Книга - A Daddy For Christmas: Yuletide Baby Surprise / Maybe This Christmas…? / The Sheriff’s Doorstep Baby

A Daddy For Christmas: Yuletide Baby Surprise / Maybe This Christmas...? / The Sheriff's Doorstep Baby
Alison Roberts

Catherine Mann

Teresa Carpenter


Three little gifts for ChristmasYuletide Baby SurpriseWhen Princess Mari invades Dr Rowan Boothe’s hotel room, he has no desire to become involved in his old adversary’s latest predicament. Until they discover an abandoned baby and Rowan needs her help! Yet, even as they draw closer, how long can their Christmas escape last?Maybe This Christmas…?Christmas Eve always reminds Gemma of her husband, paediatrician Andy Baxter. It was the day she first fell in love and also the day her heart broke. But now her tiny niece needs urgent medical care and the only man she trusts is Andy. Could this Christmas finally bring them back together?The Sheriff’s Doorstep BabyMichelle wants to sell her late father’s house - but sexy tenant Nate won’t leave! And when Nate’s adorable baby cousin is left on his doorstep, Michelle can’t help but offer to help. Nate and Michelle have never known what family is…until one Christmas changes everything!







A Daddy for Christmas

Yuletide Baby Surprise

Catherine Mann

Maybe This Christmas…?

Alison Roberts

The Sheriff’s Doorstep Baby

Teresa Carpenter






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Table of Contents

Cover (#u09e0d439-d71d-5920-8e29-9a252c1ed182)

Title Page (#u9ba9679b-9563-5126-b361-af9df6ddfd53)

Yuletide Baby Surprise (#u15c22c32-96b0-571d-9bc0-b9966930e843)

Back Cover Text (#ubfb5b0b6-d9f6-5bec-96bd-50e852c9c320)

About the Author (#ubf2a7240-2031-5dd5-b1de-4ee009f9027b)

One (#u6b2d821c-3732-59a5-8f7b-2fa585ec551c)

Two (#u1038ca1e-c2ae-5a52-a9e2-dde7d3ef6340)

Three (#u6c9598d4-2cd2-554b-a206-3968215c8471)

Four (#ua27348cf-1f57-550c-a42c-15940244204f)

Five (#u2ddc4913-6570-56d2-b589-930a9544077b)

Six (#u208c4f22-e2b5-5b8d-96ec-f70d5086edb3)

Seven (#u55ec270a-ea71-518d-8e50-09174661c354)

Eight (#u25a84276-9edf-55f0-aae0-711af7df1a47)

Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Maybe This Christmas…? (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ONE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWO (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THREE (#litres_trial_promo)

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)

The Sheriff’s Doorstep Baby (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)

Dedication (#litres_trial_promo)

PROLOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ONE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWO (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THREE (#litres_trial_promo)

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)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Yuletide Baby Surprise (#ua6dbc09c-95e4-5d9c-9465-2418d338e34f)

Catherine Mann


In this Billionaires & Babies novel, USA TODAY bestselling author Catherine Mann gives new meaning to the words “Merry Christmas, Baby”

’Tis the season to be jolly? It isn’t for Dr. Rowan Boothe when a princess on the run from the photo-hungry press invades his hotel room. He and Mariama Mandara had their professional clashes in the past, and Rowan has no desire to become involved in her latest predicament—until they discover an abandoned baby. Now he needs Mari’s help and soon discovers she’s no pampered royal but a desirable woman. Yet how long can their Christmas escape really last?


USA TODAY bestseller and RITA


Award winner Catherine Mann has penned over fifty novels, released in more than twenty countries. After years as a military spouse bringing up four children, Catherine is now a snowbird – sorta – splitting time between the Florida beach and somewhat chillier beach in her home state of South Carolina. The nest didn’t stay empty long, though, as Catherine is an active board member for the Sunshine State Animal Rescue. www.CatherineMann.com (http://www.CatherineMann.com)


One (#ua6dbc09c-95e4-5d9c-9465-2418d338e34f)

Dr. Mariama Mandara had always been the last picked for a team in gym class. With good reason. Athletics? Not her thing. But when it came to spelling bees, debate squads and math competitions, she’d racked up requests by the dozens.

Too bad her academic skills couldn’t help her sprint faster down the posh hotel corridor.

More than ever, she needed speed to escape the royal watchers tracking her at the Cape Verde beachside resort off the coast of West Africa, which was like a North Atlantic Hawaii, a horseshoe grouping of ten islands. They were staying on the largest island, Santiago.

No matter where she hid, determined legions were all too eager for a photo with a princess. Why couldn’t they accept she was here for a business conference, not socializing?

Panting, Mari braced a hand against the wall as she stumbled past a potted areca silk palm strung with twinkling Christmas lights. Evading relentless pursuers wasn’t as easy as it appeared in the movies, especially if you weren’t inclined to blow things up or leap from windows. The nearest stairwell door was blocked by two tourists poring over some sightseeing pamphlet. A cleaning cart blocked another escape route. She could only keep moving forward.

Regaining her balance, she power-walked, since running would draw even more attention or send her tripping over her own feet. Her low-heeled pumps thud-thud-thudded along the plush carpet in time with a polyrhythmic version of “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” wafting from the sound system. She just wanted to finish this medical conference and return to her research lab, where she could ride out the holiday madness in peace, crunching data rather than candy canes.

For most people, Christmas meant love, joy and family. But for her, the “season to be jolly” brought epic family battles even twenty years after her parents’ divorce. If her mom and dad had lived next door to each other—or even on the same continent—the holidays would not have been so painful. But they’d played transcontinental tug-of-war over their only child for decades. Growing up, she’d spent more time in the Atlanta airport and on planes with her nanny than actually celebrating by a fireside with cocoa. She’d even spent one Christmas in a hotel, her connecting flight canceled for snow.

The occasional cart in the hall now reminded her of that year’s room-service Christmas meal. Call her crazy, but once she had gained more control over her world, she preferred a simpler Christmas.

Although simple wasn’t always possible for someone born into royalty. Her mother had crumbled under the pressure of the constant spotlight, divorced her Prince Charming in Western Africa and returned to her Atlanta, Georgia, home. Mari, however, couldn’t divorce herself from her heritage.

If only her father and his subjects understood she could best serve their small region through her research at the university lab using her clinical brain, rather than smiling endlessly through the status quo of ribbon-cutting ceremonies. She craved her comfy, shapeless clothes, instead of worrying about keeping herself neat as a pin for photo ops.

Finally, she spotted an unguarded stairwell. Peering inside, she found it empty but for the echo of “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” segueing into “Away in a Manger.” She just needed to make it from the ground level to her fifth-floor room, where she could hole up for the night before facing the rest of the week’s symposiums. Exhausted from a fourteen-hour day of presentations about her research on antiviral medications, she was a rumpled mess and just didn’t have it in her to smile pretty for the camera or field questions that would be captured on video phone. Especially since anything she said could gain a life of its own on the internet in seconds these days.

She grasped the rail and all but hauled herself up step after step. Urgency pumped her pulse in her ears. Gasping, she paused for a second at the third floor to catch her breath before trudging up the last flights. Shoving through the fifth-floor door, she almost slammed into a mother and teenage daughter leaving their room. The teen did a double take and Mari turned away quickly, adrenaline surging through her exhaustion and powering her down the hall. Except now she was going in the opposite direction, damn it.

Simply strolling back into the hall wasn’t an option until she could be sure the path was clear. But she couldn’t simply stand here indefinitely, either. If only she had a disguise, something to throw people off the scent. Head tucked down, she searched the hall through her eyelashes, taking in a brass luggage rack and monstrously big pots of African feather grass.

Her gaze landed on the perfect answer—a roomservice cart. Apparently abandoned. She scanned for anyone in a hotel uniform, but saw only the retreating back of a woman walking away quickly, a cell phone pressed to her ear. Mari chewed her lip for half a second then sprinted forward and stopped just short of the cloth-draped trolley.

She peeked under the silver tray. The mouth-watering scent of saffron-braised karoo lamb made her stomach rumble. And the tiramisu particularly tempted her to find the nearest closet and feast after a long day of talking without a break for more than coffee and water. She shook off indulgent thoughts. The sooner she worked her way back to her room, the sooner she could end this crazy day with a hot shower, her own tray of food and a soft bed.

Delivering the room-service cart now offered her best means of disguise. A hotel jacket was even draped over the handle and a slip of paper clearly listed Suite 5A as the recipient.

The sound of the elevator doors opening spurred her into action.

Mari shrugged the voluminous forest-green jacket over her rumpled black suit. A red Father Christmas hat slipped from underneath the hotel uniform. All the better for extra camouflaging. She yanked on the hat over her upswept hair and started pushing the heavily laden cart toward the suite at the end of the hall, just as voices swelled behind her.

“Do you see her?” a female teen asked in Portuguese, her squeaky tones drifting down the corridor. “I thought you said she ran up the stairs to the fifth floor.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t the fourth?” another high-pitched girl answered.

“I’m certain,” a third voice snapped. “Get your phone ready. We can sell these for a fortune.”

Not a chance.

Mari shoved the cart. China rattled and the wheels creaked. Damn, this thing was heavier than it looked. She dug her heels in deeper and pushed harder. Step by step, past carved masks and a pottery elephant planter, she walked closer to suite 5A.

The conspiring trio drew closer. “Maybe we can ask that lady with the cart if she’s seen her....”

Apprehension lifted the hair on the back of Mari’s neck. The photos would be all the more mortifying if they caught her in this disguise. She needed to get inside suite 5A. Now. The numbered brass plaque told her she was at the right place.

Mari jabbed the buzzer, twice, fast.

“Room service,” she called, keeping her head low.

Seconds ticked by. The risk of stepping inside and hiding her identity from one person seemed far less daunting than hanging out here with the determined group and heaven only knew who else.

Just when she started to panic that time would run out, the door opened, thank God. She rushed past, her arms straining at the weight of the cart and her nose catching a whiff of manly soap. Her favorite scent—clean and crisp rather than cloying and obvious. Her feet tangled for a second.

Tripping over her own feet as she shoved the cart was far from dignified. But she’d always been too gangly to be a glamour girl. She was more of a cerebral type, a proud nerd, much to the frustration of her family’s press secretary, who expected her to present herself in a more dignified manner.

Still, even in her rush to get inside, curiosity nipped at her. What type of man would choose such a simple smell while staying in such opulence? But she didn’t dare risk a peek at him.

She eyed the suite for other occupants, even though the room-service cart only held one meal. One very weighty meal. She shoved the rattling cart past a teak lion. The room appeared empty, the lighting low. Fat leather sofas and a thick wooden table filled the main space. Floor-to-ceiling shutters had been slid aside to reveal the moonlit beach outside a panoramic window. Lights from stars and yachts dotted the horizon. Palms and fruit trees with lanterns illuminated the shore. On a distant islet, a stone church perched on a hill.

She cleared her throat and started toward the table by the window. “I’ll set everything up on the table for you.”

“Thanks,” rumbled a hauntingly familiar voice that froze her in her tracks. “But you can just leave it there by the fireplace.”

Her brain needed less than a second to identify those deep bass tones. Ice trickled down her spine as if snow had hit her African Christmas after all.

She didn’t have to turn around to confirm that fate was having a big laugh at her expense. She’d run from an irritation straight into a major frustration. Out of all the hotel suites she could have entered, somehow she’d landed in the room of Dr. Rowan Boothe.

Her professional nemesis.

A physician whose inventions she’d all but ridiculed in public.

What the hell was he doing here? She’d reviewed the entire program of speakers and she could have sworn he wasn’t listed on the docket until the end of the week.

The door clicked shut behind her. The tread of his footsteps closed in, steady, deliberate, bringing the scent of him drifting her way. She kept her face down, studying his loafers and the well-washed hem of his faded jeans.

She held on to the hope that he wouldn’t recognize her. “I’ll leave your meal right here then,” she said softly. “Have a nice evening.”

His tall, solid body blocked her path. God, she was caught between a rock and a hard place. Her eyes skated to his chest.

A very hard, muscle-bound place encased in a white button-down with the sleeves rolled up and the tail untucked. She remembered well every muscular—annoying—inch of him.

She just prayed he wouldn’t recognize her from their last encounter five months ago at a conference in London. Already the heat of embarrassment flamed over her.

Even with her face averted, she didn’t need to look further to refresh her memory of that too handsome face of his. Weathered by the sun, his Brad Pitt–level good looks only increased. His sandy blond hair would have been too shaggy for any other medical professional to carry off. But somehow he simply appeared too immersed in philanthropic deeds to be bothered with anything as mundane as a trip to the barber.

The world thought he was Dr. Hot Perfection but she simply couldn’t condone the way he circumvented rules.

“Ma’am,” he said, ducking his head as if to catch her attention, “is there a problem?”

Just keep calm. There was no way for him to identify her from the back. She would rather brave a few pictures in the press than face this man while she wore a flipping Santa Claus hat.

A broad hand slid into view with cash folded over into a tip. “Merry Christmas.”

If she didn’t take the money, that would appear suspicious. She pinched the edge of the folded bills, doing her best to avoid touching him. She plucked the cash free and made a mental note to donate the tip to charity. “Thank you for your generosity.”

“You’re very welcome.” His smooth bass was too appealing coming from such an obnoxiously perfect man.

Exhaling hard, she angled past him. Almost home free. Her hand closed around the cool brass door handle.

“Dr. Mandara, are you really going so soon?” he asked with unmistakable sarcasm. He’d recognized her. Damn. He was probably smirking, too, the bastard.

He took a step closer, the heat of his breath caressing her cheek. “And here I thought you’d gone to all this trouble to sneak into my room so you could seduce me.”

* * *

Dr. Rowan Boothe waited for his words to sink in, the possibility of sparring with the sexy princess/research scientist already pumping excitement through his veins. He didn’t know what it was about Mariama Mandara that turned him inside out, but he’d given up analyzing the why of it long ago. His attraction to Mari was simply a fact of life now.

Her disdain for him was an equally undeniable fact, and to be honest, it was quite possibly part of her allure.

He grew weary with the whole notion of the world painting him as some kind of saint just because he’d rejected the offer of a lucrative practice in North Carolina and opened a clinic in Africa. These days, he had money to burn after his invention of a computerized medical diagnostics program—a program Mari missed no opportunity to dismiss as faux, shortcut medicine. Funding the clinic hadn’t even put a dent in his portfolio so he didn’t see it as worthy of hoopla. Real philanthropy involved sacrifice. And he wasn’t particularly adept at denying himself things he wanted.

Right now, he wanted Mari.

Although from the look of horror on her face, his half-joking come-on line hadn’t struck gold.

She opened and closed her mouth twice, for once at a loss for words. Fine by him. He was cool with just soaking up the sight of her. He leaned back against the wet bar, taking in her long, elegant lines. Others might miss the fine-boned grace beneath the bulky clothes she wore, but he’d studied her often enough to catch the brush of every subtle curve. He could almost feel her, ached to peel her clothes away and taste every inch of her café-au-lait skin.

Some of the heat must have shown on his face because she snapped out of her shock. “You have got to be joking. You can’t honestly believe I would ever make a move on you, much less one so incredibly blatant.”

Damn, but her indignation was so sexy and yeah, even cute with the incongruity of that Santa hat perched on her head. He couldn’t stop himself from grinning.

She stomped her foot. “Don’t you dare laugh at me.”

He tapped his head lightly. “Nice hat.”

Growling, she flung aside the hat and shrugged out of the hotel jacket. “Believe me, if I’d known you were in here, I wouldn’t have chosen this room to hide out.”

“Hide out?” he said absently, half following her words.

As she pulled her arms free of the jacket to review a rumpled black suit, the tug of her white business shirt against her breasts sent an unwelcome surge of arousal through him. He’d been fighting a damned inconvenient arousal around this woman for more than two years, ever since she’d stepped behind a podium in front of an auditorium full of people and proceeded to shoot holes in his work. She thought his computerized diagnostics tool was too simplistic. She’d accused him of taking the human element out of medicine. His jaw flexed, any urge to smile fading.

If anyone was too impersonal, it was her. And, God, how he ached to rattle her composure, to see her tawny eyes go sleepy with all-consuming passion.

Crap.

He was five seconds away from an obvious erection. He reined himself in and faced the problem at hand—the woman—as a more likely reason for her arrival smoked through his brain. “Is this some sort of professional espionage?”

“What in the hell are you talking about?” She fidgeted with the loose waistband on her tweedy skirt.

Who would have thought tweed would turn him inside out? Yet he found himself fantasizing about pulling those practical clunky shoes off her feet. He would kiss his way up under her skirt, discover the silken inside of her calf...

He cleared his throat and brought his focus up to her heart-shaped face. “Playing dumb does not suit you.” He knew full well she had a genius IQ. “But if that’s the way you want this to roll, then okay. Were you hoping to obtain insider information on the latest upgrade to my computerized diagnostics tool?”

“Not likely.” She smoothed a hand over her swept-back hair. “I never would have pegged you as the conspiracy theorist sort since you’re a man of science. Sort of.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “So you’re not here for information, Mari.” If he’d wanted distance he should have called her Dr. Mandara, but too late to go back. “Then why are you sneaking into my suite?”

Sighing, she crossed her arms over her chest. “Fine. I’ll tell you, but you have to promise not to laugh.”

“Scout’s honor.” He crossed his heart.

“You were a Boy Scout? Figures.”

Before he’d been sent to a military reform school, but he didn’t like to talk about those days and the things he’d done. Things he could never atone for even if he opened free clinics on every continent, every year for the rest of his life. But he kept trying, by saving one life at a time, to make up for the past.

“You were going to tell me how you ended up in my suite.”

She glanced at the door, then sat gingerly on the arm of the leather sofa. “Royal watchers have been trailing me with their phones to take photos and videos for their five seconds of fame. A group of them followed me out the back exit after my last seminar.”

Protective instincts flamed to life inside him. “Doesn’t your father provide you with bodyguards?”

“I choose not to use them,” she said without explanation, her chin tipping regally in a way that shouted the subject wasn’t open for discussion. “My attempt to slip away wasn’t going well. The lady pushing this room-service cart was distracted by a phone call. I saw my chance to go incognito and I took it.”

The thought of her alone out there had him biting back the urge to chew out someone—namely her father. So what if she rejected guards? Her dad should have insisted.

Mari continued, “I know I should probably just grin for the camera and move on, but the images they capture aren’t...professional. I have serious work to do, a reputation to maintain.” She tipped her head back, her mouth pursed tight in frustration for a telling moment before she rambled on with a weary shake of her head. “I didn’t sign on for this.”

