Книга - The Ceo’s Nanny Affair

The Ceo's Nanny Affair
Joss Wood


This will be an affair to remember…Drop-dead gorgeous billionaire Linc Ballantyne needs to make a decision after his ex abandons two children. His solution? Strike up a wary deal with her way-too-sexy sister. She’ll be the nanny and they’ll keep their hands to themselves. But their temporary truce soon becomes a temporary tryst!







Sexy single-dad billionaire meets temporary nanny...

When Tate Harper’s sister disappears, the globe-trotting TV host is suddenly the caregiver for her infant niece. She has to find her sister ASAP! Enter single father and sexy CEO Linc Ballantyne, her sister’s ex. He’s a family man to the core, and he’ll help Tate—if she agrees to be his temporary live-in nanny.

Soon she’s juggling a baby, a toddler and a growing attraction to the billionaire Ballantyne. But when it’s time to go back to her real life, will she pack her bags or stay and find out what being a family really means?


“I want you, Tate. Badly.”

Linc’s big hand covered her cheek and he placed his thumb in the center of her bottom lip.

“I want you, too,” Tate admitted. “It’s inconvenient and crazy and there are a thousand reasons why it’s a bad idea—”

But she didn’t have the strength or the willpower to walk away. This one time, she couldn’t resist temptation. But, because she had to, she could protect herself. So she did what she always did—she laid out the rules of engagement. That way, there couldn’t be any misunderstandings.

“This is a very temporary arrangement, Linc. We’re just two adults who are wickedly attracted to each other.” This couldn’t be anything more and he needed to know that. “This is temporary. So, no expectations, okay?”

“Understood,” Linc said.

The fist clenching her heart relaxed. She could do this, and she would be fine. She had to be—anything else wasn’t an option.

“So, to spell it out, I look after the kids and you…well, you do what you do. Do we have a deal?”

Linc smiled. “Yes, we have a deal.”

* * *

The CEO’s Nanny Affair is part of Mills & Boon Desire’s No. 1 bestselling series, Billionaires and Babies: Powerful men… wrapped around their babies’ little fingers.


The CEO’s Nanny Affair

Joss Wood






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


JOSS WOOD loves books and traveling—especially to the wild places of southern Africa. She has the domestic skills of a potted plant and drinks far too much coffee.

Joss has written for Mills & Boon KISS, Mills & Boon Presents and, most recently, the Mills & Boon Desire line. After a career in business, she now writes full-time. Joss is a member of the Romance Writers of America and Romance Writers of South Africa.


Contents

Cover (#u52091687-8e88-5a66-80bb-e4b1a3d56a17)

Back Cover Text (#u01689f2c-d5de-53dc-b352-8854443099fc)

Introduction (#u7e0bb865-2bf0-5b25-84d2-e68682c46a9e)

Title Page (#u5c5c3826-4f01-5366-b7bd-f9828d037702)

About the Author (#uf2ef1246-5af4-548c-a20f-5a65961464d8)

One (#u10a5cb76-d46f-55ef-9aaf-f2c8b561dddd)

Two (#ub78e93ff-100c-5ec9-b6d0-f3de6313be34)

Three (#uf8d1fb49-0fca-5b0e-b458-0a07963958a4)

Four (#u62fe5e95-fc53-56e8-9848-f86c5552752e)

Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


One (#uc1279b79-b238-5547-882d-1e5301c8b930)

Tate Harper had eaten deep-fried crickets in Thailand and snacked on guinea pig in Peru. She’d been lost in a jungle in Costa Rica and danced the night away in a run-down cantina in a Rio favela. She’d been propositioned by both rich and poor men in every corner of the world. As the host of a travel program exploring different food cultures, she’d faced some unusual situations in her life.

But nothing gave her the heavyhearted feeling that a meeting with Kari did.

Tate pushed her fist into her sternum and gripped the handle of the door to the diner. It was a wintry Wednesday afternoon in early January, and she’d touched down at JFK just after six that morning. After already having spent the morning with the executive producers of the travel channel she worked for, discussing her options for hosting a new travel series, she was mentally and physically exhausted. She simply didn’t have the energy to deal with her older-in-years-but-still-a-child cousin.

Adopted sister. Whatever the hell Kari was.

Not for the first, or hundredth time, Tate wished that she and Kari were closer, that they were each other’s best friends, but, despite she and Kari sharing the same house since she was eight, they’d never really clicked.

That old familiar wave of resentment twisted Tate’s stomach into knots. She looked down the snow-dusted road and thought about walking away. She was tempted; her life was so much easier without Kari in it. She shook her head. She wasn’t tough enough to ignore Kari’s request to meet, and, while she knew she was risking being disappointed for the umpteenth time, a part of her still hoped that they could establish an emotional connection, be a family. Resigned, she pulled open the door to the diner and stepped into its warmth. She shrugged out of her coat, pulled the floppy burgundy felt hat from her head and looked around the diner for Kari. Because their mothers were identical twins, they looked more alike than most sisters did. They shared the same wavy light brown/dark blond hair and long, lean build, but the last time Tate had seen Kari, she’d dyed her hair platinum and was the proud owner of a new, bigger pair of boobs she’d conned someone—probably a boyfriend—into paying for. They also had the same generous mouths and high cheekbones, but Kari had the twins’ bright blue eyes while Tate inherited her grandfather’s cognac-colored eyes and straight nose.

Not seeing Kari, she caught the attention of a waitress rushing past. “Sorry, excuse me? I’m looking for someone who looks a lot like me. Her text said she was here, waiting for me, but I don’t see her.”

The waitress nodded. “Yeah, she’s sitting at that empty booth. I think she went to the bathroom. Take a seat, she shouldn’t be long.”

Tate thanked her and walked toward the empty booth, her attention caught by a beautiful biracial baby fast asleep in a stroller parked between the booth and the table next to her, where a couple sat. The baby, Tate decided, had hit the genetic jackpot by inheriting the best of her stunning African American dad’s and Nordic mom’s genes.

Sitting down, she nodded at the offer of coffee. Hell, yes, she wanted coffee. She wanted to wrap her freezing hands around a warm mug and gaze out the window, happy to be out of the bitter wind and snow-tinged rain. It had been years since she’d been in the city in the middle of winter, and she’d forgotten how miserable it could get.

Next to her, chairs scraped, and Tate turned to watch as the gorgeous man and his blonde partner stood up, gathering their coats and shopping bags. From their intimate smiles and heated looks, Tate realized that they shared a deep connection. Electricity buzzed between them, and she wrinkled her nose as jealously pricked her soul.

She’d never had a man look at her like she was the reason the earth spun on its axis, the pull of the moon on the tides, the strength of the sun.

You’ve got to be in the game to play it, Harper, Tate quickly reminded herself. But you chose independence, freedom and to live on your isolated island. The consequence of that choice was emotional safety.

