, and glanced at the baby. Her face was screwed up as though she were having a very deep thought. Chubby cheeks were flushed red. What in the world could that possibly mean—Suddenly Lauren detected a scent much less pleasant than Dade’s aftershave. Oh!
“This is good timing,” Mr. Delacourte said. “You can show me how to change a diaper.”
Lauren heard his words, though they didn’t quite penetrate. Her brain was occupied by this new problem, one that forced her to realize she hadn’t thought her plan through. She had never changed a diaper. She took a breath, then was sorry she had. “Tina, honey,” she murmured, “for a sweet little darling, you…” Her boss’s suggestion finally penetrated, and she shot a glance toward him. “Show you how to what?” She flinched at the panicked edge to the question.
He had reached the door to the baby’s room and turned, his expression concerned. “I said you could show me how to change a diaper. Is there a problem?”
Yes, there’s a problem! I can’t change a diaper! she cried mentally, searching in her mind for what to actually say to the man. “You—you want me to show you how to change a diaper?”
He crossed his arms and lounged against the wall, eyeing her with a wrinkled brow. “If I am to raise this child, there are things I should know how to do.”
“But that’s what a nanny is for.” She didn’t want him watching her beginning, fumbling efforts at taking care of a baby. “You—you leave it to me.”
His jaw worked, and Lauren could tell he was no more happy about this than she. “No. I’ve decided I…” He halted, his nostrils flaring. “Your job description does not include an expectation that I explain my motives, Quinn.” He indicated the way with a curt nod. “If you don’t mind?”
I mind! I really, really mind! she shrieked telepathically, barely managing to keep her features unruffled. With a slow, delaying nod, she trudged toward the nursery. She tried to calm herself. How hard could it be? She’d seen babies being diapered in TV ads. You simply take one of those disposables out of the box, place the baby’s backside on it, slip the part that goes in front between her legs and fasten it with the adhesive tabs. Any idiot with the IQ of sawdust could do that!
The nursery didn’t get much notice. Lauren had the impression it was similarly rustic to her room, though the furniture was white with pink accessories and there weren’t any weather vanes on the walls.
She spied the flat surface and assumed this was where she was to change the baby, mainly because Mr. Delacourte had moved to stand beside it. She scanned the plastic covered countertop. To her horror, she spied beneath it a shelf heaped with cloth diapers, folded in squares. Cloth? She’d never seen a commercial where anybody folded a cloth diaper! She didn’t even know cloth diapers were sold anymore.
“Cloth?” she asked, her voice quivering slightly.
“The environment needs all the help it can get.”
She peered at him, forcing herself not to shout, So you torture me instead! Pressing her lips between her teeth, she nodded as anger flared. He supposedly cared about the environment, but he didn’t care about the women he impregnated on his overnight dalliances! “It’s nice to know you have a conscience about some things,” she muttered.
“Excuse me?”
She cringed. Had she said that out loud? “I said—” she stalled “—it’s nice to know you have a conscience about these things.”
His low laughter was rich. “Thank you, Quinn. I’ll try not to be too wounded by your astonishment.”
With clamped jaws, she gingerly lay Tina on the changing surface. “I’m sure you’ll heal, sir.” She busied herself unsnapping Tina’s pink romper, trying to look as though she knew what she was doing. Considering the fact that she was frightened to death, she was amazed and gratified to notice her fingers hardly shook.
Tina seemed so fragile. She didn’t want to break any tiny arms or legs or fingers or toes. As she meticulously worked her way toward diaper removal, Mr. Delacourte hovered at her elbow. Though he’d vowed not to touch, as she maneuvered, she brushed his belly and chest with her arm. He didn’t shift away. She supposed he felt he needed to get a good, close look so he wouldn’t miss a thing, and her elbow would just have to deal with grazing his body.
She wished she were across the room, or even better, in another state! “Uh, did you make such a close inspection when your other nanny did this?”
“I was busy with work. You’re my teacher, Quinn.”
This was a break. At least he wouldn’t be able to tell when she fouled up royally. She prayed she had enough innate intelligence and maternal instinct so she wouldn’t harm the child in her fumbling efforts.