Her exhaustion pulled at him, made him want to rest his hands on her drooping shoulders and ease those tense muscles. Except she would likely clobber him with the silver chafing dish on the serving cart. He opted for the surefire way to take her mind off the stress.

Shoving away from the bar, he strode past the cart toward her again. “Poor little rich princess.”

Mari’s cat eyes narrowed. “You’re not very nice.”

“You’re the only one who seems to think so.” He stopped twelve inches shy of touching her.

Slowly, she stood, facing him. “Well, pardon me for not being a member of your fan club.”

“You genuinely didn’t know this was my room?” he asked again, even though he could see the truth in her eyes.

“No. I didn’t.” She shook her head, the heartbeat throbbing faster in her elegant neck. “The cart only had your room number. Not your name.”

“If you’d realized ahead of time that this was my room, my meal—” he scooped up the hotel jacket and Santa hat “—would you have surrendered yourself to the camera-toting brigade out there rather than ask me for help?”

Her lips quivered with the first hint of a smile. “I guess we’ll never know the answer to that, will we?” She tugged at the jacket. “Enjoy your supper.”

He didn’t let go. “There’s plenty of food here. You could join me, hide out for a while longer.”

“Did you just invite me to dinner?” The light of humor in her eyes animated her face until the air damn near crackled between them. “Or are you secretly trying to poison me?”

She nibbled her bottom lip and he could have sworn she swayed toward him. If he hooked a finger in the vee of her shirt and pulled, she would be in his arms.

Instead, he simply reached out and skimmed back the stray lock of sleek black hair curving just under her chin. “Mari, there are a lot of things I would like to do to you, but I can assure you that poisoning you is nowhere on that list.”

Confusion chased across her face, but she wasn’t running from the room or laughing. In fact, he could swear he saw reluctant interest. Enough to make him wonder what might happen if...

A whimper snapped him out of his passion fog.

The sound wasn’t coming from Mari. She looked over his shoulder and he turned toward the sound. The cry swelled louder, into a full-out wail, swelling from across the room.

From under the room-service cart?

He glanced at Mari. “What the hell?”

She shook her head, her hands up. “Don’t look at me.”

He charged across the room, sweeping aside the linen cloth covering the service cart to reveal a squalling infant.


Two (#ua6dbc09c-95e4-5d9c-9465-2418d338e34f)

The infant’s wail echoed in the hotel suite. Shock resounded just as loudly inside of Mari as she stared at the screaming baby in a plastic carrier wedged inside the room-service trolley. No wonder the cart had felt heavier than normal. If only she’d investigated she might have found the baby right away. Her brain had been tapping her with the logic that something was off, and she’d been too caught up in her own selfish fears about a few photos to notice.

To think that poor little one had been under there all this time. So tiny. So defenseless. The child, maybe two or three months old, wore a diaper and a plain white T-shirt, a green blanket tangled around its tiny, kicking feet.

Mari swallowed hard, her brain not making connections as she was too dumbstruck to think. “Oh, my God, is that a baby?”

“It’s not a puppy.” Rowan washed his hands at the wet-bar sink then knelt beside the lower rack holding the infant seat. He visibly went into doctor mode as he checked the squalling tyke over, sliding his hands under and scooping the child up in his large, confident hands. Chubby little mocha-brown arms and legs flailed before the baby settled against Rowan’s chest with a hiccupping sigh.

“What in the world is it doing under there?” She stepped away, clearing a path for him to walk over to the sofa.

“I’m not the one who brought the room service in,” he countered offhandedly, sliding a finger into the baby’s tiny bow mouth. Checking for a cleft palate perhaps?

“Well, I didn’t put the baby there.”

A boy or girl? She couldn’t tell. The wriggling bundle wore no distinguishing pink or blue. There wasn’t even a hair bow in the cap of black curls.

Rowan elbowed aside an animal-print throw pillow and sat on the leather couch, resting the baby on his knees while he continued assessing.

She tucked her hands behind her back. “Is it okay? He or she?”

“Her,” he said, closing the cloth diaper. “She’s a girl, approximately three months old, but that’s just a guess.”

“We should call the authorities. What if whoever abandoned her is still in the building?” Unlikely given how long she’d hung out in here flirting with Rowan. “There was a woman walking away from the cart earlier. I assumed she was just taking a cell phone call, but maybe that was the baby’s mother?”

“Definitely something to investigate. Hopefully there will be security footage of her. You need to think through what you’re going to tell the authorities, review every detail in your mind while it’s fresh.” He sounded more like a detective than a doctor. “Did you see anyone else around the cart before you took it?”

“Are you blaming this on me?”

“Of course not.”

Still, she couldn’t help but feel guilty. “What if this is my fault for taking that cart? Maybe the baby wasn’t abandoned at all. What if some mother was just trying to bring her child to work? She must be frantic looking for her daughter.”

“Or frantic she’s going to be in trouble,” he replied dryly.

“Or he. The parent could be a father.” She reached for the phone on the marble bar. “I really need to ring the front desk now.”

“Before you call, could you pass over her seat? It may hold some clues to her family. Or at least some supplies to take care of her while we settle this.”

“Sure, hold on.”

She eased the battered plastic seat from under the cart, winging a quick prayer of thankfulness that the child hadn’t come to some harm out there alone in the hall. The thought that someone would so recklessly care for a precious life made her grind her teeth in frustration. She set the gray carrier beside Rowan on the sofa, the green blanket trailing off the side.

Finally, she could call for help. Without taking her eyes off Rowan and the baby, she dialed the front desk.

The phone rang four times before someone picked up. “Could you hold, please? Thank you,” a harried-sounding hotel operator said without giving Mari a chance to shout “No!” The line went straight to Christmas carols, “O Holy Night” lulling in her ear.

Sighing, she sagged a hip against the garland-draped wet bar. “They put me on hold.”

Rowan glanced up, his pure blue eyes darkened with an answering frustration. “Whoever decided to schedule a conference at this time of year needs to have his head examined. The hotel was already jam-packed with holiday tourists, now conventioneers, too. Insane.”

“For once, you and I agree on something one hundred percent.” The music on the phone transitioned to “The Little Drummer Boy” as she watched Rowan cradle the infant in a way that made him even more handsome. Unwilling to get distracted by traveling down that mental path again, she shifted to look out the window at the scenic view. Multicolored lights blinked from the sailboats and ferries.

The Christmas spirit was definitely in full swing on the resort island. Back on the mainland, her father’s country included more of a blend of religions than many realized. Christmas wasn’t as elaborate as in the States, but still celebrated. Cape Verde had an especially deep-rooted Christmas tradition, having been originally settled by the Portuguese.

Since moving out on her own, she’d been more than happy to downplay the holiday mayhem personally, but she couldn’t ignore the importance, the message of hope that should come this time of year. That a parent could abandon a child at the holidays seemed somehow especially tragic.

Her arms suddenly ached to scoop up the baby, but she had no experience and heaven forbid she did something wrong. The little girl was clearly in better hands with Rowan.

He cursed softly and she turned back to face him. He held the baby in the crook of his arm while he searched the infant seat with the other.

“What?” she asked, covering the phone’s mouthpiece. “Is something the matter with the baby?”

“No, something’s the matter with the parents. You can stop worrying that some mom or dad brought their baby to work.” He held up a slip of paper, baby cradled in the other arm. “I found this note tucked under the liner in the carrier.”

He held up a piece of hotel stationary.

Mari rushed to sit beside him on the sofa, phone still in hand. “What does it say?”

“The baby’s mother intended for her to be in this cart, in my room.” He passed the note. “Read this.”



Dr. Boothe, you are known for your charity and generosity. Please look over my baby girl, Issa. My husband died in a border battle and I cannot give Issa what she needs. Tell her I love her and will think of her always.



Mari reread the note in disbelief, barely able to process that someone could give away their child so easily, with no guarantees that she would be safe. “Do people dump babies on your doorstep on a regular basis?”

“It’s happened a couple of times at my clinic, but never anything remotely like this.” He held out the baby toward her. “Take Issa. I have some contacts I can reach out to with extra resources. They can look into this while we’re waiting for the damn hotel operator to take you off hold.”

Mari stepped back sharply. “I don’t have much experience with babies. No experience actually, other than kissing them on the forehead in crowds during photo ops.”

“Didn’t you ever babysit in high school?” He cradled the infant in one arm while fishing out his cell phone with his other hand. “Or do princesses not babysit?”

“I skipped secondary education and went straight to college.” As a result, her social skills sucked as much as her fashion sense, but that had never mattered much. Until now. Mari smoothed a hand down her wrinkled, baggy skirt. “Looks to me like you have Issa and your phone well in hand.”

Competently—enticingly so. No wonder he’d been featured in magazines around the globe as one of the world’s most eligible bachelors. Intellectually, she’d understood he was an attractive—albeit irritating—man. But until this moment, she hadn’t comprehended the full impact of his appeal.

Her body flamed to life, her senses homing in on this moment, on him. Rowan. The last man on the planet she should be swept away by or attracted to.

This must be some sort of primal, hormonal thing. Her ticking biological clock was playing tricks on her mind because he held a baby. She could have felt this way about any man.

Right?

God, she hoped so. Because she couldn’t wrap her brain around the notion that she could be this drawn to a man so totally wrong for her.

The music ended on the phone a second before the operator returned. “May I help you?”

Heaven yes, she wanted to shout. She needed Issa safe and settled. She also needed to put space between herself and the increasingly intriguing man in front of her.

She couldn’t get out of this suite soon enough.

“Yes, you can help. There’s been a baby abandoned just outside Suite 5A, the room of Dr. Rowan Boothe.”

* * *

Rowan didn’t foresee a speedy conclusion to the baby mystery. Not tonight, anyway. The kind of person who threw away their child and trusted her to a man based solely on his professional reputation was probably long gone by now.

Walking the floor with the infant, he patted her back for a burp after the bottle she’d downed. Mari was reading a formula can, her forehead furrowed, her shirt half-untucked. Fresh baby supplies had been sent up by the hotel’s concierge since Rowan didn’t trust anything in the diaper bag.

There were no reports from hotel security or authorities of a missing child that matched this baby’s description. So far security hadn’t found any helpful footage, just images of a woman’s back as she walked away from the cart as Mari stepped up to take it. Mari had called the police next, but they hadn’t seemed to be in any hurry since no one’s life was in danger and even the fact that a princess was involved didn’t have them moving faster. Delays like this only made it more probable the press would grab hold of information about the situation. He needed to keep this under control. His connections could help him with that, but they couldn’t fix the entire system here.

Eventually, the police would make their way over with someone from child services. Thoughts of this baby getting lost in an overburdened, underfunded network tore at him. On a realistic level, he understood he couldn’t save everyone who crossed his path, but something about this vulnerable child abandoned at Christmas tore at his heart all the more.

Had to be because the kid was a baby, his weak spot.

He shrugged off distracting thoughts of how badly he’d screwed up as a teenager and focused on the present. Issa burped, then cooed. But Rowan wasn’t fooled into thinking she was full. As fast as the kid had downed that first small bottle, he suspected she still needed more. “Issa’s ready for the extra couple of ounces if you’re ready.”

Mari shook the measured powder and distilled water together, her pretty face still stressed. “I think I have it right. But maybe you should double-check.”

“Seriously, I’m certain you can handle a two-to-one mixture.” He grinned at seeing her flustered for the first time ever. Did she have any idea how cute she looked? Not that she would be happy with the “cute” label. “Just think of it as a lab experiment.”

She swiped a wrist over the beads of sweat on her forehead, a simple watch sliding down her slim arm. “If I got the proportions wrong—”

“You didn’t.” He held out a hand for the fresh bottle. “Trust me.”

Reluctantly, she passed it over. “She just looks so fragile.”

“Actually, she appears healthy, well fed and clean.” Her mother may have dumped her off, but someone had taken good care of the baby before that. Was the woman already regretting her decision? God, he hoped so. There were already far too few homes for orphans here. “There are no signs she’s been mistreated.”

“She seems cuddly,” Mari said with a wistful smile.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like to hold her while I make a call?”

She shook her head quickly, tucking a stray strand of hair back into the loose knot at her neck. “Your special contacts?”

He almost smiled at her weak attempt to distract him from passing over the baby. And he definitely wasn’t in a position to share much of anything about his unorthodox contacts with her. “It would be easier if I didn’t have to juggle the kid and the bottle while I talk.”

“Okay, if you’re sure I won’t break her.” She chewed her bottom lip. “But let me sit down first.”

Seeing Mari unsure of herself was strange, to say the least. She always commanded the room with her confidence and knowledge, even when he didn’t agree with her conclusions. There was something vulnerable, approachable even, about her now.

He set the baby into her arms, catching a whiff of Mari’s perfume, something flowery and surprisingly whimsical for such a practical woman. “Just be careful to support her head and hold the bottle up enough that she isn’t drinking air.”

Mari eyed the bottle skeptically before popping it into Issa’s mouth. “Someone really should invent a more precise way to do this. There’s too much room for human error.”

“But babies like the human touch. Notice how she’s pressing her ear against your heart?” Still leaning in, he could see Mari’s pulse throbbing in her neck. The steady throb made him burn to kiss her right there, to taste her, inhale her scent. “That heartbeat is a constant in a baby’s life in utero. They find comfort in it after birth, as well.”

Her deep golden gaze held his and he could swear something, an awareness, flashed in her eyes as they played out this little family tableau.

“Um, Rowan—” her voice came out a hint breathier than normal “—make your call, please.”

Yeah, probably a good idea to retreat and regroup while he figured out what to do about the baby—and about having Mari show up unexpectedly in his suite.

He stepped into his bedroom and opened the French door onto the balcony. The night air was that perfect temperature—not too hot or cold. Decembers in Cape Verde usually maxed out at between seventy-five and eighty degrees Fahrenheit. A hint of salt clung to the air and on a normal night he would find sitting out here with a drink the closest thing to a vacation he’d had in... He’d lost count of the years.

But tonight he had other things on his mind.

Fishing out his phone, he leaned on the balcony rail so he could still see Mari through the picture window in the sitting area. His gaze roved over her lithe body, which was almost completely hidden under her ill-fitting suit. At least she wouldn’t be able to hear him. His contacts were out of the normal scale and the fewer people who knew about them, the better. Those ties traced back far, all the way to high school.

After he’d derailed his life in a drunk-driving accident as a teen, he’d landed in a military reform school with a bunch of screwups like himself. He’d formed lifetime friendships there with the group that had dubbed themselves the Alpha Brotherhood. Years later after college graduation, they’d all been stunned to learn their headmaster had connections with Interpol. He’d recruited a handful of them as freelance agents. Their troubled pasts—and large bank accounts—gave them a cover story to move freely in powerful and sometimes seedy circles.

Rowan was only tapped for missions maybe once a year, but it felt damn good to help clean up underworld crime. He saw the fallout too often in the battles between warlords that erupted in regions neighboring his clinic.

The phone stopped ringing and a familiar voice said, “Speak to me, Boothe.”

“Colonel, I need your help.”

The Colonel laughed softly. “Tell me something new. Which one of your patients is in trouble? Or is it another cause you’ve taken on? Or—”

“Sir, it’s a baby.”

The sound of a chair squeaking echoed over the phone lines and Rowan could envision his old headmaster sitting up straighter, his full attention on the moment. “You have a baby?”

“Not my baby. A baby.” He didn’t expect to ever have children. His life was too consumed with his work, his mission. It wouldn’t be fair to a child to have to compete with third-world problems for his father’s attention. Still, Rowan’s eyes locked in on Mari holding Issa so fiercely, as if still afraid she might drop her. “Someone abandoned an infant in my suite along with a note asking me to care for her.”

“A little girl. I always wanted a little girl.” The nostalgia in the Colonel’s voice was at odds with the stern exterior he presented to the world. Even his clothes said stark long after he’d stopped wearing a uniform. These days, in his Interpol life, Salvatore wore nothing but gray suits with a red tie. “But back to your problem at hand. What do the authorities say?”

“No one has reported a child missing to the hotel security or to local authorities. Surveillance footage hasn’t shown anything, but there are reports of a woman walking away from the cart where the baby was abandoned. The police are dragging their feet on showing up here to investigate further. So I need to get ahead of the curve here.”

“In what way?”

“You and I both know the child welfare system here is overburdened to the crumbling point.” Rowan found a plan forming in his mind, a crazy plan, but one that felt somehow right. Hell, there wasn’t any option that sat completely right with his conscience. “I want to have temporary custody of the child while the authorities look into finding the mother or placing her in a home.”

He might not be the best parental candidate for the baby, but he was a helluva lot better than an overflowing orphanage. If he had help...

His gaze zeroed in on the endearing tableau in his hotel sitting room. The plan came into sharper focus as he thought of spending more time with Mari.

Yet as soon as he considered the idea, obstacles piled in his path. How would he sell her on such an unconventional solution? She freaked out over feeding the kid a bottle.

“Excuse me for asking the obvious, Boothe, but how in the hell do you intend to play papa and save the world at the same time?”

“It’s only temporary.” He definitely couldn’t see himself doing the family gig long-term. Even thinking of growing up with his own family sent his stomach roiling. Mari made it clear her work consumed her, as well. So a temporary arrangement could suit them both well. “And I’ll have help...from someone.”

“Ah, now I understand.”

“How do you understand from a continent away?” Rowan hated to think he was that transparent.

“After my wife wised up and left me, when I had our son for the weekend, I always had trouble matching up outfits for him to wear. So she would send everything paired up for me.” He paused, the sound of clinking ice carrying over the phone line.

Where was Salvatore going with this story? Rowan wasn’t sure, but he’d learned long ago that the man had more wisdom in one thumb that most people had in their entire brain. God knows, he’d saved and redirected dozens of misfit teenagers at the military high school.

Salvatore continued, “This one time, my son flipped his suitcase and mixed his clothes up. I did the best I could, but apparently, green plaid shorts, an orange striped shirt and cowboy boots don’t match.”

“You don’t say.” The image of Salvatore in his uniform or one of those generic suits of his, walking beside a mismatched kid, made Rowan grin. Salvatore didn’t offer personal insights often. This was a golden moment and Rowan just let him keep talking.

“Sure, I knew the outfit didn’t match, although I didn’t know how to fix it. In the end, I learned a valuable lesson. When you’re in the grocery store with the kid, that outfit shouts ‘single dad’ to a bevy of interested women.”

“You used your son to pick up women?”

“Not intentionally. But that’s what happened. Sounds to me like you may be partaking of the same strategy with this ‘someone’ who’s helping you.”

Busted. Although he felt compelled to defend himself. “I would be asking for help with the kid even if Mari wasn’t here.”

“Mariama Mandara?” Salvatore’s stunned voice reverberated. “You have a thing for a local princess?”