And, sadly, the sex life of a nun.

But that didn’t mean that she couldn’t admire a masculine butt in well-fitting jeans. Because he had an A-grade ass, it took Tate a while to realize that they were leaving. Her eyes dropped to the baby still asleep in the stroller, and she shot to her feet. “Hey, wait!”

The couple turned around and they both raised their eyebrows.

Tate gestured to the stroller. “Your baby. You’re leaving without her.”

They responded with frowns and matching is-she-crazy expressions. “That’s not our baby. The lady who was sitting there came in with that baby,” Sexy Guy told her.

Wait! What?

Tate caught the eye of the waitress as ice flooded her veins. “Who came in with this baby?”

Tate was subjected to another she’s-a-nut look. “The woman you asked about, the one who looks like you, she came in with this cutie.”

Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God. Tate fought for air and managed to compose herself long enough to ask the waitress if she’d, please, check the bathroom to see whether Kari was in a stall. Tate’s eyes bounced between the sleeping baby and the small hallway leading to the restrooms, and when the waitress reappeared, biting her lip and shaking her head, Tate started to tremble.

Déjà vu, she thought. She knew, without a fraction of doubt, that Kari had slipped out the door when her back was turned. God, Kari, don’t... Please don’t abandon another of your children. Breeze back through that door, toss me a weak explanation, and we’ll pretend this never happened. Just don’t walk away; please don’t confirm my worst beliefs about you.

Tate turned around to look at the door to the diner and waited for it to open, waited for the world to stop tilting. When a minute passed and then two, she sighed and turned around again. Feeling moisture on her cheeks, she wiped away her tears and blinked furiously. She wouldn’t cry, she wouldn’t fall apart. Taking a deep, calming breath, Tate sent another anxious look to the door, hoping for a miracle.

After ten minutes passed with zero miracles occurring, her shock receded, and air rushed into her lungs, clearing the fog from her brain. Think, dammit. Think. Legally, this child was her niece, and she was responsible for her. As much as she wished she could run away, her mother had already bolted from the diner, and leaving her alone wasn’t an option.

Kari was in the wind... So, what now? Looking down, she saw a diaper bag in the storage area under the stroller, and Tate pulled the heavy sack onto her lap. Resting her arms on the diaper bag, and trying to keep the panic at bay, Tate stared down at the sleeping child.

Angelic, she thought wistfully, because that was the only word that made sense. Her skin was the color of lightly burnt sugar, wispy espresso curls covered her head and her rounded cheeks were pure perfection. The little girl had the wide Harper mouth and pointed chin.

Tate unzipped the diaper bag and peered inside. Seeing a brown envelope flat against the side, Tate pulled it out, her heart hammering. She opened it with shaking fingers, yanked out the papers and slowly flipped through them. There wasn’t much besides inoculation certificates and medical cards and a birth certificate stating that the baby was Ellie Harper, the mother, Kari Harper, and father unknown.

God, Kari. How could you not know who the father was? Or did she know and just decided not to inform the state? The last piece of paper was a letter scrawled in Kari’s handwriting.

Tate,

I know what you are thinking and I don’t blame you. This looks bad; it is bad. I need you to take Ellie. Something has come up and I can’t keep her. You’ll figure out what to do with her.

If you’re freaking out—and you probably are—call Linc Ballantyne, your nephew’s dad. His number is below. Ellie is Shaw’s half sister and he’ll help you out.

I know that you won’t believe this but I do love her.

K.

Her eyes still glued to the letter, Tate shoved her hand into her bag and pulled out her smartphone. Feeling like she had a sumo wrestler sitting on her chest, she entered the phone number and held her breath as she stared down at the small screen.

What was she doing? Linc Ballantyne’s connection to Ellie was tenuous at best—he was Kari’s ex-fiancé and, yes, the father of the now-four-year-old son she’d abandoned. Linc had lived Tate’s current reality four years ago, and maybe he could help her make sense of Kari’s crazy. It wasn’t in her nature to ask for help, but desperate times trumped pride.

Tate lifted the phone and held it to her ear and listened to it ringing. She was transferred from one efficient Ballantyne employee to another before a deep male voice muttered a harsh greeting in her ear. As Linc Ballantyne’s sexy voice rumbled through her, Ellie opened her eyes, and Tate was struck by the burst of bright, cobalt blue.

Kari’s eyes...

“This is Tate Harper, Kari’s sister, and I have a massive problem. Can we meet?”

* * *

Some days, running a multibillion-dollar company gave Linc Ballantyne a splitting headache. Hell, make that most days lately. Needing an aspirin, Linc walked into the middle office separating his and his brother Beck’s office, and, ignoring Amy’s concerned expression, he pulled out a bottle of aspirin from the top drawer of her desk. He tossed two into his mouth and dry swallowed, very used to the bitter taste.

Amy, the executive assistant he and Beck shared, tucked her phone between her neck and ear and reached across her desk to throw Linc an unopened water bottle. He caught it, cracked the lid and looked through the glass walls to see his still-slim, still-pretty mother walking down the hallway and, as he always did, said a quick, silent thank-you to whatever force that had driven her into the arms of Connor Ballantyne.

Well, not his arms—as far as he knew Connor and his mom were never romantically involved—but into his house, at least. Moving into the brownstone known as The Den and meeting the kids who would become his siblings was the best day of his life; losing Connor, the worst.

Linc hurried across the office to open the door to her and bent down to kiss Jo’s cheek.

“Hi.”

“Hello, darling,” Jo replied. Her eyes were gray, like his, but hers were the color of gentle rain while his were a darker, edgier granite. “I’m sorry to drop in on you without warning.”

“That’s never a problem,” Linc assured her.

Jo greeted Amy with a kiss and a hug, and gestured to his office. “Have you a minute for me, Linc?”

“Always.”

In his office Jo sat down as he perched on the edge of his desk and folded his arms across his chest, feeling the burn in his biceps. He’d pushed himself last night, storming through his late-night workout, hoping that the exercise would ensure a good night’s sleep. It had helped somewhat; he’d slept for a solid four hours only to be woken up by Shaw having a nightmare. It had taken an hour to get his son to settle again, and by then he was wide-awake.

“Gary has asked me to move in with him.”

Linc jerked his attention back to his mother, trying to contain his shock. “You want to leave The Den? But why so soon?”

Jo rolled her eyes. “We have been in a relationship for more than six months, Linc, so stop acting like I met him two weeks ago! You like him, you told me so.”

That was before he was encouraging you to move out, Linc silently groused. Every time Jo mentioned Gary, her eyes glowed and her cheeks warmed. If he believed in love and all that crap, he’d say his mom was head over heels in love with the ex-banker. Since he didn’t, he looked past all that and saw two intellectually and socially compatible people who simply enjoyed each other’s company. Truth be told, he still didn’t like the fact that Jo was choosing Gary over Shaw, the grandson she’d been helping Linc raise since he was six weeks old.

