The Millionaire's Baby

'She'll want her daddy.' She had her voice back, but only just. 'I'm still a virtual stranger.' She walked out of the room then, quickly, softly, and stood in front of the now blank TV screen, staring at it, won­dering how Fleur could leave her gorgeous little daughter for as much as a minute.

'She went out like a light.'

He was doing it again, creeping up behind her, his voice too darn soft, too warm and honeyed.

'Good.' What else could she say? She moved a few paces away from him and her heartbeats slowed a lit­tle. Then everything inside her dropped—heart, lungs, lights and liver—right down to the soles of her feet; it was a miracle that she stayed upright at all, she marvelled as she wallowed in the agitated aftermath of his simple words:

'We'll eat dinner here. Room Service will deliver any time now.'

'You're going out,' she managed at last. She wanted him out. She needed time on her own to plot and scheme, didn't she? She couldn't think straight when he was around. He muddled her and she was totally unused to being muddled. She couldn't bear it!

'News to me.' He flipped through the television listings then tossed the magazine back on a low coffee table. He didn't look like a man who would content­edly spend a night in flicking through the channels to find something he wanted to watch then going to bed early with a good book when he couldn't.

From what she'd heard of him he would want to be out and about, seeing friends. Female friends. Hadn't Sandra opined that he could now get himself a life? And the way she'd looked at him when she'd said it meant she would willingly be in on the action.

So why wasn't he taking the opportunity? Because he wasn't as black as her second-hand knowledge had painted him or because—and this seemed far more likely—he didn't want to leave her alone with his baby daughter?

That was logical. She was comfortable with logic. For all he was a callous, heartless brute where women were concerned, no one could deny he adored his child. And the new nanny had been here for less than twenty-four hours and had shown herself to be largely incompetent.

She gave him a good attempt at a reassuring smile and said calmly, 'Sophie will be fine with me, if that's what's troubling you. I'm perfectly capable of attend­ing to her should she wake. Didn't your secretary—'

she invested that word with heavy emphasis, quite de­liberately '—say you could now get yourself a life? So why don't you? I'm sure she'd be more than happy to help you get back in the swing of things.'

Gross impertinence, given her subordinate position; she knew that and didn't give a fig. She wanted to draw him out, hear him add to the list of his sins with his own far too sexy mouth.

And he did. In a way he did. He said, looking at her with enigmatic silver eyes, 'Oh, yes, I'm quite sure she would. But not tonight.'

Tonight he had plans. Tonight he meant to delve and dig and discover why she was here. He found he had a sudden urgency to get to know her a great deal better, find out what made this woman tick. This oddly prickly, supremely lovely, breath-catchingly graceful woman.

Then, as a discreet tap on the door heralded the arrival of the room-service waiter with his trolley, he added, 'Neither am I troubled. Once she's asleep Sophie never wakes. But as we're going to be prac­tically living in each

other's pockets for the next few months I thought we should spend an hour or so get­ting to know each other better. Hitting the town can wait.'

Caro, watching the waiter set out the covers on the table in the window, felt her stomach lurch, twist and contract. He meant to quiz her about her credentials; a little late in the day of course, but doubtless brought on by her obvious and total lack of experience.

She'd fudge her way through that somehow; she could have done without it but the prospect didn't bother her too much. What was really churning her up was the way he'd as good as admitted he had something going with that secretary of his.

'Not tonight', he'd said, implying that there were plenty of other nights when he'd take the opportunity to play away from home. What kind of normal mar­ried man would have made such an admission to the newly hired nanny?

But he wasn't a normal married man. He'd made his wedding vows but he didn't mean to keep them. The type of man who could treat Katie the way he had was capable of anything.

'Shall we eat?' His warm, dark voice made her spine prickle in none too subtle warning. Inadvert­ently, she glanced up and met his eyes. If his mouth was sexy, his eyes were more so. They pulled her into the softly gleaming silver depths with an invitation that was hard to resist.

'I'm not really hungry.' She found her voice; it was strangely husky. That intimate, come-to-bed look was carefully cultivated, part of his stock-in-trade, guar­anteed to set female hearts fluttering.

But not this female's heart. Sweet, naive Katie with her fragile self-esteem had been a pushover. Two years ago, at barely eighteen, her little sister had met this man and been blown away like a leaf in a hur­ricane, had believed every rotten lie he'd told her and suffered the shattering consequences.

'It's the heat,' he sympathised. 'But you must try to eat something.'

His words penetrated the dark fog of her rage, pushed her into getting a grip on herself.

'I'll do my best.' Her voice was empty, her movements brisk and businesslike as she walked to the ta­ble, seated herself and glanced at what was on offer.

Cold poached salmon, slices of chicken breast in a lemon sauce, a multiplicity of salads. She barely lis­tened to his idle comments about the heat wave, the noise and air pollution of the never-sleeping capital, the undesirability of bringing up a child in a city. She kept her eyes on her plate or on the tree-lined street beyond the window, the dusty leaves at eye-level.

Only when he put in, 'How's the agency doing? From what I was told, Grandes Families was an over­night success,' did she allow herself to look at him.

There was a subtle challenge there somewhere. He didn't strike her as the type of man who would be interested in idle gossip and she knew that his father had helped her gran set up those convoluted trust funds after her grandpa had died.