Claiming His Secret Heir

Caroline hadn’t wanted to deprive the young women of the new charge they seemed excited to care for. When she’d left him in the nursery, he was on a blanket in the middle of the thickly carpeted floor, surrounded by blocks and rattles, his every coo and cry tended to by Marcie and Dana. Curious, she now took out her phone to see the nursery monitor feed, and the group was just as she’d left them. Classical music played while Lucas stared up at a baby gym, the young women flying stuffed toys above him to keep him entertained.

Nearby, the elevator doors swished open, alerting her to company. Caroline turned from the view to look out into the hallway through the open door.

Damon approached her, his strong shoulders backlit by the sconces flanking the elevator. He’d changed from the suit he’d worn for their flight. The gray jacket and dark jeans were more casual, the white shirt with no tie a staple look for him. He’d traded his black tie-up dress shoes for boots.

He looked good enough to eat. No doubt that’s why she felt the need to study every inch of him. She was willing to bet he smelled great, too. She had dreamed of that sandalwood and spice scent when she’d been apart from him.

“Is everything all right?” he asked, edging around a café table in the center of the solarium. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

“I’m fine.” She lowered herself to sit on a bright-blue modern sofa in front of the window looking down onto the street. “This is like being at the drive-in theater. Only the show playing is New York in a Snowstorm.” She gestured to the wide view framed by long glass panels.

Just hearing Damon’s footsteps on the tile floor made her skin hum with awareness. How was she supposed to be on her guard around him with no baby in her arms to care for? No distractions of any kind?

Her main goals in New York were keeping her child safe and finding out if Damon had married her out of self-interest. The former seemed easier now with a full-time bodyguard devoted to Lucas. And the latter? She wouldn’t be able to discover much until Malcolm McNeill returned to the town house. Or maybe Damon’s half brothers. In the meantime, her husband had made it clear he wanted to start over. Be a couple again.

The memory of his words last night slid over her senses like a caress, making her shiver.

“I can light a fire if you’re cold.” Damon hesitated at the edge of the sofa, pointing toward the hearth on the other side of the room.

“No, thank you.” She realized her mistake as soon as she said it, since he took the opportunity to sit down beside her, bringing all that masculine appeal within inches of her. If she’d taken him up on his offer to build a fire, she would have had more time to build her defenses. “You can see the view better this way. That’s why I didn’t bother to turn a light on.”

“I wondered why you were sitting in the dark.” He kept his attention on the snow coming down, the fat flakes gathering up in the corners of the windowpanes, outlining the view with a frosty border.

“Just soaking up a side of New York I’ve never seen. The year I worked in the Financial District, I lived down there and barely ventured north of Canal Street.” She clung to a neutral conversational topic, safe terrain after the emotional toll of every exchange the day before. “My building was in an old part of the city, but construction was completed the year I moved in. It couldn’t be more different from this place.”

The neo-Renaissance mansion that housed the McNeill patriarch was a turn-of-the-century masterpiece. It even had its own Wikipedia page.

Damon shifted to make himself more comfortable, extending his arm along the back of the sofa just behind her neck. Not touching her. Just…so close. She breathed in the light hint of sandalwood.

“How did you like living here?” he asked, and she felt the warmth of his gaze on her even though she kept her attention on the living snow globe outside the window. “I don’t think we’ve ever talked about that. I know you grew up in San Francisco. Got your degree in Boston. What did you think of New York City?”

“I loved it.” She remembered the joy of earning her own paycheck, and a good one at that. “Coming from a wealthy family, I always felt a bit guilty for having nice things that I didn’t earn for myself.” She had noticed at college the vast difference between kids who were sent to the prestigious school because of their family name and finances, versus the handful of students who were genuinely brilliant and there on scholarship. “But when I lived in New York, I had a sense of independence that I’d never really felt before. I got the job on my own merit and did it well.”