“I think that we’ll marry eventually, but I—” Jo continued, rubbing her forehead with the tips of her fingers. “I’ve lived in The Den for twenty-five years and I love it, but now I want my own home, Linc. I want a place that’s all mine, and we want to travel.” His mom lifted worried eyes to his. “You know I love Shaw and I was happy to help you when he was a baby because, frankly, you needed the assistance. I still want to help out but—”

“But you don’t want to do it every day,” Linc said and Jo nodded.

Linc cursed. Bad time to defect, Mom! He had a massive company to run and grow. They were rebranding the business, he was considering investing in a diamond mine in Botswana, they had a strike looming at a mine in Colombia, they were opening new stores in Abu Dhabi and Barcelona, refurbishing stores in Hong Kong, LA and Tokyo.

His business life was ridiculously busy and consistently stressful, and he was only able to do what he did because he didn’t have to worry about Shaw. His home life ran like clockwork: he took Shaw to pre-K, Jo picked him up and spent the afternoon and early evening with him, feeding and bathing him if he was running late. It worked so damn well because he trusted his mom implicitly, and he never worried about his son’s emotional and physical welfare. She was irreplaceable.

“I’ve been looking after kids for so long.” Jo shrugged, lifting delicate shoulders. “I’m nearly sixty, Linc. I want to have some fun, take a break, travel. Have a glass of wine at lunchtime if I feel like it. I’m tired, Linc. Can you understand that?”

Linc stood up and walked to the window, conscious of his accelerated heartbeat and his constricted throat. He hated change, especially in his personal life, and now she’d thrown him for a total loop. Keep calm and think it through. As a father of a mischievous four-year-old and as the CEO of a Fortune 500 company, keeping his head while everyone else was losing theirs was how he navigated his life.

He’d had a lot of practice at being the calm port everyone ran to in a storm. When he was eleven, Jo had secured the position to be Connor Ballantyne’s housekeeper and to help him look after his orphaned nephews and niece. His mom told Linc to keep out of the Ballantynes’ ways, but Connor, with his huge heart and lack of snobbery, insisted that if they were going to live in The Den, then they had to live in The Den. They all ate and played together, and Linc attended the same expensive school as Jaeger and Beck. He read in the library, slid down the banister and peppered the magnificent chandelier in the foyer with spitballs.

To his utter surprise and delight, Connor embraced Linc’s presence at The Den, and he never once felt like a third wheel. Maybe that was because Jaeger, Beck and Sage latched onto him, and though he’d been a kid himself, a little less than a year older than Jaeger, he somehow became the person they’d gravitated to. For more than a quarter of a century, he’d been the glue holding the Ballantynes together, and while Beck helped him run Ballantyne International and all four of them held equal shares in the company, he was—despite the fact that he was not a Ballantyne by blood—the leader of the pack.

Linc didn’t mind. When he formally adopted the four of them when Linc turned sixteen, Connor made it clear that Linc was the oldest child, that he expected him to look after his siblings, to look after the company, to do him proud.

He had no intention of disappointing the only father he’d ever really known. But Shaw’s welfare was his first priority, always. How could he place his son’s care in the hands of a stranger? How was he supposed to run this company, nurture and grow it, if he was worried about whether his son was receiving the same attention at home?

Linc opened his mouth to throw himself at her mercy and ask for a time extension but then immediately snapped it shut. As much as he hated change, he couldn’t put his needs above Jo’s. Especially since she’d dedicated the past thirty-five years putting him first.

Crap. Having integrity sucked.

He turned and forced himself to smile. “So, what do you suggest I do?”

Linc saw the shock and relief in her eyes, ashamed to realize that she’d expected him to argue. “You need a live-in nanny.”

Ack. A stranger in his house, looking after his kid. Shoot him now.

“I’ll contact the most reputable agencies and select a few for you to interview,” Jo said before lifting her eyebrows. “Or do you want to do this yourself?”

Linc shuddered. “No, thanks. I’d rather shower with acid.”

His mom cocked her head. “You know what you need, don’t you? More than a nanny?”

Sex? A decent night’s sleep? A skiing vacation with lots of sex and lots of sleep?

“You need a wife,” Jo empathetically stated.

Linc shot her a glare. He so didn’t. Once upon a time he’d nearly acquired one of those and lost her two weeks before they were supposed to say “I do.” For the past four years he’d managed perfectly well without a wife. But he’d had Jo’s help... Dammit.

“I’ve heard all the reasons why you’re not interested, Linc. Women are fickle, untrustworthy, they just want your money or the Ballantyne name. Et cetera...et cetera.”

“Mom.” Linc closed his eyes, looking through the glass wall in Amy’s direction. He had a full day ahead, multibillion-dollar decisions to make, and he did not need to talk about his crappy love life. Amy, as she often did, suddenly lifted her head and met his eyes.

“Help me,” he mouthed.

“Amy’s not going to bail you out,” Jo said, not bothering to turn around to look at his assistant. “Besides, she and I agree that you need someone in your life.”

“Like I need a needle in my eye,” Linc muttered, mouthing “You’re fired” at Amy. His assistant just grinned and turned back to her monitor.

“You need someone to challenge you, to make you laugh, to make you think. Someone interesting and independent and smart,” his mom insisted.

Why were they even discussing this? Thanks to his ex-fiancée, Kari, he was now determined not to risk his heart, and especially not his son’s, on another woman. They were fine on their own. They had to be because there wasn’t a woman alive who was worth taking a chance on. He’d learned that lesson well. “Mom, I have work to do. I don’t have time to dissect my love life or my relationship with my crazy ex.”

Jo stood up and pushed a finger into his chest. “You need to start dating again.”

Linc shuddered. Hell to the no. Time to move on. And he could only do that if he deflected the conversation onto one of his siblings. “Talking about relationships, Cady is in Beck’s office, right now.”

Jo’s eyes immediately brightened with curiosity. “Cady? Is she back?”

Linc put a hand on her shoulder and gently directed her to the door. “Amy will explain it to you. I need to get back to work.”

Jo glared at him as he reached around her to open the door. “You just don’t want to discuss your love life anymore.”

“I don’t have a love life,” Linc corrected, bending down to kiss her cheek. “And I like it that way.”

Jo tossed another hot look his way before addressing Amy. “He needs to date.”

“I know,” Amy answered without missing a beat, her fingers dancing over her keyboard. “I’m working on it.”

“You’re working on nothing,” Linc retorted, “because I freakin’ fired you!”

Amy rolled her eyes at Jo, who smiled.

“You’re delusional, Linc. We all know that Connor left me in charge. Hold that thought,” Amy told him, before answering a call. She listened for a minute before lifting suddenly serious eyes to meet Linc’s.