Funny how Rowan sometimes forgot about the princess part. He thought of her as a research scientist. A professional colleague—and sometimes adversary. But most of all, he thought of her as a desirable woman, someone he suddenly didn’t feel comfortable discussing with Salvatore. “Could we get back on topic here? Can you help me investigate the baby’s parents or not?”

“Of course I can handle that.” The Colonel’s tone returned to all business, story time over.

“Thank you, sir. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.” Regardless of his attraction to Mari, Rowan couldn’t lose sight of the fact that a defenseless child’s future hung in the balance here.

“Just send me photos, fingerprints, footprints and any other data you’ve picked up.”

“Roger. I know the drill.”

“And good luck with the princess,” Salvatore said, chuckling softly before he hung up.

Rowan drew in a deep breath of salty sea air before returning to the suite. He hated being confined. He missed his clinic, the wide-open spaces around it and the people he helped in a tangible way rather than by giving speeches.

Except once he returned home in a week to prepare for Christmas, his window of time with Mari would be done. Back to business.

He walked across the balcony and entered the door by the picture window, stepping into the sitting room. Mari didn’t look up, her focus totally on the baby.

Seeing Mari in an unguarded moment was rare. The woman kept major walls up, giving off a prickly air. Right now, she sat on the sofa with her arms cradling the baby—even her body seemed to wrap inward protectively around this child. Mari might think she knew nothing about children, but her instincts were good. He’d watched enough new moms in his career to identify the ones who would have trouble versus the ones who sensed the kid’s needs.

The tableau had a Madonna-and-child air. Maybe it was just the holidays messing with his head. If he wanted his half-baked plan to work, he needed to keep his head on straight and figure out how to get her on board with helping him.

“How’s Issa doing?”

Mari looked up quickly, as if startled. She held up the empty bottle. “All done with her feeding.”

“I’m surprised you’re still sticking around. Your fans must have given up by now. The coast will be clear back to your room.”

Saying that, he realized he should have mentioned those overzealous royal watchers to Salvatore. Perhaps some private security might be in order. There was a time he didn’t have the funds for things like that, back in the days when he was buried in the debt of school loans, before he’d gone into partnership with a computer-whiz classmate of his.

“Mari? Are you going back to your room?” he repeated.

“I still feel responsible for her.” Mari smoothed a finger along the baby’s chubby cheek. “And the police will want to speak to me. If I’m here, it will move things along faster.”

“You do realize the odds are low that her parents will be found tonight,” he said, laying the groundwork for getting her to stick around.

“Of course, I understand.” She thumbed aside a hint of milk in the corner of the infant’s mouth. “That doesn’t stop me from hoping she’ll have good news soon.”

“You sure seem like a natural with her. Earlier, you said you never babysat.”

She shrugged self-consciously. “I was always busy studying.”

“There were no children in your world at all?” He sat beside her, drawing in the scent of her flowery perfume. Curiosity consumed him, a desperate need to know exactly what flower she smelled like, what she preferred.

“My mother and father don’t have siblings. I’m the only child of only children.”

This was the closest to a real conversation they’d ever exchanged, talk that didn’t involve work or bickering. He couldn’t make a move on her, not with the baby right here in the room. But he could feel her relaxing around him. He wanted more of that, more of her, this exciting woman who kept him on his toes.

What would she do if he casually stretched his arm along the back of the sofa? Her eyes held his and instead of moving, he stayed stock-still, looking back at her, unwilling to risk breaking the connection—

The phone jangled harshly across the room.

Mari jolted. The baby squawked.

And Rowan smiled. This particular moment to get closer to Mari may have ended. But make no mistake, he wasn’t giving up. He finally had a chance to explore the tenacious desire that had been dogging him since he’d first seen her.

Anticipation ramped through him at the thought of persuading her to see this connection through to its natural—and satisfying—conclusion.


Three (#ua6dbc09c-95e4-5d9c-9465-2418d338e34f)

Pacing in front of the sitting room window, Mari cradled the baby against her shoulder as Rowan talked with the local police. Sure, the infant had seemed three months old when she’d looked at her, but holding her? Little Issa felt younger, more fragile.

Helpless.

So much about this evening didn’t add up. The child had been abandoned yet she seemed well cared for. Beyond her chubby arms and legs, she had neatly trimmed fingernails and toenails. Her clothes were simple, but clean. She smelled freshly bathed. Could she have been kidnapped as revenge on someone? Growing up, Mari had been constantly warned of the dangers of people who would try to hurt her to get back at her father, as well as people would use her to get close to her father. Trusting anyone had been all but impossible.

She shook off the paranoid thoughts and focused on the little life in her arms. Mari stroked the baby’s impossibly soft cheeks, tapped the dimple in her chin. Did she look like her mother or father? Was she missed? Round chocolate-brown eyes blinked up at her trustingly.

Her heart squeezed tight in her chest in a totally illogical way. She’d only just met the child, for heaven’s sake, and she ached to press a kiss to her forehead.

Mari glanced to the side to see if Rowan had observed her weak moment, but he was in the middle of finishing up his phone conversation with the police.

Did he practice looking so hot? Even in jeans, he owned the room. Her eyes were drawn to the breadth of his shoulders, the flex of muscles in his legs as he shuffled from foot to foot, his loafers expensive but well worn. He exuded power and wealth without waste or conspicuous consumption. How could he be such a good man and so annoying at the same time?

Rowan hung up the phone and turned, catching her studying him. He cocked an eyebrow. She forced herself to stare back innocently, her chin tipping even as her body tingled with awareness.

“What did the police say?” she asked casually, swaying from side to side in a way she’d found the baby liked.

“They’re just arriving outside the hotel.” He closed the three feet between them. “They’re on their way up to take her.”

“That’s it?” Her arms tightened around Issa. “She’ll be gone minutes from now? Did they say where they will be sending her? I have connections of my own. Maybe I can help.”

His blue eyes were compassionate, weary. “You and I both already know what will happen to her. She will be sent to a local orphanage while the police use their limited resources to look into her past, along with all the other cases and other abandoned kids they have in their stacks of files to investigate. Tough to hear, I realize. But that’s how it is. We do what we can, when we can.”

“I understand.” That didn’t stop the frustration or the need to change things for this innocent child in her arms and all the children living in poverty in her country.

He scooped the baby from her before she could protest. “But that’s not how it has to be today. We can do something this time.”

“What do you mean?” She crossed her empty arms over her chest, hope niggling at her that Rowan had a reasonable solution.

“We only have a few more minutes before they arrive so I need to make this quick.” He hefted the baby onto his shoulder and rubbed her back in small, hypnotic circles. “I think we should offer to watch Issa.”

Thank heaven he was holding the child because he’d stunned Mari numb. She watched his hand smoothing along the baby’s back and tried to gather her thoughts. “Um, what did you say?”

“We’re both clearly qualified and capable adults.” His voice reverberated in soothing waves. “It would be in the best interest of the child, a great Christmas message of goodwill, for us to keep her.”

Keep her?

Mari’s legs folded out from under her and she sank to the edge of the leather sofa. She couldn’t have heard him right. She’d let her attraction to him distract her. “What did you say?”

He sat beside her, his thigh pressing warm and solid against hers. “We can have temporary custody of her, just for a couple of weeks to give the police a chance to find out if she has biological relatives able to care for her.”

“Have you lost your mind?” Or maybe she had lost hers because she was actually tempted by his crazy plan.

“Not that I know of.”

She pressed the back of her wrist to her forehead, stunned that he was serious. Concerns cycled through her head about work and the hoopla of a media circus. “This is a big decision for both of us, something that should be thought over carefully.”

“In medicine I have to think fast. I don’t always have the luxury of a slow and steady scientific exam,” he said, with a wry twist to his lips. “Years of going with my gut have honed my instincts, and my instincts say this is the right thing to do.”

Her mind settled on his words and while she never would have gotten to that point on her own, the thought of this baby staying with him rather than in some institution was appealing. “So you’ll be her temporary guardian?”

“Our case is more powerful if we offer to do this as a partnership. Both of us.” His deep bass and logic drew her in. “Think of the positive PR you’ll receive. Your father’s press corps will be all over this philanthropic act of yours, which should take some pressure off you at the holidays,” he offered, so logically she could almost believe him.

“It isn’t as simple as that. The press can twist things, rumors will start about both of us.” What if they thought it was her baby? She squeezed her eyes closed and bolted off the sofa. “I need more time.”

The buzzer rang at the door. Her heart went into her throat.

She heard Rowan follow her. Felt the heat of him at her back. Felt the urgency.

“Issa doesn’t have time, Mari. You need to decide if you’ll do this. Decide to commit now.”

She turned sharply to find him standing so close the three of them made a little family circle. “But you could take her on your own—”

“Maybe the authorities would accept that. But maybe not. We should lead with our strongest case. For her.” He cradled the baby’s head. “We didn’t ask for this, but we’re here.” Fine lines fanned from the corners of his eyes, attesting to years of worry and long hours in the sun. “We may disagree on a lot of things, but we’re people who help.”

“You’re guilt-tripping me,” she accused in the small space between them, her words crackling like small snaps of electricity. And the guilt was working. Her concerns about gossip felt absolutely pathetic in light of the plight of this baby.

As much as she gave Rowan hell about his computer inventions, she knew all about his humanitarian work at the charity clinic. He devoted his life to helping others. He had good qualities underneath that arrogant charm.

“Well, people like us who help in high-stakes situations learn to use whatever means are at our disposal.” He half smiled, creasing the lines deeper. “Is it working?”

Those lines from worry and work were real. She might disapprove of his methods, but she couldn’t question his motivations, his altruistic spirit. Seeing him deftly rock the baby to sleep ended any argument. For this one time at least, she was on his team.

For Issa.

“Open the door and you’ll find out.”

* * *

Three hours later, Mari watched Rowan close the hotel door after the police. Stacks of paperwork rested on the table, making it official. She and Rowan had temporary custody of the baby while the police investigated further and tried to track down the employee who’d walked away from the cart.

Issa slept in her infant seat, secure for now.

Mari sighed in relief, slumping in exhaustion back onto the sofa. She’d done it. She’d played the princess card and all but demanded the police obey her “request” to care for the baby until Christmas—less than two weeks away—or until more information could be found about Issa’s parents. She’d agreed to care for the child with Rowan Boothe, a doctor who’d saved countless young lives. The police had seemed relieved to have the problem resolved so easily. They’d taken photos of the baby and prints. They would look into the matter, but their faces said they didn’t hold out much hope of finding answers.

Maybe she should hire a private detective to look deeper than the police. Except it was almost midnight now. Any other plans would have to wait until morning.

Rowan rested a hand on Mari’s shoulder. “Would you get my medical bag so I can do a more thorough checkup? It’s in the bedroom by my shaving kit. I’d like to listen to her heart.”

He squeezed her shoulder once, deliciously so, until her mouth dried right up from that simple touch.

“Medical bag.” She shot to her feet. “Right, of course.”

She was too tired and too unsettled to fight off the sensual allure of him right now. She stepped into Rowan’s bedroom, her eyes drawn to the hints of him everywhere. A suit was draped over the back of a rattan rocker by sliding doors that led out to a balcony. She didn’t consider herself a romantic by any stretch but the thought of sitting out there under the stars with someone...

God, what was the matter with her? This man had driven her bat crazy for years. Now she was daydreaming about an under-the-stars make-out session that would lead back into the bedroom. His bedroom.

Her eyes skated to the sprawling four-poster draped with gauzy netting, a dangerous place to look with his provocative glances still steaming up her memories. An e-reader rested on the bedside table, his computer laptop tucked underneath. Her mind filled with images of him sprawled in that massive bed—working, reading—details about a man she’d done her best to avoid. She pulled her eyes away.

The bathroom was only a few feet away. She charged across the plush carpet, pushing the door wide. The scent of him was stronger in here, and she couldn’t resist breathing in the soapy aroma clinging to the air—patchouli, perhaps. She swallowed hard as goose bumps of awareness rose on her skin, her senses on overload.

A whimpering baby cry from the main room reminded her of her mission here. She shook off frivolous thoughts and snagged the medical bag from the marble vanity. She wrapped her hands around the well-worn leather with his name on a scratched brass plate. The dichotomy of a man this wealthy carrying such a battered bag added layers to her previously clear-cut image of him.

Clutching the bag to her stomach, she returned to the sitting room. Rowan set aside a bottle and settled the baby girl against his shoulder, his broad palm patting her back.

How exactly were they going to work this baby bargain? She had absolutely no idea.

For the first time in her life, she’d done something completely irrational. The notion that Rowan Boothe had that much power over her behavior rattled her to her toes.

She really was losing it. She needed to finish this day, get some sleep and find some clarity.

From this point forward, she would keep a firmer grip on herself. And that meant no more drooling over the sexy doc, and definitely no more sniffing his tempting aftershave.

* * *

Rowan tapped through the images on his laptop, reviewing the file on the baby, including the note he’d scanned in before passing it over to the police. He’d sent a copy of everything to Colonel Salvatore. Even though it was too early to expect results, he still hoped for some news, for the child’s sake.

Meanwhile, though, he’d accomplished a freaking miracle in buying himself time with Mari. A week or so at the most, likely more, but possibly less since her staying rested solely on the child. If relatives were found quickly, she’d be headed home. He didn’t doubt his decision, even if part of his motivation was selfish. This baby provided the perfect opportunity to spend more time with Mari, to learn more about her and figure out what made her tick. Then, hopefully, she would no longer be a thorn in his side—or a pain in his libido.

He tapped the screen back to the scanned image of the note that had been left with the baby.



Dr. Boothe, you are known for your charity and generosity. Please look over my baby girl, Issa. My husband died in a border battle and I cannot give Issa what she needs. Tell her I love her and will think of her always.



His ears tuned in to the sound of Mari walking toward him, then the floral scent of her wrapped around him. She stood behind him without speaking and he realized she was reading over his shoulder, taking in the note.

“Loves her?” Mari sighed heavily. “The woman abandoned her to a stranger based on that person’s reputation in the press.”

“I take it your heart isn’t tugged.” He closed the laptop and turned to face her.

“My heart is broken for this child—” she waved toward the sleeping infant in the baby seat “—and what’s in store for her if we don’t find answers, along with a truly loving and responsible family.”

“I’m hopeful that my contacts will have some information sooner than the police.” A reminder that he needed to make the most of his time with Mari. What if Salvatore called with concrete news tomorrow? He looked over at Mari, imagining being with her, drawing her into his bedroom, so close to where they were now. “Let’s talk about how we’ll look after the baby here during the conference.”

“Now?” She jolted in surprise. “It’s past midnight.”

“There are things to take care of, like ordering more baby gear, meeting with the hotel’s babysitting service.” He ticked off each point on his fingers. “Just trying to fill in the details on our plan.”

“You actually want to plan?” Her kissable lips twitched with a smile.

“No need to be insulting,” he bantered right back, enjoying the way she never treated him like some freaking saint just because of where he chose to work. He wasn’t the good guy the press painted him to be just because he’d reformed. The past didn’t simply go away. He still had debts that could never be made right.

“I’m being careful—finally. Like I should have been earlier.” Mari fidgeted with the hem of her untucked shirt, weariness straining her face, dark circles under her eyes. “She’s a child. A human being. We can’t just fly by the seat of our pants.”

He wanted to haul Mari into his arms and let her sleep against his chest, tell her she didn’t have to be so serious, she didn’t have to take the weight of the world on her shoulders. She could share the load with him.

Instead, he dragged a chair from the tiny teak table by the window and gestured for her to sit, to rest. “I’m not exactly without the means or ability to care for a child. It’s only for a short time until we figure out more about her past so we don’t have to fly by the seat of our pants.” He dragged over a chair for himself as well and sat across from her.

“How is it so easy for you to disregard the rules?” She slumped back.

“You’re free to go if you wish.”

She shook her head. “I brought her in here. She’s my responsibility.”

Ah, so she wasn’t in a rush to run out the door. “Do you intend to personally watch over her while details are sorted out?”

“I can hire someone.”

“Ah, that’s right. You’re a princess with endless resources,” he teased, taking her hands in his.

She pulled back. “Are you calling me spoiled?”

He squeezed her fingers, holding on, liking the feel of her hands in his. “I would never dare insult you, Princess. You should know that well enough from the provocative things I said to you five minutes ago.”

“Oh. Okay.” She nibbled on her bottom lip, surprise flickering through her eyes.

“First things first.” He thumbed the inside of her wrists.

“Your plan?” Her breathing seemed to hitch.

“We pretend to be dating and since we’re dating, and we’d be spending this holiday time together anyway, we decided to help with the child. How does that work for a plan?”

“What?” She gasped in surprise. “Do you really think people are going to believe we went from professional adversaries to lovers in a heartbeat?”

He saw her pulse throb faster, ramping up his in response.

“Lovers, huh? I like the sound of that.”

“You said—”

“I said dating.” He squeezed her hands again. “But I like your plan better.”

“This isn’t a plan.” She pulled free, inching her chair back. “It’s insanity.”

“A plan that will work. People will believe it. More than that, they will eat it up. Everyone will want to hear more about the aloof princess finding romance and playing Good Samaritan at Christmastime. If they have an actual human interest piece to write about you it will distract them from digging around to create a story.”

Her eyes went wide with panic, but she stayed in her seat. She wasn’t running. Yet. He’d pushed as far as he could for tonight. Tomorrow would offer up a whole new day for making his case.

He shoved to his feet. “Time for bed.”

“Oh, um,” she squeaked, standing, as well. “Bed?”

He could see in her eyes that she’d envisioned them sharing a bed before this moment. He didn’t doubt for a second what he saw and it gave him a surge of victory. Definitely best to bide his time and wait for a moment when she wasn’t skittish. A time when she would be all in, as fully committed as he was to exploring this crazy attraction.

“Yes, Mari, bed. I’ll watch the baby tonight and if you’re comfortable, we can alternate the night shift.”

She blinked in surprise. “Right. The night schedule. Are you sure you can handle a baby at night and still participate in the conference?”

“I’m a doctor. I’ve pulled far longer shifts with no sleep in the hospital. I’ll be fine.”

“Of course. Then I’ll call the front desk to move me to a larger suite so I’ll have enough space for the baby and the daytime sitter.”

“No need to do that. This suite is plenty large enough for all of us.”

Her jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

“All of us,” he said calmly, holding her with his eyes as fully as he’d held her hand, gauging her every blink. Needing to win her over. “It makes sense if we’re going to watch the baby, we should do it together for efficiency. The concierge already sent someone to pack your things.”

Her chest rose faster and faster, the gentle curves of her breasts pressing against the wrinkled silk of her blouse. “You’ve actually made quite a few plans.”