She grasped the baby by one foot and lifted, but that didn’t work very well. Tina tipped funny. Still, with this lopsided glimpse, Lauren knew she had a mess on her hands. Trying to hide a grimace, she made a quick survey of the tabletop and spotted some Tot-Mops. She plucked one from its pop-up box. Swallowing hard, she began to clean Tina’s tainted little backside. She worked carefully and slowly, grimly determined. When she’d seen these little damp squares of tissue used on TV, it hadn’t taken seven of them to do the job! Luckily a covered wastebasket sat nearby. She could open it with her foot, so she quickly disposed of the yucky things.
“A diaper, please?” she said through gritted teeth. The last thing she wanted was a cloth diaper.
He held one out.
“Just—put it down.”
When he obliged, she closed her eyes and counted to ten. Let me be able to do this! She released Tina to squirm on the plastic surface and eyed the diaper with hostility. The dreaded thing was more oblong than square. That was a stupid shape for a diaper! A shawl, maybe.
She sucked in a breath, then blew it out. It was now or never! She made a snap decision and folded it, creating a triangle—more or less. Mainly less. Not happy with the weird shape, she made another fold. This time, it was no less weird, but smaller. It might work, though it looked like it had been in a head-on collision with a bigger, stronger triangle.
Holding onto her bravado, she raised both of Tina’s legs in one hand and scooted the diaper under her. Quickly she lifted the middle point up between Tina’s legs and folded the other points around her middle to meet the anchoring point. There was a fairly huge overlap. A pessimistic person might even say the thing was a complete failure. However, not having the luxury of pessimism, Lauren boldly retrieved the fasteners from the place she’d pinned them on her sleeve, and affixed the ends in place. Tina’s diaper looked like it had wings.
“That’s interesting,” Mr. Delacourte murmured. “I don’t remember seeing her in anything like that before.”
Lauren’s bluster was a painfully thin subterfuge, but she had no choice but to forge on. “It’s a new fold.”
“What’s it called, the Boeing 747?”
Her lips twitched with wayward humor, but she refused to allow him to see. Instead she concentrated on getting Tina into her plastic pants and romper. “Where shall I put the soiled diaper, sir?”
“There’s a pail in the bathroom, on your right.”
She peered in that direction and nodded, then presented him with his daughter. “Please hold her for a moment, while I dispose of it and wash my hands.”
His expression was priceless, though irritating. He seemed as startled by being offered his child as he might be if she’d asked him to hold her spleen. “Haven’t you ever held her?”
He frowned slightly. “Not—often. I’ve been busy.”
He’d been busy! All the time and money she’d spent these past six months trying to find Tina, longing to be near Tina, and he’d been busy! She imploded with rage and suffering so acute she could hardly contain herself. This man had housed, fed and clothed her precious niece for nearly half a year, but he had scarcely held her? Lauren redoubled her vow to get the child out of his indifferent clutches. The selfish playboy was merely warehousing her, not raising her!
Maintaining her poised masquerade was nearly impossible, but she struggled to appear professional. She handed the child to him as gently as her mood would allow. “I don’t understand why you want to learn to diaper her, when you—”
“As I said before, Miss Quinn,” he cut in, “it’s not your place to understand why I choose to do anything. Is that clear?”
“Crystal clear, sir,” she murmured, stiffly.
He was the master and she the servant. Period. If the great and powerful Dade Delacourte had an urge to learn to diaper Tina, the reason was not Lauren’s business. She had a sinking feeling that, whatever the reason, the urge would be fleeting—just like any culpability he might feel. Ultimately Tina would be relegated to the care of a series of nannies and nurses, while receiving a very unsavory moral education.
The innocent baby had to be rescued—and quickly.
Dade left the nanny and her charge to their privacy and went upstairs to unpack. Alone in his room, he berated himself for snapping at the woman. It wasn’t her fault he’d been saddled with a child his brother fathered. It wasn’t Quinn’s fault Dade felt like a damned failure.
Dade caught sight of himself in a wall mirror and his gut clenched. For a moment he stared at the grim facade, then lurched away. The vision held too much pain. Even his own reflection reminded him of his identical twin, and how badly Dade had unknowingly neglected him.
It didn’t seem like eleven years since he’d taken over his father’s small electronics firm, welcoming its challenges and opportunities. Unlike himself, Dade’s identical twin, Joel, never found his niche in the world. So Dade had sustained his brother’s wander-lust lifestyle, mopping up after him when he screwed up. In retrospect, all the paid fines and advances in allowances seemed more like a betrayal to his brother than real assistance.