“It’s Tate Harper and she needs to speak to you. It’s private and, in her words, it’s pretty damn urgent.”

* * *

Linc glanced at his Rolex and glared at the imposing front door of The Den, his brownstone just off Park Avenue that had been in the Ballantyne family more than a century. In the four years since Kari bolted—taking two of his credit cards and her flawless yellow diamond engagement ring with her—he’d had precisely zero contact with the Harper family. He knew that Kari had been adopted by her aunt and had a cousin she’d been raised with, but she had hardly spoken about them.

They certainly hadn’t been invited to their wedding, and, at the time, Linc had thought that there was bad blood between them. Now he knew that Kari hadn’t bothered with wedding invitations because she’d never intended to marry him. He would’ve saved himself a bundle in both time and money if the damned woman had let him in on that little secret.

He once thought that she wanted what he did; a home, a family, a traditional family life together, but Kari had run from the life he’d offered her. Most shocking of all, she’d also relinquished all parental rights to Shaw. When she did that he assumed that all connections to Kari and her family were permanently severed, so he couldn’t understand why Tate needed to see him.

And why he’d ever agreed to meet with her was equally confounding. But he’d heard something in her voice, a note of panic and deep, deep sorrow. Maybe something had happened to Kari, and, if so, he needed to know what. She was still Shaw’s mother, after all.

Linc heard the light rap on the door and sucked in a breath.

The first thought he had when he opened his front door to Tate Harper and raked his eyes over her was that he wanted her. Under him, on top of him, up against the nearest wall...anyway he could have her, he’d take her. That thought was immediately followed by, Oh, crap, not again.

Kari had been a stunning woman, but her beauty, as he knew—and paid for—had taken work. But the woman standing behind the stroller was effortlessly gorgeous. Her hair was a riot of blond and brown, eyes the color of his favorite whiskey under arched eyebrows and her skin, makeup-free, was flawless. This Harper’s beauty was all natural and, dammit, so much more potent. Linc, his hand on the doorknob, took a moment to draw in some much-needed air.

He scanned her face again, unable to stop drinking in her dazzling beauty. The rational part of his brain wanted him to tell Tate Harper that he had nothing to say to her, no help to offer and that he and Shaw did not need the aggravation dealing with a Harper almost always caused.

The rest of him, led by his very neglected libido—he was a super busy single dad who rarely had time to chase tail—wanted to start stripping off her clothes to unveil what he assumed was a very delectable body.

“Tate? Come on in.”

She pushed the stroller into the hall, holding the bar with a white-knuckle grip. Linc, wincing at the realization that he was allowing a whole bunch of trouble to walk through his front door, was about to rescind his invitation for her to step into his home and his life. Then he made the mistake of looking into her eyes and gauged her terror, her complete and utter dismay, and her-what-the-hell-did-I-do-to-deserve-this expression.

She’d jumped into the ring with Kari and had the crap kicked out of her, Linc realized. And, for some reason, she thought he could help her clean up the mess. And, because his first instinct was to protect, to make things right, he wanted to wipe the fear from Tate’s eyes.

God, he was such a flippin’ asshat.

Annoyed with himself, Linc turned his attention to the occupant in the stroller... Ten or eleven months old, he guessed, clean and well fed. And cute, man, she was cute. He loved kids, and this adorable little one, with those bright blue eyes looking up at him, was born charming. He recognized those lapis lazuli eyes; they were Kari’s eyes and this was Kari’s kid.

But if this was Kari’s kid, then why was Tate on his doorstep with her?

Her hands tightened around the bar of the stroller, no color left in her face. She read the question in his eyes and slowly nodded, devastation glimmering in her eyes as she confirmed his worst suspicions. “She was there, at the place we had arranged to meet. She must have seen me arrive and slipped out when I linked Ellie to her.”

Linc placed his hands on his hips and tipped his head back to look at the ceiling. He swore quietly, before returning his gaze back to Tate, who was rocking on her heels. “So, what do you want from me?”

Because I know what I want from you and that’s to unbutton that blouse, slide it off your sexy shoulders and feel your silky skin beneath my hands, your made-for-sin mouth fusing with mine. I want to know the shape of your breasts, dig my fingers into the skin of your ass...

Sex? That’s where his head went after her shocking statement. What the hell?

For God’s sake, Ballantyne, get a freakin’ grip! Why, after all the crap Kari had put him through, did he have the hots for her sister?

Linc rubbed the back of his neck. “I need coffee. Would you like a cup?”

“Only if you don’t poison it. Or spit in it.”

Linc felt his lips twitch and fought a smile. So, she had a bit of a mouth on her. Back in the world he normally lived in, the one that made sense, Linc didn’t mind sassy women. There was nothing more annoying than someone who agreed with everything he said, so desperate to please. He’d dated quite of few of them.

He didn’t like this woman, he reminded himself sternly; he didn’t have any intention of liking her, ever. They were going to have coffee, a conversation, and, hopefully, in ten minutes he’d be back at his desk and life would return to normal.

He looked down into the stroller again. “What’s her name?”

“In her letter, Kari calls her Ellie.”

“Pretty name,” Linc said, undoing the harness that kept Ellie in the stroller. He picked her up and placed her on his hip, his arm around her little butt. God, it felt weird, but almost right, to have a baby in his arms again. He’d always wanted a big family, tons of kids. But, since babies usually came with a mother and that species came with complications and drama, he was resigned to being a one-child dad. And that child was pretty damn cool...

“Follow me.” Linc led Tate through the second floor of the brownstone and hit the stairs leading to the garden level. Stepping into the large open-plan room, he walked into his, and Shaw’s, favorite area of the brownstone—the living room that flowed out from the kitchen and informal eating area. It held long, comfortable couches, a large-screen TV, books and Shaw’s toys. Massive French doors led to the enclosed garden with pots of herbs and garden furniture. The rest of The Den held priceless art and rare antiques, but this room was functional, lived-in and cozy.

Linc, still holding the baby, headed to the coffee machine and hit the button to power up the appliance. It was nearly 4:00 p.m., was it too early for something strong and alcoholic? After making coffee, Linc walked back into the sitting area and placed their mugs onto the coffee table.

Tate looked as white as a sheet, shell-shocked and more than a little panicked. She needed to calm the hell down.

“Take your coat off, sit down and breathe,” Linc instructed her, relieved when Tate nodded her agreement. In real life, she wouldn’t be so quick to acquiesce, Linc mused. It might have been her snarky comment earlier about him spitting in her coffee, but he just knew that Tate wasn’t a pushover. It added a layer of intrigue to the sexy.

He watched as she removed her coat, revealing more of that almost perfect body and her glorious blondish-brown hair. “I’ve lost my hat.”