“Sometimes flying by the seat of your pants works quite well.” Otherwise he never would have had this chance to win her over. “A bellhop will be delivering your luggage shortly along with more baby gear that I ordered.”

“Here? The two—three—of us? In one suite?” she asked, although he noticed she didn’t say no.

Victory was so close.

“There’s plenty of space for the baby. You can have your own room. Unless you want to sleep in mine.” He grinned. “You have to know I wouldn’t object.”


Four (#ua6dbc09c-95e4-5d9c-9465-2418d338e34f)

Buttoning up her navy blue power suit the next morning, Mari couldn’t believe she’d actually spent the night in Rowan Boothe’s hotel suite. Not his room, but a mere wall away. He’d cared for the baby until morning as he’d promised. A good thing, since she needed to learn a lot more before she trusted herself to care for Issa.

She tucked pins into her swept-back hair, but the mirror showed her to be the same slightly rumpled academic she’d always been. While she wasn’t a total innocent when it came to men, she wasn’t the wild and reckless type who agreed to spend the night in the same suite as a guy she’d never actually dated. She’d expected to toss and turn all night after the confusing turn of events. She couldn’t believe she’d agreed.

Yet in spite of all her doubts, she’d slept better than anytime she could remember. Perhaps because the odds of anyone finding her here were next to nil. Her longtime professional feud with him was well-known, and they hadn’t yet gone public with this strange idea of joint custody of an abandoned baby. The hotel staff or someone on the police force would likely leak juicy tidbits about the royal family to the press, but it would all be gossip and conjecture until she and Rowan made their official statement verifying the situation.

Soon enough the world would know. Eventually the cameras would start snapping. Her gut clenched at the thought of all those stalkers and the press feeding on the tiniest of details, the least scrap of her life. What if they fed on the innocence of the baby?

Or what if they picked up on the attraction between her and Rowan?

There was still time to back out, write it all off as simple gossip. The urge was strong to put back on that Christmas hat and slip away, to hide in her lab, far, far from the stress of being on show and always falling short. She craved the peace of her laboratory and cubbyhole office, where she truly reigned supreme. Here, in Rowan’s suite, she felt so off-kilter, so out of control.

A coo from the other room reminded her she needed to hurry. She stepped away from the mirror and slid her feet into her low, blue pumps. She pulled open her bedroom door, then sagged to rest against the doorjamb. The sight of the little one in a ruffled pink sleeper, resting against Rowan’s shoulder, looked like something straight off a greeting card. So perfect.

Except that perfection was an illusion.

Even though Rowan had the baby well in hand, the child was helpless outside their protection. Issa had no one to fight for her, not really, not if Mari and Rowan gave up on her. Even if Mari left and Rowan stayed, he couldn’t offer the baby everything Mari could. Her fame—that fame she so resented—could be Issa’s salvation.

The baby would get an exposure the police never could have provided. In these days of DNA testing, it wasn’t as if fake relatives could step forward to claim a precious infant. So Mari wasn’t going anywhere, except to give her presentation at the medical conference, then she’d take the baby for a walk with Rowan.

Looking around the suite strewn with baby paraphernalia, anyone would believe they were truly guardians of the child. Rowan had ordered a veritable nursery set up with top-of-the-line gear. A portable bassinet rested in the corner of the main room, a monitor perched beside it. He’d ordered a swing, a car seat, plus enough clothes, food and diapers for three babies for a month.

He knew what an infant needed, or at least he knew who to call.

Hopefully that call had included a sitter since he was dressed for work as well, in a black Savile Row suit with a Christmas-red tie. God, he was handsome, with his blond hair damp and combed back, his broad hand patting the baby’s back. His face wore a perpetual five-o’clock shadow, just enough to be nighttime sexy without sliding over into scruffy.

He filled out the expensive suit with ease. Was there any realm that made this man uncomfortable? He’d taken care of the baby through the night and still looked totally put together.

His eyes searched hers and she shivered, wondering what he saw as he stood there holding Issa so easily. The man was a multitasker. He was also someone with an uncanny knack for getting into a person’s mind. He’d found her vulnerable spot in one evening. After all of her tense and bicontinental Christmases, she simply couldn’t bear for this child to spend the holidays confused and scared while the system figured out what to do with her—and the other thousands of orphans in their care.

She couldn’t replace the child’s mother, but she could make sure the child was held, cared for, secure. To do that, she needed to keep her mind off the charismatic man a few feet away.

He looked over at her as if he’d known she was there the whole time. “Good morning. Coffee’s ready along with a tray of pastries.”

And some sweet, sticky bouili dipping sauce.

Her mouth watered for the food almost as much as for the man. She walked to the granite countertop and poured herself a mug of coffee from the silver carafe. She inhaled the rich java fragrance steaming up from the dark roast with hints of fruity overtones. “Did she sleep well?”

“Well enough, just as I would expect from a baby who’s experienced so much change,” he said, tucking the baby into a swing with expert hands. “The hotel’s sending up a sitter for the day. I verified her references and qualifications. They seem solid, so we should be covered through our lecture presentations. Tonight we can take Issa out for dinner and a stroll incognito, kill time while we let the cops finish their initial investigation. If they haven’t found out anything by tomorrow, we can go public.”

Dinner out? Revealing their plan to the world? Her heart pounded with nerves, but it was too late to go back now. The world would already be buzzing with leaked news. Best to make things official on their own terms.

If Issa’s family wasn’t found by tomorrow, she would have to call her parents and let them know about her strange partnership with Rowan. First, she had to decide how she wanted to spin it so her parents didn’t jump to the wrong conclusions—or try to interfere. This needed to be a good thing for the baby, not just about positive press. She would play it by ear today and call them tonight once she had a firmer idea of what she’d gotten herself into.

Maybe Issa would be back with relatives before supper. A good thing, right?

Rowan started the baby swing in motion. The click-click-click mingled with a low nursery tune.

Mari cleared her throat. “I’ll check on Issa during lunch and make sure all’s going well with the sitter.”

“That’s a good idea. Thank you.” He cradled a cup in strong hands that could so easily crush the fine china.

She shrugged dismissively. It was no hardship to skip the luncheon. She disliked the idle table chitchat at these sorts of functions anyway. “No big sacrifice. Nobody likes conference lunch food.”

Laughing softly, he eyed her over his cup of coffee. “I appreciate your working with me on this.”

“You didn’t leave me much choice, Dr. Guilt Trip.”

His smile creased dimples into his face. “Who’d have thought you’d have a sense of humor?”

“That’s not nice.” She traced the rim of her cup.

“Neither is saying I coerced you.” He tapped the tip of her scrunched nose. “People always have a choice.”

Of course he was right. She could always walk, but thinking overlong about her compulsion to stay made her edgy. She sat at the table, the morning sun glistening off the ocean waters outside. “Of course I’m doing this of my own free will, for Issa’s sake. It has absolutely nothing to do with you.”

“Hello? I thought we weren’t going to play games.”

She avoided his eyes and sipped her steaming java. “What do you mean, games?”

“Fine. I’ll spell it out.” He set down his cup on the table and sat beside her, their knees almost touching. “You have made it your life’s mission to tear down my research and to keep me at arm’s length. Yet you chose to stay here, for the baby, but you and I both know there’s more to it than that. There’s a chemistry between us, sparks.”

“Those sparks—” she proceeded warily “—are just a part of our disagreements.”

“Disagreements? You’ve publically denounced my work. That’s a little more than a disagreement.”

Of course he wouldn’t forget that. “See, sparks. Just like I said.”

His eyes narrowed. If only he could understand her point. She only wanted to get past his impulsive, pigheaded mindset and improve his programs.

“Mari, you’re damn good at diverting from the topic.”

“I’m right on point,” she said primly. “This is about our work and you refused to consider that I see things from another angle. You’ve made it your life’s mission to ignore any pertinent input I might have for your technological inventions. I am a scientist.”

He scraped a hand over his drying hair. “Then why are you so against my computer program?”

“I thought we were talking about what’s best for Issa.” She glanced at the baby girl still snoozing in the swing with the lullaby playing.

“Princess, you are making my head spin.” He sagged back. “We’re here for Issa, but that doesn’t mean we can’t talk about other things, so quit changing the subject every three seconds. In the interest of getting along better during these next couple of weeks, let’s discuss your public disdain for my life’s work.”

Was he serious? Did he really want to hash that out now? He certainly looked serious, drinking his coffee and downing bites of breakfast. Maybe he was one of those people who wanted to make peace at the holidays in spite of bickering all year round. She knew plenty about that. Which should have taught her well. Problems couldn’t be avoided or the resolutions delayed. Best to confront them when given the opening.

“Your program is just too much of a snapshot of a diagnosis, too much of a quick fix. It’s like fast-food medicine. It doesn’t take into account enough variables.” Now she waited for the explosion.

He inhaled a deep breath and tipped back in his chair before answering. “I can see your point. To a degree, I agree. I would welcome the chance to give every patient the hands-on medical treatment of the best clinic in the world. But I’m treating the masses with a skeleton team of medical professionals. That computer program helps us triage in half the time.”

“What about people who use your program to cut corners?”

Rowan frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You can’t truly believe the world is as altruistic as you? What about the clinics using that program to funnel more patients through just to make more money?”

His chair legs hit the floor, his jaw tightening. “I can’t be the conscience for the world,” he said in an even tone although a tic had started in the corner of his azure-blue eye. “I can only deal with the problems in front of me. I’m working my tail off to come up with help. Would I prefer more doctors and nurses, PAs and midwives, human hands? Hell, yes. But I make do with what I have and I do what I can so those of us who are here can be as efficient as possible under conditions they didn’t come close to teaching us about during my residency.”

“So you admit the program isn’t optimal?” She couldn’t believe he’d admitted to the program’s shortcomings.

“Really?” He threw up his hands. “That’s your takeaway from my whole rambling speech? I’m being practical, and you’re being idealistic in your ivory tower of research. I’m sorry if that makes you angry to hear.”

“I’m not the volatile sort.” She pursed her lips tightly to resist the temptation to snap at him for devaluing her work.

Slowly, he grinned, leaning closer. “That’s too bad.”

“Pardon me?” she asked, not following his logic at all.

“Because when you get all flustered, you’re really hot.”

Her eyes shot open wide, surprise skittering through her, followed by skepticism. “Does that line really work for you?”

“I’ve never tried it before.” He angled closer until his mouth almost brushed hers. “You’ll have to let me know.”

Before she could gasp in half a breath of air, he brushed his mouth over hers. Shock quickly turned to something else entirely as delicious tingles shimmered through her. Her body warmed to the feel of him, the newness of his kiss, their first kiss, a moment already burning itself into her memory, searing through her with liquid heat.

Her hand fluttered to his chest, flattening, feeling the steady, strong beat of his heart under her palm matching the thrumming heartbeat in her ears. His kiss was nothing like she would have imagined. She’d expected him to be out of control, wild. Instead, he held her like spun glass. He touched her with deft, sensitive hands, surgeon’s hands that knew just the right places to graze, stroke, tease for maximum payoff. Her body thrilled at the caress down her spine that cupped her bottom, bringing her closer.

Already she could feel herself sinking into a spiral of lush sensation. Her limbs went languid with desire. She wanted more of this, more of him, but they were a heartbeat away from tossing away their clothes and inhibitions. Too risky for a multitude of reasons, not the least of which was the possibility of someone discovering them.

Those sorts of exposé photos she absolutely did not want circulating on the internet or anywhere else.

Then, too soon he pulled away. How embarrassing that he was the one to stop since she already knew the kiss had to end. Never had she lost control this quickly.

Cool air and embarrassment washed over her as she sat stunned in her chair. He’d completely knocked the world out from under her with one simple kiss. Had he even been half as affected as she was by the moment? She looked quickly at him, but his back was to her already and she realized he was walking toward the door.

“Rowan?”

He glanced over his shoulder. “The buzzer—” Was that a hint of hoarseness in his voice? “The baby sitter has arrived.”

Mari pressed her fingers to her still tingling lips, wondering if a day apart would be enough time to shore up her defenses again before their evening out.

* * *

That evening, Rowan pushed the baby stroller along the marketplace road. Vendors lined the street, and he eyed the place for potential trouble spots. Even with bodyguards trailing them, he kept watch. The baby in the stroller depended on him.

And so did the woman beside him. Mari wore her business suit, without the jacket, just the skirt and blouse, a scarf wrapped over her head and large sunglasses on for disguise, looking like a leggy 1940s movie star.

She strolled beside him, her hand trailing along stalls that overflowed with handwoven cloths and colorful beads. Bins of fresh fruits and vegetables sat out, the scent of roasting turkey and goat carrying on the salty beach breeze. Waves crashed in the distance, adding to the rhythmic percussion of a local band playing Christmas tunes while children danced. Locals and tourists angled past in a crush, multiple languages coming at him in stereo—Cape Verdean Creole, Portuguese, French, English...and heaven knew how many others.

Tonight, he finally had Mari out of the work world and alone with him. Okay, alone with him, a baby, bodyguards and a crush of shoppers.

The last rays of the day bathed Mari in a crimson glow. She hadn’t referenced their kiss earlier, so he’d followed her lead on that, counting it a victory that she wasn’t running. Clearly, she’d been as turned on as he was. But still, she hadn’t run.

With the taste of her etched in his memory, there was not a chance in hell he was going anywhere. More than ever, he was determined to get closer to her, to sample a hell of a lot more than her lips.

But he was smart enough to take his time. This woman was smart—and skittish. He made his living off reading subtle signs, deciphering puzzles, but this woman? She was the most complex individual he’d ever met.

Could that be a part of her appeal? The mysterious element? The puzzle?

The “why” of it didn’t matter so much to him right now. He just wanted to make the most of this evening out and hopefully gain some traction in identifying Issa’s family. While they’d gotten a few curious looks from people and a few surreptitiously snapped photos, so far, no one had openly approached them.

He checked left and right again, reconfirming their unobtrusive security detail, ensuring the men were close enough to intervene if needed. Colonel Salvatore had been very accommodating about rounding up the best in the business ASAP, although he still had no answers on the baby’s identity. Issa’s footprints hadn’t come up in any databases, but then the child could have been a home birth, unregistered. Salvatore had insisted he hadn’t come close to exhausting all their investigative options yet.

For now, their best lead would come from controlled press exposure, getting the child seen and praying some legit relative stepped up to claim her.

Meanwhile, Rowan finally had his chance to be with Mari, to romance her, and what better place than in this country he loved, with holiday festivities lightening the air. He would have cared for the baby even if Mari had opted out, so he didn’t feel guilty about using the child to persuade Mari to stay. He was just surprised she’d agreed so easily.

That gave him pause—and encouragement.

She hesitated at a stall of clay bowls painted with scenes of everyday life. She trailed her fingers along a piece before moving on to the jewelry, where she stopped for the longest time yet. He’d found her weakness. He wouldn’t have pegged her as the type to enjoy those sorts of baubles, but her face lit up as she sifted through beads, necklaces. She seemed to lean more toward practical clothes and loose-fitting suits or dresses. Tonight she wore a long jean jumper and thick leather sandals.

Her hand lingered on the bracelets before she stepped back, the wistfulness disappearing from her golden eyes. “We should find somewhere to eat dinner. The conference food has left me starving for something substantial.”

“Point the way. Ladies choice tonight,” he said, curious to know what she would choose, what she liked, the way he’d just learned her preferences on the bracelets. Shoppers bustled past, cloth sacks bulging with purchases, everything from souvenirs to groceries.

Instinctively, she moved between the baby stroller and the hurrying masses. “How about we eat at a street-side café while we watch the performances?”

“Sounds good to me.” He could keep watch better that way, but then he always kept his guard up. His work with Interpol showed him too well that crime didn’t always lurk in the expected places.

He glanced down the street, taking in the carolers playing drums and pipes. Farther down, a group of children acted out the nativity in simple costumes. The sun hadn’t gone down yet, so there was less worry about crime.

Rowan pointed to the nearby café with blue tables and fresh fish. “What about there?”

“Perfect, I’ll be able to see royal watchers coming.”

“Although your fan club seems to have taken a break.” He wheeled the stroller toward the restaurant where the waitress instructed them to seat themselves. Issa still slept hard, sucking on a fist and looking too cute for words in a red Christmas sleeper.

Mari laughed, the scarf sliding down off her head, hanging loosely around her neck. “Funny how I couldn’t escape photo-happy sorts at the hotel—” she tugged at either end of the silky scarf “—and yet now no one seems to notice me when some notoriety could serve some good.”

“Issa’s photo has already been released to law enforcement. If nothing comes of it by tomorrow morning, the story will break about our involvement and add an extra push. For now, anyway, the baby and I make good camouflage for you to savor your dinner.”

“Mama-flage,” she said as he held out her chair for her.

“Nice! I’m enjoying your sense of humor more and more.” And he was enjoying a lot more about her as well this evening. He caught the sweet floral scent on her neck as he eased her chair into place.

His mind filled with images of her wearing only perfume and an assortment of the colorful beads from the marketplace. Damn, and now he would be awake all night thinking about the lithe figure she hid under her shapeless suits.

Mari glanced back at him, peering over her sunglasses, her amber eyes reflecting the setting sun. “Is something the matter?”

“Of course not.” He took his seat across from her, his foot firmly on the stroller even knowing there were a half-dozen highly trained bodyguards stationed anonymously around them. She might not use them, but he’d made sure to hire a crew for the safety of both Mari and Issa.

The waitress brought glasses and a pitcher of fruit juice—guava and mango—not showing the least sign of recognizing the royal customer she served. This was a good dry run for when they would announce their joint custody publicly.

“What a cute baby,” the waitress cooed without even looking at them. “I just love her little red Christmas outfit. She looks like an adorable elf.” She toyed with toes in tiny green booties.

“Thank you,” Mari said, then mouthed at Rowan, “Mama-flage.”

After they’d placed their order for swordfish with cachupa—a mixture of corn and beans—Mari leaned back in her chair, appearing far more relaxed than the woman who’d taken refuge in his suite the night before. She eased the sunglasses up to rest on top of her head.

“You look like you’ve had a couple of servings of grogue.” Grogue was a sugar cane liquor drunk with honey that flowed freely here.

“No alcohol for me tonight, thank you.” She lifted a hand. “My turn to watch the baby.”

“I don’t mind taking the night shift if you’re not comfortable.”

She raised a delicately arched dark eyebrow. “Somewhere in the world, a couple dozen new moms just swooned and they don’t know why.”

“I’m just trying to be helpful. You have the heavier presentation load.”

She stirred sugar into her coffee. “Are you trying to coerce me into kissing you again?”