So now, at his leisure, Dade was free to suffer great guilt. He spent his days and nights eaten up with regret for plunging all his efforts and passions into building the company, rather than taking more personal care to curb his brother’s heedless behavior.
His masculine retreat of weathered wood, earth tones and simple furnishings held no peace for him. The wide-plank flooring was so solidly built, it made no revealing sounds as he paced.
“I should have made you come home, take a job with the firm,” Dade muttered, jerking a hand through his hair. “I should have made you be responsible for your actions.”
How could he have let his only family slip so negligently through his fingers? And how quickly, ruthlessly, it was done. On a rainy country road, Joel barreled drunkenly off a cliff to meet a fiery end. Such a tragic waste.
“I’m sorry, Joel.” Dade dropped wearily into a leather armchair. “I’m so sorry.”
In an ironic twist, Dade didn’t actually lose his entire family that night. Though he wouldn’t know it until half a year later—when Joel’s daughter was born.
He pictured the baby, napping downstairs, and frowned. The last thing Dade wanted was the responsibility of another man’s child, yet he couldn’t abandon little Christina. Taking her in was one more “fix” of Joel’s lamentable life, a huge one—a last one—but ultimately, Dade’s burden to bear.
His brother was gone, and it was obvious the striking blonde, in the hospital photograph, had no interest in the child. He had heard nothing from her. No demands for money or position. Over the past few months it had become clear that the woman had wanted nothing but to be rid of the child. To that end, she had schemed and plotted, devising exactly how best to force Dade into accountability, since he was the man she thought to be the father of her child.
Though she was wrong about his paternity, she was not wrong about his obligation.
His grief for all that had been lost was as bitter as his fury at himself. He had forfeited his self-absorbed independence with the shocking arrival of his brother’s child. Yet, it was no one’s fault but his own.
“I failed you, brother,” he muttered. His knuckles whitened as he clutched the chair arms. “In the name of all that’s holy, I will not fail your daughter.”
CHAPTER THREE
LAUREN was out of her element when it came to taking care of an infant. Fortunately Braga, the cook, had received the baby’s food menu and schedule early, and the baby’s formula was ready when Tina woke from her nap. The menu included “solid” food, so when Braga asked which “solid food” did Nanny prefer, Lauren had a momentary panic attack, and blurted that she was of the school of thought that a baby should have only a bottle at midafternoon.
Braga, a rotund, bulldog of a woman in her mid-fifties, didn’t even blink at Lauren’s stiff-lipped pronouncement, and indifferently handed over the warmed bottle. With a tiny sigh, Lauren thanked providence for the small reprieve. Her Solid Food Ordeal would be put off until sometime tonight. Right now, her main problem was mastering The Bottle.
She decided to take her niece out onto the acres of redwood deck that surrounded the ocean side of the house. Not necessarily because the day was balmy, but because she thought she would have more privacy to make any blunders in feeding a baby.
The sun shone pleasantly, not overly warm, but Lauren decided a tiny person’s skin might be pretty sensitive, so she settled with Tina in a shaded, cushioned lounge chair. To Lauren’s surprise and pleasure, the chair rocked.
She managed to get Tina to take the bottle without much problem. Luckily Tina seemed to be a good eater. Relieved, Lauren breathed deeply of the ocean-scented air. How pleasant it was there, with a picture-book view and gentle breeze. The only sounds were the distant sough of the ocean, and the cry of gulls as they swooped and soared.
In such vast, idyllic privacy, Lauren decided to try out a lullaby. After all, she was a music appreciation teacher. She should know lullabies. She began to sing and rock as Tina contentedly took her bottle. After Lauren sang the only verse she knew of “Rock-a-bye Baby” twelve times, she began to get a little sick of it. Besides, who in her right mind would rock a baby in a treetop!
She began to hum one of her favorite compositions by Debussy. Lauren had never considered herself much of a singer, but she could carry a tune. She figured at just under six months of age Tina wouldn’t be too picky.