“I think you have bigger things to worry about than a hat,” Linc stated, leaning forward to pick up his coffee cup.

Questions that had nothing to do with his ex and her baby jumped into his mind. Would her eyes deepen or lighten with passion? Was she a moaner or a screamer? Would she be...

Linc closed his eyes and forcefully shook his head, reminding himself to start using his brain.

He needed to hear her story so that he could hustle her out of the door and get back to his predictable, safe, sensible world. She was pure temptation, and being attracted to his crazy ex’s sister was a complication he most definitely did not need.

“So, start at the beginning and tell me how Kari managed to sucker you into looking after her child.”


Two (#uc1279b79-b238-5547-882d-1e5301c8b930)

Tate sank back into the cushions of the super comfortable couch, wishing she could just close her eyes. When she woke up, this would all be a horrible dream, and she’d have a vacation to start, a career to obsess over.

She wouldn’t have a baby to think about or to care for, and she certainly would not be in Linc Ballantyne’s fabulous mansion on the Upper East Side, looking at Manhattan’s hottest and most elusive bachelor.

The photographs of him online and in print publications didn’t do this man justice. They simply told the world that he was incredibly good-looking. And by good-looking, she meant fantastically hot. It was toasty warm inside his house, but she was still shivering, partly from shock but mostly from a punch of “throw me to the floor and take me now.”

Under Linc’s button-down shirt and tie was a wide chest and, she was sure, a hard, ridged stomach. His shoulders were broad, his legs long and muscular and his short, thick dark hair was just this side of messy. And those eyes, God, his eyes. They were a deep and mysterious gray, a color somewhere between summer thunderclouds and pewter. Short, thick black lashes, a slightly crooked nose and dark, rakish eyebrows added character to his too-sexy face.

But the photographs didn’t capture the power sizzling under his skin, the intelligence radiating from those eyes, the don’t-BS-me vibe emanating from him. They certainly didn’t capture the sheer and unrelenting masculinity of the man.

The man she was fiercely, ridiculously attracted to. Of course she was, Tate sighed, because she was a Harper woman and Harper women never made life easy for themselves.

Her eyes moved from his face to the baby tucked into the crook of his elbow, and she swallowed hard. She remembered his earlier question about what she wanted from him, and, not for the first time since stepping into the brownstone, she wondered what she was doing here. She wasn’t the type to fall apart in a crisis, who needed a man to sort her life out and she’d learned, at a very early age, not to depend on anyone else to help her muddle through life. People, she’d found, and especially those who were supposed to love her, were generally unreliable.

Ellie was her responsibility, not Linc’s. So, really, there was no point in extending this very uncomfortable visit. And the zing of sexual awareness dancing along her skin, making her heart bounce around her chest, added a level of awkward to their encounter.

Tate got to her feet, walked over to him and reached for Ellie, pulling the little girl into her arms. Eleven months old and abandoned, Tate thought. How could Kari do this? Again?

“I’m sorry, Linc, we shouldn’t have come here.” Tate heard her words running together and tried to slow down. “We’ll get out of your hair now.”

Linc leaned forward and placed his muscular forearms on his thighs, his eyes penetrating. “Take a breath, Tate. Sit down, drink your coffee and let’s talk this through.”

“I should let you go back to work.”

“My day is already shot,” he admitted. “Tell me what happened.”

Tate gave him a quick rundown of her day, and when she was finished, Linc asked, “Where’s the note she left you?”

Too tired to argue, she told him where to find it and sat down with Ellie propped on her lap. Tate took her little hand in hers and thought that Ellie was amazingly docile for a child that had been dumped with a stranger.

“So, though this note is short on details it seems to imply that you now get to call the shots with regard to Ellie,” Linc said.

“Imply being the operative word,” Tate bitterly replied. “And what am I supposed to do with her? Look after her? Place her in foster care? Give her up for adoption?”

“I don’t think you have the legal right to do the last two,” Linc said, and she saw the anger burning in his eyes. “But why couldn’t she just do any of this herself? Why involve you?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t even know about Ellie until I got to the diner. I haven’t seen Kari for two years.” Tate rubbed her thumb gently over the back of Ellie’s hand. “And that meeting was tense.”

“Why?”

She started to tell him that they’d had a huge fight because Kari abandoned her son. Tate had been so incensed at her cousin’s blasé attitude toward Shaw that she’d stopped communicating with her. Tate noticed Linc’s hard eyes and knew that he wouldn’t appreciate, and didn’t need, her defending his son. Linc Ballantyne was obviously very capable at fighting his own battles.

“Family stuff.” Tate eventually pushed the short explanation out.

Linc linked his hands together and leaned back, placing his ankle on his knee and tapping the sheaf of papers balanced on his thigh. “So, what are you going to do?”

Tate forced herself to think. “Right now, I suppose I need to find us a place to stay—”

“Whoa! You’re homeless, too?”

Tate glared at him and held up her hand in an indignant gesture. “Hold on, hotshot, don’t jump to conclusions. I’m a travel presenter, out of the country for most of the year, so I live out of hotel rooms. Once a year, I get a long vacation, and I came back to New York to meet with my producers. I was planning to find a hotel for a night or two, until I decided where I wanted to spend my vacation. I might have to rethink leaving New York now, since I have Ellie with me.”

“Do you have enough cash? She needs diapers and clothes and...stuff.”

Stuff. Tate wrinkled her nose. How unhelpful.

She did have enough money. Her living and travel expenses were paid for by the production company, so her hefty salary went straight into her savings account. Kari was a flake, but she wasn’t. “Yes.”

“You don’t seem like you have much experience with babies.”

“Or any,” Tate replied self deprecatingly. “I’ll buy a book,” she added.

“God.” Linc muttered, shaking his head. “Do you know how to change a diaper at least?”

“I’m sure I can figure it out,” Tate huffed.

Linc rubbed the back of his strong neck, above the patch of tanned skin between the collar of his shirt and his hair. It was the dead of winter—why was he tan? And why did she feel the insane urge to taste his skin?

“Are you going to call Child Services and place her into foster care?”

It took Tate a moment to pull her attention back to the conversation...Ellie and what to do with her. Focus, Harper.

Tate looked at Linc and saw the wariness in his eyes and realized that this was a test, that this moment would make him form an opinion of her that wouldn’t be easy to change. Wariness and distrust would slide into contempt.

Strangely, she felt the need not to disappoint him, since she felt like Harper women had disappointed him enough already.

This wasn’t about him, she chastised herself. It was about Ellie and what was best for her, so Tate tried to imagine how she would feel watching a Child Services officer walking away with Ellie, and she shook her head. “No, I can’t do that.”

Tate saw, but ignored, the flash of relief that crossed Linc’s face.