“As I recall, I kissed you and you didn’t object.”

She set her spoon down with a decisive clink. “Well, you shouldn’t count on doing it again.”

“Request duly noted,” he replied, not daunted in the least. He saw the speeding of her pulse, the flush of awareness along her dusky skin.

He started to reach for her, just to brush his knuckles along that pulse under the pretense of brushing something aside—except a movement just out of the corner of his eye snagged his attention. Alert, he turned to see an older touristy-looking couple moving toward them.

Mari sat back abruptly, her hand fluttering to her throat. Rowan assessed the pair. Trouble could come in any form, at any age. The bodyguards’ attention ramped up as they stalked along the perimeter, closing the circle of protection. Mari reached for her sunglasses. Rowan didn’t see any signs of concealed weapons, but he slid his hand inside his jacket, resting his palm on his 9 mm, just in case.

The elderly husband, wearing a camera and a man-purse over his shoulder, stopped beside Mari.

“Excuse us, but would you mind answering a question?” he asked with a thick New Jersey accent.

Was their cover busted? If so, did it really matter that they went public a few hours early? Not for him or the baby, but because he didn’t want Mari upset, bolting away from the press, terrified, like the night before.

She tipped her head regally, her shoulders braced as she placed the sunglasses on the table. “Go ahead.”

The wife angled in eagerly. “Are the two of you from around here?”

Rowan’s mouth twitched. Not busted at all. “Not from the island, ma’am. We both live on the mainland.”

“Oh, all right, I see.” She furrowed her brow. “Maybe you can still help me. Where’s the Kwanzaa celebration?”

Mari’s eyes went wide with surprise, then a hint of humor glinted before her face went politely neutral. “Ma’am, that’s an American tradition.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize.” Her forehead furrowed as she adjusted her fanny pack. “I just didn’t expect so much Christmas celebration.”

Mari glanced at the children finishing up their nativity play and accepting donations for their church. “Africa has a varied cultural and religious heritage. How much of each you find depends on which portion of the continent you’re visiting. This area was settled by the Portuguese,” she explained patiently, “which accounts for the larger influence of Christian traditions than you might find in other regions.”

“Thank you for being so patient in explaining.” The wife pulled out a travel guide and passed it to her husband, her eyes staying on Mari. “You look very familiar, dear. Have I seen you somewhere before?”

Pausing for a second, Mari eyed them, then said, “People say I look like the Princess Mariama Mandara. Sometimes I even let folks believe that.”

She winked, grinning mischievously.

The older woman laughed. “What a wicked thing to do, young lady. But then I imagine people deserve what they get if they like to sneak photos for the internet.”

“Would you like a photo of me with the baby on your phone?” Mari leaned closer to the stroller, sweeping back the cover so baby Issa’s face was in clear view. “I’ll put on my best princess smile.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t even know how to work the camera on that new phone our kids gave us for our fiftieth anniversary.” She elbowed her husband. “We just use our old Polaroid, isn’t that right, Nils?”

“I’m getting it out, Meg, hold on a minute.” He fished around inside his man-purse.

Mari extended her arm. “Meg, why don’t you get in the photo, too?”

“Oh, yes, thank you. The grandkids will love it.” She fluffed her bobbed gray hair with her fingers then leaned in to smile while her husband’s old Polaroid spit out picture after picture. “Now you and your husband lean in to pose for one with your daughter.”

Daughter? Rowan jolted, the fun of the moment suddenly taking on a different spin. He liked kids and he sure as hell wanted Mari, but the notion of a pretend marriage? That threatened to give him hives. He swallowed down the bite of bile over the family he’d wrecked so many years ago and pretended for the moment life could be normal for him. He kneeled beside Mari and the baby, forcing his face into the requisite smile. He was a good actor.

He’d had lots of practice.

The couple finished their photo shoot, doling out thanks and leaving an extra Polaroid shot behind for them. The image developed in front of him, blurry shapes coming into focus, much like his thoughts, his need to have Mari.

Rowan sank back into his chair as the waitress brought their food. Once she left, he asked Mari, “Why didn’t you tell that couple the truth about us, about yourself? It was the perfect opening.”

“There were so many people around. If I had, they would have been mobbed out of the photo. When the official story about us fostering the baby hits the news in the morning, they’ll realize their photo of a princess is real and they’ll have a great story to tell their grandchildren. We still get what we want and they get their cool story.”

“That was nice of you to do for them.” He draped a napkin over his knee. “I know how much you hate the notoriety of being royalty.”

She twisted her napkin between her fingers before dropping it on her lap. “I’m not an awful person.”

Had he hurt her feelings? He’d never imagined this boldly confident woman might be insecure. “I never said you were. I think your research is admirable.”

“Really? I seem to recall a particular magazine interview where you accused me of trying to sabotage your work. In fact, when I came into your suite with the room-service cart, you accused me of espionage.”

“My word choices may have been a bit harsh. The stakes were high.” And yeah, he liked seeing her riled up with fire in her eyes. “My work world just doesn’t give me the luxury of the time you have in yours.”

“I simply prefer life to be on my terms when possible. So much in this world is beyond anyone’s control.”

Her eyes took on a faraway look that made him burn to reel her back into the moment, to finish the thought out loud so he could keep learning more about what made this woman tick. But she’d already distanced herself from him, deep in thought, looking off down the road at the musicians.

He needed those insights if he expected to get a second kiss—and more from her. But he was beginning to realize that if he wanted more, he was going to have to pony up some confidences of his own. An uncomfortable prospect.

As he looked at Mari swaying absently in time with the music, her lithe body at ease and graceful, he knew having her would be well worth any cost.


Five (#ua6dbc09c-95e4-5d9c-9465-2418d338e34f)

Mari soaked in the sound of street music mellowing the warm evening air. The steady beat of the bougarabou drum with the players’ jangling bracelets enriching the percussion reminded her of childhood days. Back when her parents were still together and she lived in Africa full-time, other than visits to the States to see her maternal grandparents.

Those first seven years of her life had been idyllic—or so she’d thought. She hadn’t known anything about the painful undercurrents already rippling through her parents’ marriage. She hadn’t sensed the tension in their voices over royal pressures and her mother’s homesickness.

For a genius, she’d missed all the obvious signs. But then, she’d never had the same skill reading people that she had for reading data. She’d barely registered that her mother was traveling to Atlanta more and more frequently. Her first clue had come near the end when she’d overheard her mom talking about buying a home in the States during their Christmas vacation. They wouldn’t be staying with her grandparents any longer during U.S. visits. They would have their own place, not a room with family. Her parents had officially split up and filed for divorce over the holidays.

Christmas music never sounded quite the same to her again, on either continent.

The sway melted away from her shoulders and Mari stilled in her wrought-iron seat. The wind still wound around her as they sat at the patio dining area, but her senses moved on from the music to the air of roasting meat from the kitchen and the sound of laughing children. All of it was almost strong enough to distract her from the weight of Rowan’s gaze.

Almost.

She glanced over at him self-consciously. “Why are you staring at me? I must be a mess.” She touched her hair, tucking a stray strand back into the twist, then smoothed her rumpled suit shirt and adjusted the silver scarf draped around her neck. “It’s been a long day and the breeze is strong tonight.”

Since when had she cared about her appearance for more than the sake of photos? She forced her hands back to her lap.

Rowan’s tanned face creased with his confident grin. “Your smile is radiant.” He waved a broad hand to encompass the festivities playing out around them. “The way you’re taking in everything, appreciating the joy of the smallest details, your pleasure in it all is...mesmerizing.”

His blue eyes downright twinkled like the stars in the night sky.

Was he flirting with her? She studied him suspiciously. The restaurant window behind him filled with the movement of diners and waiters, the edges blurred by the spray of fake snow. She’d always been entranced by those pretend snowy displays in the middle of a warm island Christmas.

“Joy? It’s December, Rowan. The Christmas season of joy. Of course I’m happy.” She thought fast, desperate to defer conversation about her. Talking about Rowan’s past felt a lot more comfortable than worrying about tucking in her shirt, for God’s sake. “What kind of traditions did you enjoy with your family growing up?”

He leaned back in his chair, his gaze still homed in solely on Mari in spite of the festivities going on around them. “We did the regular holiday stuff like a tree, carols, lots of food.”

“What kind of food?” she asked just as Issa squirmed in the stroller.

He shrugged, adjusting the baby’s pacifier until the infant settled back to sleep. “Regular Christmas stuff.”

His ease with the baby was admirable—and heart-tugging. “Come on,” Mari persisted, “fill in the blanks for me. There are lots of ways to celebrate Christmas and regular food here isn’t the same as regular food somewhere else. Besides, I grew up with chefs. Cooking is still a fascinating mystery to me.”

He forked up a bite of swordfish. “It’s just like following the steps in a chemistry experiment.”

“Maybe in theory.” She sipped her fruit juice, the blend bursting along her taste buds with a hint of coconut, her senses hyperaware since Rowan kissed her. “Suffice it to say I’m a better scientist than a cook. But back to you. What was your favorite Christmas treat?”

He set his fork aside, his foot gently tapping the stroller back and forth. “My mom liked to decorate sugar cookies, but my brother, Dylan, and I weren’t all that into it. We ate more of the frosting than went on the cookies.”

The image wrapped around her like a comfortable blanket. “That sounds perfect. I always wanted a sibling to share moments like that with. Tell me more. Details... Trains or dump trucks? Bikes or ugly sweaters?”

“We didn’t have a lot of money, so my folks saved and tucked away gifts all year long. They always seemed a bit embarrassed that they couldn’t give us more, but we were happy. And God knows, it’s more than most of the kids I work with will ever have.”

“You sound like you had a close family. That’s a priceless gift.”

Something flickered through his eyes that she couldn’t quite identify, like gray clouds over a blue sky, but then they cleared so fast she figured she must have been mistaken. She focused on his words, more curious about this man than any she’d ever known.

“At around three-thirty on Christmas morning, Dylan and I would slip out of our bunk beds and sneak downstairs to see what Santa brought.” He shared the memory, but the gray had slipped into his tone of voice now, darkening the lightness of his story. “We would play with everything for about an hour, then put it back like we found it, even if the toy was in a box. We would tiptoe back into our room and wait for our parents to wake us up. We always pretended like we were completely surprised by the gifts.”

What was she missing here? Setting aside her napkin, she leaned closer. “Sounds like you and your brother share a special bond.”

“Shared,” he said flatly. “Dylan’s dead.”

She couldn’t hold back the gasp of shock or the empathetic stab of pain for his loss. For an awkward moment, the chorus of “Silver Bells” seemed to blare louder, the happy music at odds with this sudden revelation. “I’m so sorry, Rowan. I didn’t know that.”

“You had no reason to know. He died in a car accident when he was twenty.”

She searched for something appropriate to say. Her lack of social skills had never bothered her before now. “How old were you when he died?”

“Eighteen.” He fidgeted with her sunglasses on the table.

“That had to be so horrible for you and for your parents.”

“It was,” he said simply, still toying with her wide-rimmed shades.

An awkward silence fell, the echoes of Christmas ringing hollow now. She chewed her lip and pulled the first question from her brain that she could scavenge. “Were you still at the military reform school?”

“It was graduation week.”

Her heart squeezed tightly at the thought of him losing so much, especially at a time when he should have been celebrating completing his sentence in that school.

Without thinking or hesitating, she pushed aside her sunglasses and covered Rowan’s hand. “Rowan, I don’t even know what to say.”

“There’s nothing to say.” He flipped his hand, skimming his thumb along the inside of her wrist. “I just wanted you to know I’m trusting you with a part of my past here.”

Heat seeped through her veins at each stroke of his thumb across her pulse. “You’re telling me about yourself to...?”

His eyes were completely readable now, sensual and steaming over her. “To get closer to you. To let you know that kiss wasn’t just an accident. I’m nowhere near the saint the press likes to paint me.”

Heat warmed to full-out sparks of electricity arcing along her every nerve ending. She wasn’t imagining or exaggerating anything. Rowan Boothe wanted her.

And she wanted to sleep with him.

The inescapable truth of that rocked the ground underneath her.

* * *

The noise of a backfiring truck snapped Rowan back into the moment. Mari jolted, blinking quickly before making a huge deal out of attacking her plate of swordfish and cachupa, gulping coffee between bites.

The sputtering engine still ringing in his ears, Rowan scanned the marketplace, checking the position of their bodyguards. He took in the honeymooners settling in at the next table. The elderly couple that had photographed them earlier was paying their bill. A family of vacationers filled a long stretch of table.

The place was as safe as anywhere out in public.

He knew he couldn’t keep Mari and the baby under lock and key. He had the security detail and he hoped Mari would find peace in being out in public with the proper protection. The thought of her being chased down hallways for the rest of her life made him grind his teeth in frustration. She deserved better than to live in the shadows.

He owed little Issa a lot for how she’d brought them together. He was moved by the sensitive side of Mari he’d never known she had, the sweetly awkward humanity beneath the brilliant scientific brain and regal royal heritage.

Leaning toward the stroller, Rowan adjusted the baby’s bib, reassured by the steady beat of her little heart. He’d given her a thorough physical and thank God she was healthy, but she was still a helpless, fragile infant. He needed to take care of her future. And he would. He felt confident he could, with the help of Salvatore either finding the baby’s family or lining up a solid adoption.

The outcome of his situation with Mari, however, was less certain. There was no mistaking the desire in her golden eyes. Desire mixed with wariness.

A tactical retreat was in order while he waited for the appropriate moment to resume his advances. He hadn’t meant to reveal Dylan’s death to her, but their talk about the past had lulled him into old memories. He wouldn’t let that happen again.

He poured coffee from the earthen pot into his mug and hers. “You must have seen some lavish Christmas celebrations with your father.”

Her eyes were shielded, but her hand trembled slightly as she reached for her mug. “My father keeps things fairly scaled back. The country’s economy is stabilizing thanks to an increase in cocoa export, but the national treasury isn’t flush with cash, by any means. I was brought up to appreciate my responsibilities to my people.”

“You don’t have a sibling to share the responsibility.”

The words fell out of his mouth before he thought them through, probably because of all those memories of his brother knocking around in his gut. All the ways he’d failed to save Dylan’s life. If only he’d made different decisions... He forced his attention back into the present, on Mari.

“Both of my parents remarried other people, divorced again, no more kids, though.” She spread her hands, sunglasses dangling from her fingers. “So I’m it. The future of my country.”

“You don’t sound enthusiastic.”

“I just think there has to be someone better equipped.” She tossed aside the glasses again and picked up her coffee. “What? Why the surprised look? You can’t think I’m the best bet for my people. I would rather lock myself in a research lab with the coffeemaker maxed out than deal with the day-to-day events of leading people.”

“I think you will succeed at anything life puts in your path.” Who had torn down this woman’s confidence? If only she saw—believed in—her magnificence. “When you walk in a room, you damn near light up the place. You own the space with your presence, lady.”

She blew into her mug of coffee, eyeing him. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. But people and all their intangibles like ‘magnificence’ are beyond me. I like concrete facts.”

“I would say some people would appreciate logic in a leader.”

She looked away quickly, busying herself with adjusting the netting around the baby’s stroller. “I wasn’t always this way.”

“What do you mean?”

“So precise.” She darted a quick glance at him out of the corner of her eye. “I was actually a very scatterbrained child. I lost my hair ribbons in hotels, left my doll or book on the airplane. I was always oversleeping or sluggish in the morning, running late for important events. The staff was given instructions to wake me up a half hour ahead of time.”

His mom had woken him and Dylan up through elementary school, then bought them an alarm clock—a really obnoxious clock that clanged like a cowbell. No one overslept. “Did this happen in your mother’s or your father’s home?”

“Both places. My internal clock just wasn’t impressed by alarms or schedules.”

She was a kid juggling a bicontinental lifestyle, the pressures of royal scrutiny along with the social awkwardness of being at least five grades ahead of her peers.

When did she ever get to relax? “Sounds to me like you traveled quite a bit in your life. I’m sure you know that losing things during travel is as common as jet lag, even for adults.”

“You’re kind to make excuses.” She brushed aside his explanation. “I just learned to make lists and structure my world more carefully.”

“Such as?” he asked, suddenly finding the need to learn more about what shaped her life every bit as important as tasting her lips again.

“Always sitting in the same seat on an airplane. Creating a routine for the transatlantic trips, traveling at the same time.” She shrugged her elegant shoulders. “The world seemed less confusing that way.”

“Confusing?” he repeated.

She chewed her bottom lip, which was still glistening from a sip of coffee. “Forget I said anything.”

“Too late. I remember everything you say.” And what a time to realize how true that was.

“Ah, you’re one of those photographic-memory sorts. I imagine that helps with your work.”

“Hmm...” Not a photographic memory, except when it came to her. But she didn’t need to know that.

“I’m sure my routines sound a bit overboard to you. But my life feels crazy most of the time. I’m a princess. There’s no escaping that fact.” She set her mug down carefully. “I have to accept that no matter how many lists I make, my world will never be predictable.”

“Sometimes unpredictable has its advantages, as well.” He ached to trace the lines of her heart-shaped face and finish with a tap to her chin.

Her throat moved in a long swallow. “Is this where you surprise me with another kiss?”

He leaned in, a breath away, and said, “I was thinking this time you could surprise me.”

She stared back at him so long he was sure she would laugh at him for suggesting such a thing, especially out in public. Not that the public problem bothered the honeymooners at the next table. Just when Rowan was certain she would tell him to go to hell—

Mari kissed him. She closed those last two inches between them and pressed her lips to his. Closemouthed but steady. He felt drunk even though he hadn’t had anything but coffee and fruit juice all evening. The same drinks he tasted on Mari’s lips. Her hands, soft and smooth, covered his on the table. Need, hard and insistent, coursed through his body over an essentially simple kiss with a table between them.

And just that fast, she let go, pushing on his chest and dropping back into her chair.

A flush spread from her face down the vee of her blouse. “That was not... I didn’t mean...”

“Shhh.” He pressed a finger to her lips, confidence singing through him along with the hammering pulse of desire. “Some things don’t need to be analyzed. Some things simply are. Let’s finish supper so we can turn in early.”

“Are you propositioning me?” Her lips moved under his finger.

Deliberately seductive? Either way, an extra jolt of want shot through him, a want he saw echoed in her eyes.

He spread his arms wide. “Why would you think that?” he asked with a hint of the devil in his voice. “I want to turn in early. It’s your night with the baby.”

The tension eased from her shoulders and she smiled back, an ease settling between them as they bantered. God, she was incredible, smart and lithe, earnest and exotic all at once. He covered her hand with his—

A squeal from the next table split the air. “Oh, my God, it’s her.” The honeymooner at the next table tapped her husband’s arm insistently. “That princess...Mariama! I want a picture with her. Get me a photo, pretty please, pookie.”