The baby appeared fascinated by Lauren’s face and the sound of her voice. Lauren grinned. Something about the sight of those big blue eyes, so wide and rapt, sparked a creative bent in her soul, and she started ad-libbing lyrics. “Oh—Oh, no—not a tree! We don’t want to be hauled up in a tree! We’re tired of falling—out of treeeeeeees.”
“I didn’t realize Clair de lune had words.”
Lauren jerked around to see Mr. Delacourte framed in the open door to the living room. He’d changed into blue shorts, deck shoes and a white polo shirt. He was marvelous looking, breathtakingly so, from a great pair of legs to his masterfully chiseled face. A smile lurked in dazzling smoky-gray eyes. Once again he was laughing at her.
She hid her embarrassment at being caught spouting such an inane song, and returned her gaze to Tina. She was surprised that he recognized Clair de lune. But since it was a sensual melody, she supposed he’d used it for a few seductions in his time. “I—I made up the words.”
“Really?” The smile spread to his voice. “Sounds like some of my college roommate’s stuff.”
“Thank you.” She had a feeling his remark wasn’t a wholehearted compliment, but she didn’t intend to let him know. “Your roommate was a musical genius, I gather.”
He grinned. “My roommate thought so.”
She peered his way, telling herself his dimpled smile had no effect on her. “Actually there’s a school of thought—that babies should hear the classics early and often.” She didn’t know if there was such a school, but if there wasn’t, there should be.
She stroked Tina’s downy hair as the baby sucked out the last of her formula. Lifting the empty bottle away, Lauren placed it on a small, glass-topped table beside her chair. “Tina’s encouraging expression got the better of me,” she added honestly. “I felt the urge to combat any negative suggestions that she allow herself to be—”
“Dropped from a tree?”
Lauren eyed him again, exasperated by his obvious mirth. “Well, if you ask me, it’s a stupid lullaby.”
“It always seemed stupid to me.” He moved to the railing and gazed out to sea. Lauren’s glance trailed over him. Being a pragmatic woman, she told herself Dade Delacourte looked exactly like any other man in his mid-thirties. Well, perhaps any other really good-looking man in his mid-thirties.
His dark hair fluttered in the breeze, shiny-clean and soft. It was only hair, she reminded herself. And he was only a man, like billions of others. Broader around the shoulders, squarer of jaw and appealingly tall, a wayward imp in her brain taunted. With to-diefor legs and drool-worthy dimples. Not to mention, he’s richer than practically any man in the country! She shook her head to squelch the disturbing imp.
Mr. Delacourte didn’t look like a heartless womanizer. Maybe that was the problem with heartless womanizers. They didn’t wear warning signs, and their claws didn’t show. All one actually saw was the pleasant manly trappings.
Much later than she should have, Lauren tugged her attention away from his broad back. It was a shame she couldn’t see his claws, even sadder that there were no outward signs of his negligent heart.
How unfair!
Lauren frowned as she lifted Tina to her shoulder and began to pat. She knew this was how one burped a baby. A person couldn’t make it into her mid-twenties without at least seeing a baby being burped. “Okay, Tina. Do it for Aun—” She cut herself off. How could she have started to say Auntie Lauren, with Dade Delacourte right there! Was she going noodley in the head? She coughed to cover her mistake. “…for Quinn.”
She patted and patted. After a minute, a very un-ladylike trumpet bellowed out of the infant. The deep belch took Lauren so by surprise, she burst out laughing.
Dade turned, looking puzzled. “What’s funny?”
Lauren pursed her lips and shook her head. No nanny worth her salt would laugh at a burp, no matter how much it sounded like an off-key toot of a French horn. “Nothing.” She swallowed a giggle, making sure her features registered businesslike reserve. “Her burp—is quite—musical.”
“Is that what you’d call it?” He flashed a grin and her pulse grew fitful. He shifted around to face her, and leaned against the rail. “Are you saying she has talent, Miss Quinn?”
“I’d give that burp an A-plus—for volume, anyway.” Lauren batted down an urge to smile at him, reminding herself why she was here and exactly who and what this man was. “Does she get her burping talent from you?”
His amusement vanished. For an instant his gaze rested on the child, his features vaguely troubled; then he turned away.
His reaction startled Lauren. “Uh, I didn’t mean to offend you.” Good grief, didn’t the man have a sense of humor? Apparently he could laugh at her, but woe be it to anybody who dared joke about him!