“I’m on vacation, and I can look after Ellie as well as any foster mother could, once I figure out the basics.” She sighed. “I think I need to consult a lawyer and find out whether I can, temporarily, keep her.”

He nodded but remained silent.

“Just so you know, I intend to track Kari down and make her face the consequences of her actions. I want her to make the decision to give Ellie up for adoption, not me,” Tate added.

“That can be arranged.” Linc held her eyes, and in that instant she saw the edgy businessman, the man who made hard, complicated decisions on six continents.

“What do you mean?”

“My best friend owns a security company, but he started out as a private investigator. He tracked down Kari the last time she skipped town. I’m sure he could do it again.” Linc’s words were as hard as diamonds and twice as cold. Oh, her sister had obviously done a number on this man’s head. Dammit, Kari.

“I’ll think about hiring a PI. But right now I just need to get us settled for the night and meet with a lawyer.”

“I’ll get Amy, my assistant, to find someone who specializes in family law,” Linc said, leaning sideways to pull his ultrathin phone out of his pants pocket.

Tate started to protest but snapped her mouth closed when he issued terse instructions into the phone. God, he sure didn’t waste time and was clearly a take-charge type of guy. Would he be like that in bed? Of course he would be; he’d be all “do this” or “do that,” and any woman alive would jump to be under his command. Including her. Tate knew, instinctively, that the pleasure he’d give her would be worth any amount of bossiness...

Someone slap me, please, Tate thought. Right...well, Linc wasn’t going to take charge of her...in or out of the bedroom.

Tate waited for him to finish his conversation, intending to tell him exactly that. Okay, she might be in his house, having run to him as Kari suggested, but it wasn’t his job to fix this.

“No, I am not going to tell you why,” Linc spoke into his phone, exasperated. “Jeez, Amy, you don’t need to know everything about everybody. Concentrate on your wedding arrangements or, better yet, do some work.”

Linc snapped the phone closed and tapped it against his thigh. “I share an assistant with my brother Beck and, unfortunately, she is scary efficient, which leaves her far too much time to meddle in our lives.”

Tate nodded, thinking that his crooked smile was charming, the grudging affection she heard in his voice endearing. She should go, she really should. But it was so nice in this warm house, and looking at Linc wasn’t a hardship. Tate yawned, fighting the urge to close her eyes. Jet lag and having her life flipped on its head was not a great combination.

Tate fought her tiredness, decided that it was time to leave and was about to stand when she heard the sound of feet on the wooden stairs, the piping voice of a little boy and the measured tones of an older woman. Shaw was home, she thought. Both excited and nervous to meet her nephew, Tate shot Linc an anxious look.

“He knows who Kari is,” he told her as he stood and stretched. “I’ll explain about Ellie when I think the time is right.”

Fair enough, Tate thought.

Tate heard the loud, excited “Dad!” and turned around to see a little boy fling himself at Linc’s legs. Tate couldn’t help noticing, and appreciating, the way Linc’s biceps bulged as he scooped his son up and into his arms, easily holding the three-foot dynamo.

“Dad! You’re home! What are you doing here? We made clay dinosaurs at school. Billy made Jamie cry. I fell down and scraped my knee. But I didn’t cry or anything.”

“I am home, buddy. I needed to meet someone here. I’d love to see the dinosaur you made... Where is it? Who is Billy and why did he make Jamie cry? I’m glad your knee is okay,” Linc calmly replied, sending a quick smile to the dark-haired, older woman who walked into the room. “Hey, Mom.”

Tate’s gaze danced over Shaw’s features; he had Kari’s blond hair, the same spray of freckles she remembered her sporting in her childhood and Kari’s spectacular eyes. Give him twenty years and he would be fighting off girls with a stick.

Shaw must’ve felt her eyes on him because his head whipped around, and his mouth dropped open with surprise. He wiggled out of his father’s arms and belted across the room to stand next to her. “I’m Shaw. Who are you?”

Keep it simple, she thought, seeing Linc’s concerned frown. “My name is Tate. And this—” she lifted the little girl’s fist “—is Ellie.”

Shaw placed his hands on his hips and cocked his head. “Okay. Did you come for a playdate with Dad?”

Tate held back her laugh. Oh, God, she wished that this situation was that simple. “I needed to chat with your dad.” She stood up and held out her free hand to Linc’s mother. “Hi, I’m Tate Harper, Kari’s sister.”

Linc frowned. “I thought she was your cousin.”

“Legally, we’re sisters. My mom adopted her when we were kids,” she explained.

Tate expected Jo to give her a very frosty reception, so she was very surprised when the older woman ignored her hand to lean in for a quick hug.

“You’re the travel presenter. I love your program! And who is this?” Jo looked at Ellie and shot Tate a sympathetic gaze, and her mouth tightened. “Don’t bother answering, I see the resemblance between her and Shaw. She’s done it again?”

Tate forced herself to meet Jo’s eyes, and saw a mixture of sympathy and anger. Sympathy for her, anger toward her ex-almost-daughter-in-law.

To her dismay, her eyes started to burn with tears. “I flew in from South America this morning. I had a meeting with my bosses. A few hours later and I’m suddenly responsible for a baby!” She waved her free hand in front of her face in an attempt to regain her composure. “Sorry! I’m not a crier but I’m so mad.”

“You need a cookie,” Shaw said, looking up at her, his expression concerned.

Tate let out a tiny laugh. “I probably do.”

“I’ll have one with you,” the little boy stated, his tone confident. “Then you can feel twice as better.”

Linc shook his head, and the amusement in his gray eyes made her heart stutter. “Nice try, mister. You can have an apple, and if you want a cookie, you can have it for an after-dinner treat. That’s the rule.” Linc placed both his hands on Shaw’s shoulders. “In the meantime, you can take your schoolbag upstairs and say hello to Spike.”

Shaw nodded and bounded away.

Tate lifted her eyebrows. “Who is Spike?”

“His bearded dragon,” Jo replied, shuddering. “Ugly little thing.”

Jo reached out and took Ellie from Tate’s arms. Ellie touched Jo’s cheek with her little hand, and Jo pretended to bite it. The older woman then turned her megawatt smile onto Tate. “Now, what are we going to do about you two?”

Tate darted a look at Linc and shook her head. “No, really, this isn’t your problem. I’ll make a plan, figure something out. I’ll buy that baby book and muddle along. We’ll be fine.”

“I think you should stay here tonight,” Jo said, her tone suggesting that she not argue. “Judging by your career, I doubt you have any experience with babies—”

“Try none,” Tate interjected.

“—and I can, at the very least, help you through your first night with her.”

Oh, God, she’d love that. Tate knew she could figure it out, eventually, but being shown how to do the basics would make her life a hundred times easier. Then Tate saw Linc’s forbidding expression, and her heart sank. He didn’t want her in his house or in his life, and she couldn’t blame him. The last time a Harper female dropped into his life, she caused absolute havoc and a great deal of hurt. “That’s extremely kind of you but—”

“Where are your bags?” Jo demanded.