Apparently the mama-flage had stopped working. They didn’t have until the morning for Mari to become comfortable with the renewed public attention. The story about them taking care of a baby—together—was about to leak.

Big-time.

* * *

Two hours later, Mari patted Issa’s back in the bassinet to be sure she was deeply asleep then flopped onto the bed in the hotel suite she shared with Rowan.

Alone in her bedroom.

Once that woman shouted to the whole restaurant that a princess sat at the next table, the camera phones started snapping before her head could stop reeling from that impulsive kiss. A kiss that still tingled all the way to the roots of her hair.

Rowan had handled the curious masses with a simple explanation that they were watching a baby in foster care. More information would be forthcoming at a morning press conference. Easy as pie.

Although she was still curious as to where all the bodyguards had come from. She intended to confront her father about that later and find out why he’d decided to disregard her wishes now of all times.

Granted, she could see the wisdom in a bit more protection for Issa’s sake and she liked to think she would have arranged for something tomorrow...on a smaller scale. The guards had discreetly escorted her from the restaurant, along with Rowan and the baby, and all the way back to the hotel. No ducking into bathrooms or racing down hallways. Just a wall of protection around her as Rowan continued to repeat with a smile and a firm tone, “No further comment tonight.”

Without question, the papers would be buzzing by morning. That press conference would be packed. Her father’s promo guru couldn’t have planned it better.... Had Rowan known that when they kissed? Did he have an agenda? She couldn’t help but wonder since most people in her life had their own agendas—with extras to spare.

This was not the first time the thought had come to her. By the time she’d exited the elevator, she was already second-guessing the kiss, the flirting, the whole crazy plan. She knew that Rowan wanted her. She just couldn’t figure out why.

Until she had more answers, she couldn’t even consider taking things further.

She sat up again, swinging her legs off the side of the bed. Besides, she had a baby to take care of and a phone call to make. Since Issa still slept blissfully in the lacy bassinet after her bottle, Mari could get to that other pressing concern.

Her father.

She swiped her cell phone off the teak end table and thumbed auto-dial...two rings later, a familiar voice answered and Mari blurted out, “Papa, we need to talk....”

Her father’s booming laugh filled the earpiece. “About the boyfriend and the baby you’ve been hiding from me?”

Mari squeezed her eyes shut, envisioning her lanky father sprawled in his favorite leather chair on the lanai, where he preferred to work. He vowed he felt closer to nature out there, closer to his country, even though three barriers of walls and guards protected him.

Sighing, she pressed two fingers to her head and massaged her temples. “How did you hear about Rowan and Issa? Have you had spies watching me? And why did you assign bodyguards without consulting me?”

“One question at a time, daughter dear. First, I heard about your affiliation with Dr. Boothe and the baby on the internet. Second, I do not spy on my family—not often, anyway. And third, whatever bodyguards you’re referring to, they’re not mine. I assume they’re on your boyfriend’s payroll.”

Her head throbbed over Rowan hiring bodyguards without consulting her. Her life was snowballing out of control.

“He’s not my boyfriend—” even though they’d kissed and she’d enjoyed the hell out of it “—and Issa is not our baby. She’s a foster child, just like Rowan said at the restaurant.”

Even though her heart was already moved beyond measure by the chubby bundle sleeping in the frilly bassinet next to her bed.

“I know the baby’s not yours, Mariama.”

“The internet strikes again?” She flopped back, rolling to her side and holding a pillow to her stomach as she monitored the steady rise and fall of Issa’s chest as she slept.

“I keep tabs on you, daughter dear. You haven’t been pregnant and you’ve never been a fan of Rowan Boothe.”

An image flashed in her mind of Rowan pacing the sitting room with Issa in his arms. “The baby was abandoned in Dr. Boothe’s hotel room and we are both watching over her while the authorities try to find her relatives. You know how overburdened Africa is with orphans. We just couldn’t let her go into the system when we had the power to help her.”

“Hmm...” The sound of him clicking computer keys filtered through the phone line—her father never rested, always worked. He took his position as leader seriously, no puppet leadership role for him. “And why are you working with a man you can’t stand to help a child you’ve never met? He could have taken care of this on his own.”

“I’m a philanthropist?”

“True,” her dad conceded. “But you’re also a poor liar. How did the child become your responsibility?”

She’d never been able to get anything past her wily father. “I was trying to get away from a group of tourists trying to steal a photo of me at the end of a very long day. I grabbed a room-service tray and delivered it.” The whole crazy night rolled through her mind again and she wondered what had possessed her to act so rashly. Never, though, could she have foreseen how it would end. “Turns out it was for Rowan Boothe and there was an abandoned baby inside. There’s nothing going on between us.”

A squawk from Issa sent her jolting upright again to pat the baby’s back. An instant later, a tap sounded on the door from the suite beyond. She covered the mouthpiece on the phone. “We’re okay.”

Still, the bedroom door opened, a quizzical look on Rowan’s face. “Everything all right?”

“I’ve got it.” She uncovered the phone. “Dad, I need to go.”

Rowan lounged against the doorjamb, his eyes questioning. Pressing the phone against her shoulder to hold it to her ear, she tugged her skirt over her knees, curling her bare toes.

“Mari, dear,” her father said, “I do believe you have gotten better at lying after all. Seems like there’s a lot going on in your life I don’t know about.”

Her pulse sped up, affirming her father was indeed right. This wasn’t just about Issa. She was lying to herself in thinking there was nothing more going on with Rowan. His eyes enticed her from across the room, like a blue-hot flame drawing a moth.

But her father waited on the other end of the line. Best to deflect the conversation, especially while the object of her current hormonal turmoil stood a few feet away. “You should be thrilled about this whole setup. It will make for great publicity, a wonderful story for your press people to spin over the holidays. Papa, for once I’m not a disappointment.”

Rowan scowled and Mari wished she could call back the words that had somehow slipped free. But she felt the weight of the knowledge all the same. The frustration of never measuring up to her parents’ expectations.

“Mari, dear,” her father said, his voice hoarse, “you have never been a disappointment.”

A bittersweet smile welled from the inside out. “You’re worse at lying than I am. But I love you anyway. Good night, Papa.”

She thumped the off button and swung her bare feet to the floor. Her nerves were a jangled mess from the emotions stirred up by talking to her dad...not to mention the smoldering embers from kissing Rowan. The stroke of his eyes over her told her they were a simple step, a simple word away from far more than a kiss.

But those tangled nerves and mixed-up feelings also told her this was not the time to make such a momentous decision. Too much was at stake, the well-being of the infant in their care...

And Mari’s peace of mind. Because it would be far too easy to lose complete control when it came to this man.


Six (#ua6dbc09c-95e4-5d9c-9465-2418d338e34f)

Refusing to back down from Rowan’s heated gaze, Mari stiffened her spine and her resolve, closing the last three feet between them. “Why did you order bodyguards without consulting me?”

He frowned. “Where did you think they’d come from?”

“My father.”

“I just did what he should have. I made sure to look after your safety,” he said smoothly, arrogantly.

Her chin tipped defiantly. He might have been right about them needing bodyguards—for Issa’s sake—but she wasn’t backing down on everything. “Just because I kissed you at the restaurant does not mean I intend to invite you into my bed.”

Grinning wickedly, he clamped a hand over his heart. “Damn. My spirit is crushed.”

“You’re joking, of course.” She stopped just shy of touching him, the banter sparkling through her like champagne bubbles.

“Possibly. But make no mistake, I do want to sleep with you and every day I wait is...torture.” The barely restrained passion in his voice sent those intoxicating bubbles straight to her head. “I’m just reasonable enough to accept it isn’t going to happen tonight.”

“And if it never happens?” she asked, unwilling to let him know how deeply he affected her.

“Ah, you said ‘if.’” He flicked a loose strand of hair over her shoulder, just barely skimming his knuckles across her skin. “Princess, that means we’re already halfway to naked.”

Before she could find air to breathe, he backed away, slowly, deliberately closing the door after him.

And she’d thought her nerves were a tangled, jangled mess before. Her legs folded under her as she dropped to sit on the edge of the bed.

A suddenly very cold and empty bed.

* * *

Rowan walked through the hotel sliding doors that led out to the sprawling shoreline. The cool night breeze did little to ease the heat pumping through his body. Leaving Mari alone in her hotel room had been one of the toughest things he’d ever done, but he’d had no choice for two reasons.

First, it was too soon to make his move. He didn’t want to risk Mari changing her mind about staying with him. She had to be sure—very sure—when they made love.

Second reason he’d needed to put some distance between himself and her right now? He had an important meeting scheduled with an Interpol contact outside the hotel. An old school friend of his and the person responsible for their security detail tonight.

Rowan jogged down the long steps from the pool area to the beach. Late-night vacationers splashed under the fake waterfall, others floated, some sprawled in deck loungers with drinks, the party running deep into the night.

His appointment would take place in cabana number two, away from prying eyes and with the sound of the roaring surf to cover conversation. His loafers sank into the gritty sand, the teak shelter a dozen yards away, with a grassy roof and canvas walls flapping lightly in the wind. Ships bobbed on the horizon, lights echoing the stars overhead.

Rowan swept aside the fabric and stepped inside. “Sorry I’m late, my friend.”

His old school pal Elliot Starc lounged in a recliner under the cabana in their designated meeting spot as planned, both loungers overlooking the endless stretch of ocean. “Nothing better to do.”

Strictly speaking that couldn’t be true. The freelance Interpol agent used his job as a world-renowned Formula One race-car driver to slip in and out of countries without question. He ran in high-powered circles. But then that very lifestyle was the sort their handler, Colonel Salvatore, capitalized on—using the tarnished reputations of his old students to gain access to underworld types.

Of course, Salvatore gave Rowan hell periodically for being a do-gooder. Rowan winced. The label pinched, a poor fit at best. “Well, thanks all the same for dropping everything to come to Cape Verde.”

Elliot scratched his hand over his buzzed short hair. “I’m made of time since my fiancée dumped me.”

“Sorry about that.” Talk about headline news. Elliot’s past—his vast past—with women, filled headlines across multiple continents. The world thought that’s what had broken up the engagement, but Rowan suspected the truth. Elliot’s fiancée had been freaked out by the Interpol work. The job had risked more than one relationship for the Brotherhood.

What would Mari think if she knew?

“Crap happens.” Elliot tipped back a drink, draining half of the amber liquid before setting the cut crystal glass on the table between them. “I’d cleared my schedule for the honeymoon. When we split I gave her the tickets since the whole thing was my fault anyway. She and her ‘BFF’ are skiing in the Alps as we speak. I might as well be doing something productive with my time off.”

Clearly, Elliot wouldn’t want sympathy. Another drink maybe. He looked like hell, dark circles under his eyes. From lack of sleep most likely. But that didn’t explain the nearly shaved head.

“Dude, what happened to you?” Rowan asked, pointing to the short cut.

Elliot’s curly mop had become a signature with his fans who collected magazine covers. There were even billboards and posters.... All their pals from the military academy—the ones who’d dubbed themselves the Alpha Brotherhood—never passed up an opportunity to rib Elliot about the underwear ad.

Elliot scratched a hand over his shorn hair. “I had a wreck during a training run. Bit of a fire involved. Singed my hair.”

Holy hell. “You caught on fire?”

Elliot grinned. “Just my hair.”

“How did I miss hearing about that?”

“No need. It’s not a big deal.”

Rowan shook his head. “You are one seriously messed-up dude.”

But then all his former classmates were messed up in some form. Came with the territory. The things that had landed them in that reform school left them with baggage long after graduation.

“You’re the one who hangs out in war-torn villages passing out vaccinations and blankets for fun.”

“I’m not trailed by groupies.” He shuddered.

“They’re harmless most of the time.”

Except when they weren’t. The very reason he’d consulted with Elliot about the best way to protect Mari and Issa. “I can’t thank you enough, brother, for overseeing the security detail. They earned their pay tonight.”

“Child’s play. So to speak.” Elliot lifted his glass again, draining the rest with a wince. “What’s up with your papa-and-the-princess deal?”

“The kid needed my help. So I helped.”

“You’ve always been the saint. But that doesn’t explain the princess.”

Rowan ignored the last part of Elliot’s question. “What’s so saintly about helping out a kid when I have unlimited funds and Interpol agents at my disposal? Saintly is when something’s difficult to do.”

“And the woman—the princess?” his half-drunk buddy persisted. “She had a reputation for being very difficult on the subject of Dr. Rowan Boothe.”

Like the time she’d written an entire journal piece pointing out potential flaws in his diagnostics program. Sure, he’d made adjustments after reading the piece, but holy hell, it would have been nice—and more expedient—if she’d come to him first. “Mari needs my help, too. That’s all it is.”

Elliot laughed. “You are so damn delusional.”

A truth. And an uncomfortable one.

Beyond their cabana tent, a couple strolled arm-in-arm along the shoreline, sidestepping as a jogger sprinted past with a loping dog.

“If you were a good friend you would let me continue with my denial.”

“Maybe I’m wrong.” Elliot lifted the decanter and refilled his glass. “It’s not denial if you acknowledge said problem.”

“I am aware of that fact.” His unrelenting desire for Mari was a longtime, ongoing issue he was doing his damnedest to address.

“What do you intend to do about your crush on the princess?”

“Crush? Good God, man. I’m not in junior high.”

“Glad you know that. What’s your plan?”

“I’m figuring that out as I go.” And even if he had one, he wasn’t comfortable discussing details of his—feelings?—his attraction.

“What happens if this relationship goes south? Her father has a lot of influence. Even though you’re not in his country, his region still neighbors your backyard. That could be...uncomfortable.”

Rowan hadn’t considered that angle and he should have. Which said a lot for how much Mari messed with his mind. “Let me get this straight, Starc. You are doling out relationship advice?”

“I’m a top-notch source when it comes to all the wrong things to do in a long-term relationship.” He lifted his glass in toast. “Here’s to three broken engagements and counting.”

“Who said I’m looking for long-term?”

Elliot leveled an entirely sober stare his way, holding for three crashes of the waves before he said, “You truly are delusional, dude.”

“That’s not advice.”

“It is if you really think about it.”

He’d had enough of this discussion about Mari and the possibility of a train wreck of epic proportions. Rowan shoved off the lounger, his shoes sinking in the sand. “Good night.”

“Hit a sore spot, did I?” Still, Starc pushed.

“I appreciate your...concern. And your help.” He clapped Elliot on the shoulder before sweeping aside the canvas curtain. “I need to return to the hotel.”

He’d been gone long enough. As much as he trusted Elliot’s choice of guards, he still preferred to keep close.

Wind rolled in off the water, tearing at his open shirt collar as he made his way back up the beach toward the resort. Lights winked from trees. Fake snow speckled windows. Less than two weeks left until Christmas. He would spend the day at his house by the clinic, working any emergency-room walk-ins as he did every year. What plans did Mari have? Would she go to her family?

His parents holed up on Christmas, and frankly, he preferred it that way. Too many painful memories for all of them.

He shut off those thoughts as he entered the resort again. Better to focus on the present. One day at a time. That’s the way he’d learned to deal with the crap that had gone down. And right now, his present was filled with Mari and Issa.

Potted palms, carved masks and mounted animal heads passed in a blur as he made his way back to his suite. He nodded to the pair of guards outside the door before stepping inside.

Dimmed lights from the wet bar bathed the sitting area in an amber glow. Silence echoed as he padded his way to Mari’s room. No sounds came from her room this time, no conversation with her royal dad.

The door to Mari’s room was ajar and he nudged it open slowly, pushing back thoughts of invading her privacy. This was about safety and checking on the baby.

Not an insane desire to see what Mari looked like sleeping.

To appease his conscience, he checked the baby first and found the chubby infant sleeping, sucking on her tiny fist as she dreamed. Whatever came of his situation with Mari, they’d done right by this baby. They’d kept at least one child safe.

One day at a time. One life saved at a time. It’s how he lived. How he atoned for the unforgivable in his past.

Did Issa’s mother regret abandoning her child? The note said she wanted her baby in the care of someone like him. But there was no way she could have known the full extent of the resources he had at his disposal with Interpol. If so, she wouldn’t have been as quick to abandon her child to him because he could and would find the mother. It wasn’t a matter of if. Only a matter of when.

He wouldn’t give up. This child’s future depended on finding answers.

All the more reason to tread carefully with Mari. He knew what he wanted, but he’d failed to take into consideration how much of a help she would be. How much it would touch his soul seeing her care for the baby. From her initial reaction to the baby, he’d expected her to be awkward with the child, all technical and analytical. But she had an instinct for children, a tenderness in her heart that overcame any awkwardness. A softness that crept over her features.

Watching her sleep now, he could almost forget the way Mari had cut him down to size on more than one occasion in the past. Her hair was down and loose on her pillow, black satin against the white Egyptian cotton pillowcase. Moonlight kissed the curve of her neck, her chest rising and falling slowly.

He could see a strap of creamy satin along her shoulder. Her nightgown? His body tightened and he considered scooping her up and carrying her to his room. To hell with waiting. He could persuade her.

But just as he started to reach for her, his mind snagged on the memory of her talking about how she felt like she’d been a disappointment to her family. The notion that anyone would think this woman less than amazing floored him. He might not agree with her on everything, but he sure as hell saw her value.

Her brilliance of mind and spirit.

He definitely needed to stick to his original plan. He would wait. He couldn’t stop thinking about that snippet of her phone conversation with her father. He understood that feeling of inadequacy all too well. She deserved better.

Rather than some half-assed seduction, he needed a plan. A magnificent plan to romance a magnificent woman. The work would be well worth the payoff for both of them.

He backed away from her bed and reached for his cell phone to check in with Salvatore. Pausing at the door, he took in the sight of her, imprinting on his brain the image of Mari sleeping even though that vision ensured he wouldn’t be sleeping tonight.

* * *

Mari’s dreams filled with Rowan, filled with his blue eyes stroking her. With his hands caressing her as they floated together in the surf, away from work and responsibilities. She’d never felt so free, so languid, his kisses and touches melting her bones. Her mind filled with his husky whispers of how much he wanted her. Even the sound of his voice stoked her passion higher, hotter, until she ached to wrap her legs around his waist and be filled with his strength.

She couldn’t get enough of him. Years of sparring over their work, and even the weather if the subject came up... Now all those frustrating encounters exploded into a deep need, an explosive passion for a man she could have vowed she didn’t even like.

Although like had nothing to do with this raw arousal—she felt a need that left her hot and moist between the legs until she squirmed in her bed.

Her bed.