“Did you find everything satisfactory in your rooms, Quinn?” he asked, his voice low and controlled.
She absently patted Tina’s back, watching him. Evidently there were rules about nanniness she needed to commit to memory. Like, “Don’t kid with your employer.” Well, that was fine with her. The less casual chatting between them, the better. “The rooms are fine, sir.”
“Good.” He didn’t turn.
Beeeerrrrrtttthhhh!
Tina’s second showy belch made Lauren jump. She experienced another titter of laughter, but hid it under a manufactured coughing fit. She repositioned Tina into the crook of her arm, smiled at the baby and began to rock. “Where did you learn your manners, sweetie?” she whispered.
Something flitted into Lauren’s peripheral vision. Even before she registered what she saw, her adrenaline surged. She snapped her gaze up to fasten on the flitting thing. A wasp! Her sister, Millie, was terribly allergic to wasp stings, and at four-years-old had almost died from a sting. What if Tina had inherited the same allergic reaction?
The wasp swooped too near the baby. Lauren bent forward to protect Tina with her body. “No!” She swatted at the insect. “Get out of here you devil!”
“Excuse me?”
Lauren didn’t have the time to concern herself with Mr. Delacourte’s sensibilities. Let him think she’d called him a devil. It wasn’t as though the thought had never crossed her mind. She crouched over Tina, peeking around to see where the wasp was. She whacked at it, but missed again. “Get away!”
The winged pest dived out of her range of vision, but a second later she knew where it went from the stinging at her nape. “Ouch!”
“Damn!”
Lauren hardly had time to register the growled curse. She found herself relieved of the baby and tugged from the chair. A large hand gripped her upper arm. “Are you allergic, Quinn?”
“No—not particularly—it just stings.” Once she had her bearings, she realized Dade held the baby against his chest with one arm and hauled her with the other. “I’ll be okay,” she said. “Just make sure Tina’s safe.”
“That wasp won’t bother anybody now.”
Once inside, Dade led Lauren to the kitchen and coaxed her to sit at the breakfast table. “Take the baby.” He handed Tina back and strode toward a cabinet.
Lauren winced at the stinging in her neck, but regained enough of her wits to glance around. Besides Dade, the baby and her, the kitchen was empty. Yet the place was redolent with the rich scent of roasting beef. Tentatively she touched the smarting bump, and winced. “Where’s the cook?” she asked.
“Shopping for tomorrow’s meals.” Dade retrieved a box of baking soda from a cabinet and poured some into a cup, then added a little water.
“What’s that?”
“It should take the sting out.”
She stared. “You know a remedy for wasp stings?” She wouldn’t have thought he was the type to know such homespun tidbits. She figured a man like Dade Delacourte would be more likely to know the gross national product of Uruguay rather than a balm for insect stings.
“I spent summers on my grandparents’ farm in Vermont.” He glanced her way, his brows knit. “When they died, they left the place to me. I moved the barn here and turned it into my house.” He dropped the spoon into the sink and returned to her.
“Really?” Lauren murmured. Sentiment? She supposed even womanizers could have fond memories of grandparents. But this sentimental side of him surprised her. If that’s what it was. Maybe his reasons were purely narcissistic or, just as likely, some kind of tax write-off. Who knew? “It’s—very nice,” she said, meaning it. No matter why he’d moved the barn all this way to create his rustic haven, it had turned out wonderfully.
“Thanks.” He scooped some of the white goo onto his fingertips. “Lean forward.”
With great reluctance, she did as he commanded. Though she wasn’t as allergic to wasp stings as Millie, they stung like crazy and made a good-size welt.
Earlier that afternoon, while Tina napped, Lauren had swept her hair up off her neck with a big clip. Now she regretted the action for two reasons. First, it had made it easier for a wasp to sting her neck, which brought on the second, and most troubling regret—Dade Delacourte’s fingers gently brushed sensitive skin as he smoothed warm paste on the wound.
Dade’s touch sent shivers of appreciation along Lauren’s spine. She supposed playboys had to cultivate a seductive touch or they wouldn’t be successful at—playing. She recognized the sad irony, but wasn’t in the mood for ironic life lessons at the moment. She chewed her lower lip, her emotions in conflict. She wanted his hand off her, but a niggling part of her brain wouldn’t allow her to jerk away.
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