“Um, still at my company’s office,” Tate replied, suddenly realizing that if she wanted a change of clothes and to brush her teeth, she’d have to collect the suitcases she’d left in the care of Go!’s security. And she’d have to lug said luggage and a baby to whatever hotel she could find on short notice.

Damn.

Tate straightened her shoulders and injected steel into her spine. She’d faced down bigger challenges than this in cities a lot less sophisticated than New York. She wasn’t powerless and she wasn’t broke; she’d just have to get organized. “Thank you but no. I’ll be fine.” She forced herself to meet Linc’s stormy gray eyes. “I’m so sorry to have called you. I suppose I panicked.”

As Tate went to take Ellie, Jo turned her shoulder away and shook her head. “You’re not going anywhere, young lady. You are my grandson’s aunt, and I insist that you spend the night. It’s not as though we don’t have the room.”

“Mom—”

Tate heard the warning in Linc’s voice even if Jo didn’t.

Jo narrowed her eyes at her son. “Linc, arrange for the Ballantyne driver to collect Tate’s luggage and have it delivered here. One of those many interns you have hanging around at work can purchase some baby supplies. I’ll make a list, and it can be delivered with the luggage.”

Linc pulled his hands out of his pockets and lifted his hands in resignation. He looked at Tate and shrugged. “My mother has made up her mind.”

But you’re not happy about it, Tate thought. She looked at Jo, thinking that she’d try another argument, but Jo’s expression was resolute.

“Just for tonight,” she capitulated. “Thank you and I do appreciate your hospitality.”

Jo walked toward the kitchen, taking Ellie with her. When she was out of earshot, Tate gathered her courage to look at Linc. “I promise you, I won’t abuse your hospitality.”

Linc nodded, his face granite hard. “I won’t let you. Trust me, I have no intention of being played for a sucker again. So, fair warning, whatever you think you can get out of me, it’s not going to happen. One night, Tate. That’s it. Tomorrow, you’re gone.”

Tate wanted to explain that she wasn’t like her sister, but quickly realized that Linc wasn’t interested in her explanations and, worse, didn’t care. She was the dust on the bottom of his shoes, and the sooner he could shake her off, the happier he’d be. “Tomorrow, I’m gone,” Tate agreed.

“See that you are. My mother got her way this time. She won’t again.” Linc lifted his wrist to look at his expensive watch. “I’ve got to get back to the office. I’ll arrange to have your luggage collected if you give me the address. Amy’s working on finding that lawyer, and I will ensure that whatever my mother wants purchased gets delivered.”

“Thank you. I do appreciate your help,” Tate said, her back still straight and her eyes still clashing with his.

Linc surprised her when he stepped up to her and gripped her chin in his large hand. An inch apart, she could feel the heat of his hard body, smell his sweet breath. She could see the faint scar in the corner of his mouth, count each individual bristle of his sexy stubble. Her pulse raced. She wanted that mouth on hers...wanted to wind her arms around his neck, to push her aching breasts into his wide chest.

She wanted to know what he tasted like, how he kissed.

“I fell for the machinations of one pretty Harper woman before. I won’t do it again.” Linc’s gaze darted to her mouth and back up to her eyes again. She saw desire smoldering under his layers of anger and frustration. “So don’t get any ideas, Tate.”

“One night, Linc.” It was all she could think of to say, the only words she could force through her lips. “I promise.”

Derision flashed across Linc’s face as he dropped his hand and stepped back. “Sorry, but Harper promises mean less than nothing to me.”

Fair enough, Tate thought as he strode away. If her fiancé had bailed on her and her child two weeks before their much-anticipated society wedding, she, too, would still be furious and not inclined to play nice with his relatives.

And she most definitely wouldn’t have been as calm as Linc had remained with her. Tate placed her hands on her hips and stared at her feet.

She’d been granted a reprieve, and she’d use that time wisely to rest and pick Jo’s brain on the basics of childcare. Tomorrow she’d move on.

Between now and then the one thing she would not do was fantasize about Linc Ballantyne. Yes, he was insanely hot, but if she were to have a type, he wasn’t it. Within ten minutes she’d pegged him as a traditional guy, someone absolutely committed to his son and his family, to his stable, conventional life.

He was everything she was not. And that was perfectly fine with her, because in the morning she would be moving on.

After all, moving on was what she did best.


Three (#uc1279b79-b238-5547-882d-1e5301c8b930)

In the space of an afternoon, Tate had fallen in love.

She absolutely adored her niece, was partly in love with Jo, was pretty much there with Shaw and utterly entranced with the brownstone the three of them called their home. It was after midnight, and Tate, barefoot and dressed in a pair of yoga pants and a T-shirt, padded down the imposing wooden staircase, her hand sliding down the banister. How many hands had repeated the same action since the house was built in the late 1800s? How many guests had snuck down these stairs to head for the kitchen for a late-night glass of milk or a glass of wine to aid sleep?

Clutching a baby monitor, Tate stepped off the last tread and turned into the enormous room on the ground floor. Jo had taken her on a tour of the five-story home earlier in the day, and every room was a delight. The huge entrance hall opened up to reception rooms and formal living rooms, a library and a smaller sunroom.

The second floor was Linc’s domain, comprising a master bedroom, a home office/library and Shaw’s bedroom and playroom.

She was on the third floor, in the middle bedroom, which was linked by an interleading door to Shaw’s old nursery.

Jo occupied the top floor but this ground-level floor was already Tate’s favorite. As a food lover, she was delighted by the state-of-the-art kitchen. She loved the way the kitchen flowed into an informal dining area and then into a relaxed living space filled with books and toys and...mess. Magazines and coloring books and handheld computer games. The mess reassured her that a family lived here.

Oh, she did love the house but... What was it about it that made her feel out of place? It wasn’t the luxury; she didn’t care about the expensive furnishings and the exclusive address. It was the permanence of The Den, Tate realized, that made her feel twitchy. Like Ballantyne’s store on Fifth Avenue, their flagship store, it was an institution. It screamed tradition, solidity...everything she, the ultimate rolling stone, was not.

She was a product of her tumultuous past, Tate decided as resentment twisted her stomach into knots. Her life had been perfect before Kari and her mom, Lauren, Tate’s mother’s twin, came to live with them for what was supposed to be a month or so, until the single mom found a job and her bearings. A month had turned into six, and her dad had moved out, threatening divorce unless their lives returned to a normal, Kari-and Lauren-free existence.