Slowly, her dream world faded as reality interjected itself with tiny details, like the slither of sheets against her skin. The give of the pillow as her head thrashed back and forth. The sound of the ocean outside the window—and the faint rumble of Rowan’s voice beyond her door.

She sat upright quickly.

Rowan.

No wonder she’d been dreaming of him. His voice had been filtering into her dream until he took it over. She clutched the puffy comforter to her chest and listened, although the words were indistinguishable. From the periodic silences, he must be talking to someone on the phone.

Mari eased from the bed, careful not to wake the baby. She pulled her robe from over a cane rocking chair and slipped her arms into the cool satin. Her one decadent pleasure—sexy peignoir sets. They made her feel like a silver-screen star from the forties, complete with furry kitten-heel slippers, not so high as to trip her up, but still ultrafeminine.

Would Rowan think them sexy or silly if he noticed them? God, he was filling up her mind and making her care about things—superficial things—that shouldn’t matter. Even more distressing, he made her want to climb back into that dream world and forget about everything else.

Her entire focus should be on securing Issa’s future. Mari leaned over the lace bassinet to check the infant’s breathing. She pressed a kiss to two fingers and skimmed them over Issa’s brow, affection clutching her heart. How could one little scrap of humanity become so precious so fast?

Rowan’s voice filtered through the door again and piqued her curiosity. Who could he be talking with so late at night? Common sense said it had to be important, maybe even about the baby.

Her throat tightened at the thought of news about Issa’s family, and she wasn’t sure if the prospect made her happy or sad. She grasped the baby monitor receiver in her hand.

Quietly, she opened the door, careful not to disturb his phone conversation. And yes, she welcomed the opportunity to look at Rowan for a moment, a double-edged pleasure with the heat of her dream still so fresh in her mind. He stood with his back to her, phone pressed to his ear as he faced the picture window, shutters open to reveal the moonlit shoreline.

She couldn’t have stopped herself if she tried. And she didn’t try. Her gaze skated straight down to his butt. A fine butt, the kind that filled out jeans just right and begged a woman to tuck her hand into his back pocket. Why hadn’t she noticed that about him before? Perhaps because he usually wore his doctor’s coat or a suit.

The rest of him, though, was wonderfully familiar. What a time to realize she’d stored so much more about him in her memory than just the sexy glide of his blond hair swept back from his face, his piercing blue eyes, his strong body.

Her fingers itched to scale the expanse of his chest, hard muscled in a way that spoke of real work more than gym time with a personal trainer. Her body responded with a will of its own, her breasts beading in response to just the sight of him, the promise of pleasure in that strong, big body of his.

Were the calluses on his hand imagined in her dream or real? Right now it seemed the most important thing in the world to know, to find out from the ultimate test—his hands on her bare flesh.

His back still to her, he nodded and hmmed at something in the conversation, the broad column of his neck exposed, then he disconnected his call.

Anticipation coursed through her, but she schooled her face to show nothing as he turned.

He showed no surprise at seeing her, his moves smooth and confident. He placed his phone on the wet bar, his eyes sweeping over all of her. His gaze lingered on her shoes and he smiled, then his gaze stroked back up to her face again. “Mari, how long have you been awake?”

“Only a few minutes. Just long enough to hear you ‘hmm’ and ‘uh-huh’ a couple of times.” She wrapped her arms around her waist, hugging the robe closed and making sure her tingling breasts didn’t advertise her arousal. “If I may ask, who were you talking to so late?”

“Checking on our security and following up a lead on the baby.”

She stood up straighter and joined him by the window, her heart hammering in her ears. “Did you find her family?”

“Sorry.” He cupped her shoulder in a warm grasp, squeezing comfortingly. “Not yet. But we’re working on it.”

She forced herself to swallow and moisten her suddenly dry mouth. “Who is this ‘we’ you keep mentioning?”

“I’m a wealthy man now. Wealthy people have connections. I’m using them.” His hand slid away, calluses snagging on her satin robe.

Calluses.

The thought of those fingers rasping along her skin made her shiver with want. God, she wasn’t used to being this controlled by her body. She was a cerebral person, a thinker, a scientist. She needed to find level ground again, although it was a struggle.

Reining herself in, she eyed Rowan, assessing him. Her instincts told her he was holding something back about his conversation, but she couldn’t decipher what that might be. She searched his face, really searched, and what a time to realize she’d never looked deeper than the surface of Rowan before. She’d known his history—a reformed bad boy, the saintly doctor saving the world and soaking up glory like a halo, while she was a person who preferred the shadows.

She’d only stepped into the spotlight now for the baby. And that made her wonder if his halo time had another purpose for him—using that notoriety for his causes. The possibility that she could have been mistaken about his ego, his swagger, gave her pause.

Of course she could just be seeking justification for how his kisses turned her inside out.

Then his hand slid down her arm until he linked fingers with her and tugged her toward the sofa. Her stomach leaped into her throat, but she didn’t stop him, curious to see where this would lead. And reluctant to let go of his hand.

He sat, drawing her to sit beside him. Silently. Just staring back at her, his thumb stroking across the inside of her wrist.

Did he expect her to jump him? She’d already told him she wouldn’t make the leap into bed with him. Had a part of her secretly hoped he would argue?

Still, he didn’t speak or move.

She searched for something to say, anything to fill the empty space between them—and take her mind off the tantalizing feel of his callused thumb rubbing along her speeding pulse. “Do you really think Issa’s family will be found?”

“I believe that every possible resource is being devoted to finding out who she is and where she came from.”

The clean fresh scent of his aftershave rode every breath she took. She needed to focus on Issa first and foremost.

“Tomorrow—or rather, later this morning—we need to get serious about going public with the press. No more playing at dinner, pretend photos and controlled press releases. I need to use my notoriety to help her.”

He squeezed her wrist lightly. “You don’t have to put yourself in the line of fire so aggressively.”

“Isn’t that why you asked me to help you? To add oomph to the search?” His answer became too important to her.

“I could have handled the baby alone.” He held her gaze, with undeniable truthfulness in his eyes. “If we’re honest here, I wanted to spend more time with you.”

Her tummy flipped and another of those tempting Rowan-scented breaths filled her. “You used the baby for selfish reasons? To get closer to me?”

“When you put it like that, it sounds so harsh.”

“What did you mean then?”

He linked their fingers again, lifting their twined grasp and resting it against his chest. “Having you here does help with the baby’s care and with finding the baby’s family. But it also helps me get to know you better.”

“Do you want to know me better or kiss me?”

His heart thudded against her hand as he leaned even closer, just shy of their lips touching. “Is there a problem with my wanting both?”

“You do understand that nothing is simple with me.” Her breath mingled with his.

“Because of who you are? Yes, I realize exactly who you are.”

And just that fast, reality iced over her. She could never forget who she was...her father’s daughter. A princess. The next in the royal line since she had no siblings, no aunts or uncles. As much as she wanted to believe Rowan’s interest in her was genuine, she’d been used and misunderstood too many times in the past.

She angled away from him. “I know you think I’m a spoiled princess.”

“Sometimes we say things in anger that we don’t mean. I apologize for that.” He stretched his arm along the back of the sofa without touching her this time.

“What do you think of me?” The opinion of others hadn’t mattered to her before.... Okay, that was a lie. Her parents’ opinion mattered. She’d cared what her first lover thought of her only to find he’d used her to get into her father’s inner circle.

“Mari, I think you’re smart and beautiful.”

She grinned. “Organized and uptight.”

He smiled back. “Productive, with restrained passions.”

“I am a spoiled princess,” she admitted, unable to resist the draw of his smile, wanting to believe what she saw in his eyes. “I’ve had every luxury, security, opportunity imaginable. I’ve had all the things this baby needs, things her mother is so desperate to give her she would give her away to a stranger. I feel awful and guilty for just wanting to be normal.”

“Normal life?” He shook his head, the leather sofa creaking as he leaned back and away. “I had that so-called normal life and I still screwed up.”

She’d read the press about him, the way he’d turned his life around after a drunk-driving accident as a teen. He was the poster boy for second chances, devoting his life to making amends.

Her negative reports on his program weren’t always popular. Some cynics in the medical community had even suggested she had an ax to grind, insinuating he might have spurned her at some point. That assumption stung her pride more than a little.

Still, she couldn’t deny the good he’d done with his clinic. The world needed more people like Dr. Rowan Boothe.

“You screwed up as a teenager, but you set yourself on the right path again once you went to that military high school.”

“That doesn’t erase my mistake. Nothing can.” He plowed a hand through his hair. “It frustrates the hell out of me that the press wants to spin it into some kind of feel-good story. So yeah, I get your irritation with the whole media spin.”

“But your story gives people hope that they can turn their lives around.”

He mumbled a curse.

“What? Don’t just go Grinchy on me.” She tapped his elbow. “Talk. Like you did at dinner.”

“Go Grinchy?” He cocked an eyebrow. “Is that really a word?”

“Of course it is. I loved that movie as a child. I watched a lot of Christmas movies flying across the ocean to spend Christmas with one parent or the other. So, back to the whole Grinchy face. What gives?”

“If you want to change my mood, then let’s talk about something else.” His arm slid from the back of the sofa until his hand cupped her shoulder. “What else did you enjoy about Christmas when you were a kid?”

“You’re not going to distract me.” With his words or his touch.

“Says who?” Subtly but deliberately, he pulled her closer.

And angled his mouth over hers.


Seven (#ua6dbc09c-95e4-5d9c-9465-2418d338e34f)

Stunned still, Mari froze for an instant. Then all the simmering passion from her dream earlier came roaring to the surface. She looped her arms around Rowan’s neck and inched closer to him on the sofa. The satin of her peignoir set made her glide across the leather smoother, easier, until she melted against him, opened her mouth and took him as boldly as he took her.

The sweep of his tongue carried the minty taste of toothpaste, the intoxicating warmth of pure him. His hands roved along her back, up and down her spine in a hypnotizing seduction. He teased his fingers up into her hair, massaging her scalp until her body relaxed, muscle by tense muscle, releasing tensions she hadn’t even realized existed. Then he stirred a different sort of tension, a coiling of desire in her belly that pulled tighter and tighter until she arched against him.

Her breasts pressed to his chest, the hard wall of him putting delicious pressure against her tender, oversensitized flesh.

He reclined with her onto the couch, tucking her beneath him with a possessive growl. She nipped his bottom lip and purred right back. The contrast of cool butter-soft leather beneath her and hot, hard male over her sent her senses on overload.

The feel of his muscled body stretching out over her, blanketing her, made her blood pulse faster, thicker, through her veins. She plucked at the leather string holding back his hair, pulled it loose and glory, glory, his hair slipped free around her fingers. She combed her hands through the coarse strands, just long enough to tickle her face as he kissed.

And this man sure did know how to kiss.

Not just with his mouth and his bold tongue, but he used his hands to stroke her, his body molding to hers. His knee slid between her legs. The thick pressure of his thigh against the core of her sent delicious shivers sparkling upward. All those sensations circled and tightened in her belly with a new intensity.

Her hands learned the planes and lines of him, along his broad shoulders, down his back to the firm butt she’d been checking out not too long ago. Every nerve ending tingled to life, urging her to take more—more of him and more of the moment.

She wanted all of him. Now.

Hooking a leg around his calf, she linked them, bringing him closer still. Her hips rocked against his, the thick length of his arousal pressing against her stomach with delicious promise of what they could have together. Soon. Although not soon enough. Urgency throbbed through her, pulsing into a delicious ache between her legs.

He swept aside her hair and kissed along the sensitive curve of her neck, nipping ever so lightly against her pulse. She hummed her approval and scratched gently over his back, along his shoulders, then down again to yank at his shirt. She couldn’t get rid of their clothes fast enough. If she gave herself too long to think, too many practical reasons to stop would start marching through her mind—

A cool whoosh of air swept over her. She opened her eyes to see Rowan standing beside the sofa. Well, not standing exactly, but halfway bent over, his hands on his legs as he hauled in ragged breath after breath. His arousal was unmistakable, so why was he pulling away?

“What? Where?” She tried again to form a coherent sentence. “Where are you going?”

He stared at her in the moonlight, his chest rising and falling hard, like he’d run for miles. His expression was closed. His eyes inscrutable.

“Good night, Mariama.”

Her brain couldn’t make his words match up with what she was feeling. Something didn’t add up. “Good night? That’s it?”

“I need to stop now.” He tucked his shirt in as he backed away. “Things are getting too intense.”

She refused to acknowledge the twinge of hurt she felt at his words. She wasn’t opening her emotions to this man.

“Yeah, I noticed.” She brazened it out, still committed to re-creating the amazing feelings from her dream. “That intensity we were experiencing about twenty seconds ago was a good thing.”

“It will be good, Mari. When you’re ready.”

Damn, but he confused her. She hated feeling like the student in need of remedial help. The one who didn’t “get” it.

“Um, hello, Rowan. I’m ready now.”

“I just need for you to be sure.” He backed away another step, his hair tousled from her hungry fingers. “See if you feel the same in the morning. Good night, Mariama.”

He pivoted into his room and closed the door behind him.

Mari sagged back on the sofa, befuddled as hell. What was his game here? He bound her to him by enlisting her help with the baby. He clearly wanted her. Yet, he’d walked away.

She wasn’t innocent. She’d been with men—two. The first was a one-night stand that had her clamping her legs shut for years to come after she’d learned he’d only wanted access to her family. Then one long-term deal with a man who’d been as introverted as her. Their relationship had dissolved for lack of attention, fading into nothing more than convenient sex. And then not so convenient. Still, the breakup had been messy, her former lover not taking well to having his ego stung over being dumped. He’d been a real jerk.

Whereas Rowan was being a total gentleman. Not pushing. Not taking advantage.

And he was driving her absolutely batty.

* * *

Holding back had threatened to drive Rowan over the edge all night long.

At least now he could move forward with the day. The salty morning breeze drifted through the open shutters as he tucked his polo shirt into his jeans, already anticipating seeing Mari. Soon. He’d never wanted a woman this much. Walking away from her last night had been almost impossible. But he was making progress. She wanted him and he needed this to be very, very reciprocal.

So he needed to move on with his plan to romance her. Neither of them had a presentation at the conference today. He suspected it wouldn’t take much persuasion to convince her to skip out on sitting through boring slide presentations and rubber chicken.

During his sleepless night, he’d racked his brain for the best way to sweep her off her feet. She wasn’t the most conventional of women. He’d decided to hedge his bets by going all out. He’d started off with the traditional stuff, a flower left on her pillow while she’d been in the shower. He’d also ordered her favorite breakfast delivered to her room. He planned to end the day with a beachside dinner and concert.

All traditional “dating” fare.

The afternoon’s agenda, however, was a bit of a long shot. But then he figured it was best to hedge his bets with her. She’d seemed surprised by the breakfast, and he could have sworn she was at least a little charmed by his invitation to spend the day together. Although he still detected a hint of wariness.

But reminding her of how they could appease the press into leaving her alone by feeding them a story persuaded her. For now, at least. He just prayed the press conference went smoothly.

Rowan opened his bedroom door and found Mari already waiting for him in the sitting area with Issa cradled in her arms. She stood by the stroller, cooing to the baby and adjusting a pink bootie, her face softening with affection.

Mari wore a long silky sheath dress that glided across subtle curves as she swayed back and forth. And the pink tropical flower he’d left on her pillow was now tucked behind her ear. He stood captivated by her grace as she soothed the infant to sleep. Minutes—or maybe more—later, she leaned to place the baby in the stroller.

She glanced to the side, meeting his gaze with a smile. “Where are we going?”

Had she known he was there the whole time? Did she also know how damn difficult it had been to walk away from her last night? “It’s a surprise.”

“That makes me a little nervous.” She straightened, gripping the stroller. “I’m not good at pulling off anything impetuous.”

“We have a baby with us.” He rested a hand on top of hers. “How dangerous could my plan be?”

Her pupils widened in response before her gaze skittered away. “Okay, fair enough.” She pulled her hand from his and touched the exotic bloom tucked in her hair. “And thank you for the flower.”

Ducking his head, he kissed her ear, right beside the flower, breathing in the heady perfume of her, even more tantalizing than the petals. “I’ll be thinking of how you taste all day long.”

He sketched a quick kiss along her regally high cheekbone before pulling back. Gesturing toward the private elevator, he followed her, taking in the swish of her curls spiraling just past her shoulders. What a time to realize how rarely he saw her with her hair down. She usually kept it pulled back in a reserved bun.

Except for last night when she’d gone to bed. And now.

It was all he could do to keep himself from walking up behind her, sliding his arms around her and pulling her flush against him. The thought of her bottom nestled against him, his face in the sweet curve of her neck...damn. He swallowed hard. Just damn.

He followed her into the elevator and thankfully the glide down went quickly, before he had too much time in the cubicle breathing in the scent of her. The elevator doors opened with a whoosh as hefty as his exhale.

His relief was short-lived. A pack of reporters waited just outside the resort entrance, ready for them to give their first official press conference. He’d expected it, of course. He’d even set this particular one up. But having Mari and the baby here put him on edge. Even knowing Elliot Starc’s detail of bodyguards were strategically placed didn’t give him total peace. He wondered what would.

Mari pushed the stroller while he palmed her back, guiding her through the lobby. Camera phones snap-snap-snapped as he ushered Mari and Issa across the marble floor. Gawkers whispered as they watched from beside towering columns and sprawling potted ferns.

The doorman waved them through the electric doors and out into chaos. Rowan felt Mari’s spine stiffen. Protectiveness pumped through him anew.

He ducked his head toward her. “Are you sure you’re okay with this? We can go back to the suite, dine on the balcony, spend our day off in a decadent haze of food and sunshine.”

She shook her head tightly. “We proceed as planned. For Issa, I will do anything to get the word out about her story, whatever it takes to be sure she has a real family who loves her and appreciates what a gift she is.”

Her ferocity couldn’t be denied—and it stirred the hell out of him. Before he did something crazy like kiss her until they both couldn’t think, he turned to the reporters gathered on the resort’s stone steps.

“No questions today, just a statement,” he said firmly with a smile. “Dr. Mandara and I have had our disagreements in the past, but we share a common goal in our desire...to help people in need. This is the holiday season and a defenseless child landed in our radar, this little girl. How could we look away? We’re working together to care for this baby until her family can be found. If even Mari and I can work together, then maybe there’s hope....”

He winked wryly and laughter rippled through the crowd.

Once they quieted, he continued, “That’s all for now. We have a baby, a conference agenda and holiday shopping to juggle. Thank you and Merry Christmas, everyone.”

Their bodyguards emerged from the crowd on cue and created a circular wall around them as they walked from the resort to the shopping strip.

Mari glanced up at him, her sandals slapping the wooden boardwalk leading to the stores and stalls of the shoreline marketplace. “Are we truly going shopping? I thought men hated shopping.”

“It’s better than hanging out inside eating conference food. I hope you don’t mind. If you’d rather go back...”

“Bite your tongue.” She hip-bumped him as he strode beside her.

“Onward then.” He slipped his arm around her shoulders, tucking her to him as they walked.

She glanced up at him. “Thank you.”

If he dipped his head, he could kiss her, but even though he’d set up this press coverage, he balked at that much exposure. “Thanks for what?”

“For the press conference, and taking the weight of that worry off me. You handled the media so perfectly. I’m envious of your ease, though.” She scrunched her elegant nose. “I wish I had that skill. Running from them hasn’t worked out that well for me.”

“I just hope the statement and all of those photos will help Issa.”

“Why wouldn’t it?”

Helping Interpol gain access to crooks around the world had given him insights into just how selfish, how Machiavellian, people could be. “Think of all the crackpots who will call claiming to know something just to attach themselves to a high-profile happening or hoping to gain access to you even for a short while knowing that DNA tests will later prove them to be frauds.”

“God, I never thought of that,” she gasped, her eyes wide and horrified.

He squeezed her shoulder reassuringly, all too aware of how perfectly she fit to his side. “The police are going to be busy sifting through the false leads that come through.”

“That’s why you wanted to wait a day to officially announce we’re fostering her....” she whispered softly to herself as they passed a cluster of street carolers.

“Why did you think I waited?” He saw a whisper of chagrin shimmer in her golden eyes. “Did you think I was buying time to hit on you?”

She lifted a dark eyebrow. “Were you?”

“Maybe.” Definitely.

She looked away, sighing. “Honestly, I’m not sure what I thought. Since I stumbled into your suite with that room-service cart, things have been...crazy. I’ve barely had time to think, things are happening so fast. I just hate to believe anyone would take advantage of this precious baby’s situation for attention or reward money.”

The reality of just how far people would go made his jaw flex. “We’ll wade through them. No one gains access to this child or you until they’ve been completely vetted. We will weed through the false claims and selfish agendas. Meanwhile, she’s safe with us. She turns toward your voice already.”

“You’re nice to say that, but she’s probably just in search of her next bottle.”

“Believe what you want. I know differently.” He’d seen scores of mothers and children file through his clinic—biological and adoptive. Bonds formed with or without a blood connection.

“Are you arguing with me? I thought we were supposed to be getting along now. Isn’t that what you said at the press conference?”

“I’m teasing you. Flirting. There’s a difference.” Unable to resist, he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Oh.”

“Relax. I’m not going to hit on you here.” There were far too many cameras for him to be too overt. “Although a longer kiss would certainly give the press something to go wild about. Feed them tidbits and they’ll quit digging for other items.”

Furrows dug into her forehead. “But it feels too much like letting them win.”

“I consider it controlling the PR rather than letting it control me.” He guided her by her shoulders, turning toward a reporter with a smile before walking on. “Think about all the positive publicity you’re racking up for your father.”

“This may have started out to be about keeping the press off my back, but now it’s more about the baby.”

He agreed with her on that account. But the worry on her face reminded him to stay on track with his plan. “This conversation is getting entirely too serious for a day of fun and relaxation.”

“Of course...” She swiped her hand over her forehead, squeezing her eyes closed for an instant before opening them again and smiling. “Who are you shopping for today? For your family?”

“In a sense.”

He stopped in front of a toy store.

Her grin widened, her kissable lips glistening with a hint of gloss. “Are we shopping for Issa?”

“For the kids at my clinic.”

* * *

Toy shopping with Rowan and Issa, like they were a family, tore at Mari’s heart throughout the day. The man who’d left a flower on her pillow and chosen her favorite breakfast was charming. But the man who went shopping for the little patients at his free clinic?

That man was damn near irresistible.

Riding the elevator back up to their suite, she grabbed the brass bar for balance. Her unsteady feet had nothing to do with exhaustion or the jerk of the elevator—and everything to do with the man standing beside her.

Her mind swirled with memories of their utterly carefree day. The outing had been everything she could have hoped for and more. Sure, the paparazzi had followed them, lurking, but Rowan had controlled them, fielding their questions while feeding them enough tidbits to keep them from working themselves into a frenzy. Best of all, Issa had gotten her press coverage. Hopefully the right people would see it.

As much as Mari’s stomach clenched at the thought of saying goodbye to the baby, she wanted what was best for the child. She wanted Issa to feel—and be—loved unreservedly. Every child deserved that. And Rowan was doing everything possible to help this child he’d never met, just like he did the patients at his clinic, even down to the smallest detail.

Such as their shopping spree.

It would have been easier to write it off as a show for the press or a trick to win her over. But he had a list of children’s names with notes beside them. Not that she could read his stereotypically wretched doctor’s scrawl. But from the way he consulted the list and made choices, he’d clearly made a list of kids’ names and preferences. The bodyguards had been kept busy stowing packages in the back of a limo trailing them from store to store.

And he hadn’t left Issa off his list. The baby now had a new toy in her stroller, a plush zebra, the black-and-white stripes captivating the infant. The vendor had stitched the baby’s name in pink on the toy.

Issa.

The one part of her prior life the little one carried with her—a name. Used for both boys and girls, meaning savior. Appropriate this time of year... Her feet kicked. Could the name be too coincidental? Could whoever left the baby have made up the name to go with the season—while leading authorities astray?

She leaned in to stroke the baby’s impossibly soft cheek. Issa’s lashes swept open and she stared up at Mari for a frozen moment, wide dark eyes looking up with such complete trust Mari melted. What happened if family came forward and they didn’t love her as she deserved?

Those thoughts threatened to steal Mari’s joy and she shoved them aside as the elevator doors whooshed open. She refused to let anything rob her of this perfect day and the promise of more. More time with Issa. More time with Rowan.

More kisses?

More of everything?

He’d walked away last night because he thought she wasn’t ready. Maybe he was right. Although the fact that he cared about her needs, her well-being, made it all the more difficult to keep him at arm’s length. And she couldn’t even begin to imagine how his plans for seducing her fit into this whole charade with the baby.

Questions churned in her mind, threatening to steal the joy from the day. In a rare impulsive move, she decided to simply go with the flow. She would quit worrying about when or if they would sleep together and just enjoy being with Rowan. Enjoy the flirting.

Revel in the chemistry they shared rather than wearing herself out denying its existence.

Butterflies stirred in her stomach. She pushed the stroller into their suite just as Rowan’s arm shot out to stop her.

“Someone’s here,” he warned a second before a woman shot up from the sofa.

A woman?

The butterflies slowed and something cold settled in her stomach. Dread?

A redhead with a freckled nose and chic clothes squealed, “Rowan!”

The farm-fresh bombshell sprinted across the room and wrapped her arms around Rowan’s neck.

Dread quickly shifted to something darker.

Jealousy.


Eight (#ua6dbc09c-95e4-5d9c-9465-2418d338e34f)

Rowan braced his feet as the auburn-haired whirlwind hit him full force. He’d spoken with his business partner and the partner’s wife, Hillary, about the current situation. But he’d assured them Elliot Starc had things under control. Apparently his friends weren’t taking him at his word.

Who else was waiting in the suite to blindside him? So much for romance tonight.

“Hillary.” Rowan hugged his friend fast before pulling away. “Not that I’m unhappy to see you, but what are you doing here tonight?”

She patted his face. “You should know that word spreads fast among the Brotherhood and everyone available is eager to help.” She glanced over her shoulder at Mari and the baby. “And of course, we’re insanely curious about your new situation.”

Mari looked back and forth between them, a look of confusion on her face. “The Brotherhood?”

“A nickname for some of my high school classmates,” Rowan explained. “We used to call ourselves the Alpha Brotherhood.”

They still did, actually, after a few drinks over a game of cards. The name had started as a joke between them, a way of thumbing their noses at the frat-boy types, and after a while, the label stuck.

Hillary thrust a hand toward Mari. “Hi, I’m Hillary Donavan. I’m married to Rowan’s former classmate and present business partner, Troy.”

Mari’s eyebrows arched upward. “Oh, your husband is the computer mogul.”

Hillary took over pushing the stroller and preceded them into the suite as if it was her hotel penthouse. “You can go ahead and say it. My husband is the Robin Hood Hacker.”

“I wasn’t...” Mari stuttered, following the baby buggy deeper into the room. “I wouldn’t...uh...”

“It’s okay,” Hillary said with a calm smile that had smoothed awkward moments in her days as an event planner for high-powered D.C. gatherings. “You can relax. Everyone knows my husband’s history.”

Mari smiled apologetically, leaning into the stroller to pull the sleeping baby out and cradle her protectively in her arms. “I’m not particularly good with chitchat.”

“That’s all right. I talk plenty for two people.” She cupped the back of the infant’s head. “What an adorable baby. Issa, right?”

“Yes.” Rowan pushed the stroller to a corner, lightweight gauzy pink blanket trailing out the side. “Did you see the gossip rags or did the Brotherhood tell you that, too?”

Hillary made herself at home on the leather sofa. “Actually, I’m here to help. Troy and Rowan are more than just business partners on that computer diagnostics project you so disapprove of—” Hillary winked to take the sting out the dig “—they’re also longtime friends. I have some last-minute Christmas shopping to do for those tough-to-buy-for people in my life, and voilà. Coming here seemed the perfect thing to do.”

The pieces came together in Rowan’s mind, Hillary’s appearance now making perfect sense. While the Brotherhood kept their Interpol work under wraps, Hillary knew about her husband’s freelance agent work and Salvatore had even taken her into the fold for occasional missions. Now she was here. He should have thought of it himself, if his brain hadn’t been scrambled by a certain sexy research scientist.

Hillary would make the perfect bodyguard for Mari and Issa. No one would question her presence and she added a layer of protection to this high-profile situation.

Although sometimes the whole Interpol connection also came with dangers. God, he was in the middle of an impossible juggling act.

The baby started fussing and Rowan extended his arms to take her. Mari hesitated, tucking the baby closer. Rowan lifted an eyebrow in surprise.

“Mari? I can take her.” He lifted the baby from Mari’s arms. “You two keep talking.”

“Wow.” Hillary laughed. “You sure handle that tiny tyke well. No wonder you’re dubbed one of the world’s hottest bachelors. Snap a photo of you now and you’ll need your own bodyguard.”

Mari’s smile went tight and Rowan wondered... Holy hell, she couldn’t be jealous. Could she? Was that the same look he’d seen drifting through her eyes when Hillary had hugged him earlier? He wanted her to desire him, but he also wanted—needed—for her to trust him.

“Enough, Hillary. You were talking about Troy’s computer search....”

“Right—” she turned back to Mari “—and you’re taking care of the baby, Rowan. So vamoose. Go fill out your list for Santa. I’ve got this.”

Rowan cocked an eyebrow over being so summarily dismissed. And putting Issa in the bassinet in another room would give him the perfect excuse to slip away and call Troy.

Not to mention time to regroup for the next phase of winning over Mari. He’d made progress with her today.

Now he just had to figure out how to persuade his friends to give him enough space to take that romancing to the next level.

* * *

Mari sank to the edge of the sofa. Her head was spinning at how fast things were changing around her. Not to mention how fast this woman was talking.

“Hold on a moment, please.” Mari raised a hand. “What were you saying about computer searches into Issa’s past?”

Hillary dropped into the wide rattan chair beside her. “No worries. It’s all totally legal computer work. I promise. Troy walks on the right side of the law these days. And yes, it’s okay to talk about it. I know about my husband’s past, and I assume you know about Rowan’s. But they’ve both changed. They’re genuinely trying to make amends in more ways than most could imagine.”

Mari blinked in the wake of Hurricane Hillary, confused. Why would Rowan have needed to make amends for anything? Sure, he’d led a troubled life as a teen, but his entire adult life had been a walking advertisement for charity work. Even if she disputed some of his methods, she couldn’t deny his philanthropic spirit. “I’ve read the stories of his good deeds.”

“There’s so much more to Rowan than those stories.”

She knew that already. The press adored him and his work, and she had to admit his clinic had helped many. She just wished they could come to an agreement on how to make his work—the computerized side and even the personal side—more effective. If she could solve that problem, who knew how many more small clinics in stretched-thin outposts of the world would benefit from Rowan’s model of aid?

“Hillary, why are you telling me this?”

“The competitive animosity between the two of you is not a secret.” She tipped her head to the side, twirling a strand of red hair contemplatively. “So I find it strange that you’re here.”

“I’m here for the baby.”

“Really?” Hillary crossed her legs, her eyes glimmering with humor and skepticism. No getting anything past this woman. “There are a million ways the two of you could care for this child other than sharing a suite.”

Mari bristled, already feeling overwhelmed by this confident whirlwind who looked like a Ralph Lauren model in skinny jeans and a poet’s shirt.

Smoothing her hands over her sack dress, Mari sat up stiffly, channeling every regal cell in her body. “This is quite a personal conversation to be having with someone I only just met.”

“You’re right. I apologize if I’ve overstepped.” She held up a hand, diamond wedding band set winking in the sunlight. “I’ve become much more extroverted since marrying Troy. I just wanted you to know Rowan’s a better man than people think. A better man than he knows.”

Great. Someone else pointing out the perfection of Dr. Rowan Boothe. As if Mari didn’t already know. God, how she resented the feelings of insecurity pumping through her. She wanted to be the siren in the peignoir, the confident woman certain that Rowan wanted her with every fiber of his soul. And yes, she knew that was melodramatic and totally unscientific.

Forcing her thoughts to slow and line up logically, she realized that Rowan’s eyes had followed her all day long—no skinny jeans needed. And Hillary was right. He and Mari both could have figured out a dozen different ways to care for this baby and stir publicity without sharing a suite. She was here because she wanted to be and Rowan wanted her here, as well.

No more flirting. No more games. No more holding back. She burned to sleep with Rowan.

The next time she had him alone, she intended to see the seduction through to its full, satisfying conclusion.

* * *

Finally, Rowan closed his suite door after dinner with Hillary, Troy and Elliot. He plowed his hands through his hair as Mari settled the baby for the night in his room.

He appreciated the help of his friends—but by the end of supper he had never been happier to see them all head to their own suites. Troy and Hillary were staying in the suite across the hall. Elliot Starc was a floor below, monitoring the surveillance vans outside the resort.

Rowan was more than a little surprised that his friends felt such a need to rally around him just because another orphan had landed on his doorstep. Issa wasn’t the first—and she certainly wouldn’t be the last—child in need of his patronage.

He suspected his friends’ increased interest had something to do with Mari’s involvement. No doubt he hadn’t been as successful as he would have liked at hiding his attraction to her all these years. They were here out of curiosity as well as genuine caring, stepping up on a personal level, even if Mari didn’t know the full weight of what they brought to the table for security and he wasn’t in a position to tell her.

Now that a story had broken about an orphan at Christmastime, the attention was swelling by the second. Holiday mayhem made it tougher than ever to record all the comings and goings at the resort. Bogus leads were also coming in by the hundreds. So far no sign of a valid tip. Hillary and Troy were rechecking the police work through computer traces, using Interpol databases.

Intellectually, he understood these things took time and persistence, but thinking about the kid’s future, worrying about her, made this more personal than analytical.

Somewhere out there, the baby’s family had to be seeing the news reports. Even if they didn’t want to claim her, surely someone would step forward with information. Even if the answer came in the form of official surrender of parental rights, at least they would know.

He understood full well how family ties didn’t always turn out to be as ideal as one would hope. Memories of his brother’s death, of his parents’ grief and denial burned through him. He charged across the sitting area to the bar. He started to reach for the scotch and stopped himself. After the way his brother died...

Hell, no.

He opted for a mug of fresh local ginger tea and one of the Christmas sugar cookies instead and leaned against the bar, staring out over the water as he bit the frosted tree cookie in half. Tomorrow, he and Mari both had conference presentations, then this weekend, the closing dinner and ball. Time was ticking away for all of them. He had to make the most of every moment. Tomorrow, he’d arranged for a spa appointment for Mari after her last presentation. Surely she would appreciate some privacy after all the scrutiny....

The door from Rowan’s room opened. Mari slid through and closed it quietly after her. “Baby’s sleeping soundly. I would have taken her tonight, you know.”

“Fair is fair,” he said. “We struck a bargain.”

“You’re a stubborn man. But then I understand that trait well.”

Walking toward him, her silvery-gray sheath dress gliding over her sleek figure, she set the nursery monitor on the edge of the bar. Christmas tunes played softly over the airwaves—jazz versions, soft and soothing. Mari had fallen into the habit of setting her iPhone beside the monitor and using the music to reassure herself the listening device was still on.

She poured herself a mug of steaming ginger tea as well, adding milk and honey. Cupping the thick pottery in both hands, she drank half then cradled the mug to her with a sigh.

He skimmed his knuckles along her patrician cheekbones. “Are you okay?”

Nodding, she set aside her glass. “I just didn’t expect the press coverage to be so...comprehensive.”

Was it his imagination or did she lean into his touch.

“You’re a princess. What you do makes the news.” Although even he was surprised at just how intense the media attention had become.

The hotel staff had closed off access to their floor aside from them and the Donavans, a measure taken after a reporter was injured on a window-washing unit trying to get a bonus photo. Rowan rubbed at a kink in the back of his neck, stress-induced from worrying his tail off about all the possible holes in the security. He wasn’t sure he felt comfortable taking Mari and Issa out of the hotel again, even with guards.

“But I wanted to bring positive coverage for Issa. Not all of these cranks...”

And she didn’t know the half of it. Troy had informed him about a handful of the more colorful leads the police hadn’t bothered mentioning. A woman claiming to be Mari’s illegitimate half sister had called to say the baby belonged to her. Another call had come from an area prison with someone saying their infant daughter resembled Issa and she thought it was her twin, whom they’d thought died at birth.

All of which turned out to be false, but there was no need to make Mari more upset by sharing the details. “My contacts will sift through them.”

“Who are these contacts you keep talking about? Like Hillary and her husband?” She picked up the glass again and sipped carefully.

His glass.

His body tightened as her lips pressed to the edge.

He cleared his throat. “I went to a military high school. Makes sense that some of them would end up in law enforcement positions.”

“It was a military reform school.” She eyed him over the rim of the tumbler through long lashes.

“Actually, about half were there because they wanted a future in the military or law enforcement.” He rattled off the details, anything to keep from thinking about how badly he wanted to take that glass from her and kiss her until they both forgot about talking and press conferences. “The rest of us were there because we got into trouble.”

“Your Alpha Brotherhood group—you trust these friends with Issa’s future?”





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