Her mom, Lane, chose her twin. Tate had lost her dad, her home and her mother, who seemed to prefer Kari to her, all in less than a year. They all had lost the financial security her father had brought to the table. Then when she was eight and Kari eleven, her aunt had been diagnosed with breast cancer and quickly passed away, leaving the three of them to muddle along, moving from one rental to another. Lane had managed to scrape enough money together to cover the legal fees for her to formally adopt Kari and to petition the courts to change Tate’s surname to Harper, with no objection from her father.

All her life Tate had felt like the third wheel and a stranger in her own house. Her teenage years with Kari had been pure hell. Kari had an uncontrollable temper, a sense of entitlement and was a master manipulator.

Tate had coped by dreaming of running away to places like Patagonia and Santorini, Istanbul and Ethiopia. Anywhere, she decided, was better than sharing a small house with a selfish, irresponsible drama queen and her enabler. When she left home to travel the world, she’d realized her teenage instincts were correct and that she was much happier having an ocean and a couple of continents between her and her mother and Kari. She liked being alone and free, not having to answer to anyone but herself. It wasn’t that she didn’t like people, she did, but her mom and Kari were emotional leeches. At a young age she’d learned to create little pockets of solitude around herself and tried to spend as much time there as possible.

When you didn’t rely on anybody for anything—companionship, love, company—they had no power to hurt you.

It was funny how two melded-together families, hers and Linc’s, could be so different. When Kari and Linc had become engaged, Tate made it her mission to study the family her sister was marrying into, and she’d been impressed by what she’d learned from press reports and interviews with various members of the famous family.

Their story was a modern-day fairy tale. Jaeger, Beck and Sage Ballantyne were orphaned young and placed into the care of their uncle, Connor Ballantyne. Linc was the housekeeper’s son, but Connor adopted all four children as his, and they were now one of the most powerful and influential families in Manhattan, known for their fierce love and loyalty to each other and the family name. If you messed with one Ballantyne, it was said, you messed with three more.

Their commitment to each other was absolute.

The Ballantynes functioned as a cohesive unit, whereas her family was a train wreck, and her only commitment was to her job and to avoiding Kari. That entailed staying on the move, never allowing herself to put down roots. Without roots and connections she couldn’t disappoint people and, more important, open herself up to being disappointed.

Using the light from the hallway, Tate headed for the stainless steel fridge and pulled out a bottle of milk. After opening cupboards she found a glass and sat at the informal table to drink her milk. She’d love a cookie, but she felt that rummaging about in the Ballantyne cupboards was an abuse of their hospitality.

Despite feeling like she was camping in the middle of enemy territory, Tate had enjoyed her evening with Shaw and Jo. It was a relief not to have Linc there, glaring at her as she ate; thank God for whatever it was that kept him at work past dinner and bedtime. Though, possibly, working late was just an excuse to avoid her. Truth or lie, Tate silently thanked him—the evening had been far more relaxed with Jo and Shaw than if she’d had to make awkward small talk with the deliciously sexy Linc.

She’d never understood why Kari walked out on the man. Kari craved status, and Tate had expected her to grab onto Linc like the lifeline that he was. After all, he had been—still was—New York’s biggest catch. Seriously smart and successful, devastatingly handsome, filthy rich. And judging by the way that Shaw’s eyes lit up when he spoke about his dad, he was an excellent father.

Linc was the type of guy women dreamed about. A full-time, fully involved father. Someone stable, committed, responsible.

Tate had never believed in fairy tales, in handsome princes and happy endings. But she did believe in the power of lust... It was simple attraction to Linc that made her heart thump, her blood heat and her panties a little uncomfortable. Images of them together, on his huge bed upstairs, bombarded her. She could easily envision herself naked on his sheets, his big body covering hers, his long, muscled legs tangled with hers. Chest to chest, breaths and mouths and hands mingling... Had he loved Kari like that in that same bed?

The thought barreled in from nowhere and Tate groaned. God, she now needed brain bleach to wipe out that thought. They might have made Shaw in that very bed!

Tate scrubbed her face as her heart constricted. She scowled at the unfamiliar sensation. Thoughts of Kari and Linc together made her feel totally off-kilter. Why? Tate didn’t like the only, and obvious, explanation. She was jealous; jealous of Kari, envious that she’d had that sexy mouth on hers, his broad hands stroking Kari’s skin and not her own. Tate shuddered at the thought of Linc and Kari, naked, doing what naked people did.

You are not allowed to lust after Kari’s ex, Tate told herself sternly. It was against the sister code, the cousin code, against the laws of nature.

Besides, Linc was the last guy on earth she should be attracted to. Like his house, he had an air of tradition, permanence, solidity. Kari had informed her—during their awful fight—that she and Linc agreed that she would be a stay-at-home mom, that they would have a traditional marriage, with Linc as the breadwinner. But that was too conventional for her sister, so she’d run.

Like Kari, Tate was a drifter. But unlike her sister, she was determined to keep her distance from people—men!—and she guarded her independence, like a mommy bear guarded her cubs.

She and Linc were noon and midnight, cliffs and sea, trains and planes...

And really, she had bigger problems to deal with than this inconvenient desire to see Linc naked. Get a grip for goodness’ sake! Lusting after Linc was a stupid waste of energy, and, besides, she knew that he would rather kiss Shaw’s bearded dragon than kiss her.

She was under no illusion that when Linc looked at her, he saw Kari, and, on the surface, they were alike. But if Linc took the time to get to know her, which he wouldn’t, he’d quickly see that they couldn’t be more different. She might not have the trappings of wealth, but she had a very healthy bank account, thanks to saving most of her salary for the past seven years. She worked hard, and she was committed to her career and her independence, but those came at a price. On occasion, she was desperately lonely, and sometimes she craved company, someone else to talk to besides her production crew. Sure, she wasn’t interested in a relationship, but she sometimes hungered for a connection, a pair of strong arms around her, a masculine chest to lay her head on, a deep voice whispering dirty things in her ear as hot hands explored her body.

She could handle sex, a fling, even a temporary affair—provided there was an end in sight—but her lifestyle, and career, made that difficult. Most of the men she met were backpackers and travelers, and she understood that, for them, hooking up while traveling was a major part of the “experience.” Apart from the icky diseases factor, she really didn’t want to be another in their long line of sexual conquests. And sleeping with her coworkers was out... As a result, she’d been celibate for more years than she’d care to count.

Linc, damn him, made her remember exactly how long it had been. Why did he have to be such a sexy, sexy guy? He made her remember what being uncomfortably horny felt like. That had to be why she felt like she wanted to jump out of her own skin whenever he was around.

“Can’t sleep?”

Tate screeched and hurtled up from her chair, knocking over her glass of milk. She tried to grab the glass, but it rolled away from her, off the table and smashed on the tiles below. Tate swore and, as she put her foot down, she felt a shard of glass pierce her heel. She groaned and dropped her butt onto the chair, hoisting her heel up onto her knee to look at her wound.

Tate blinked when the kitchen filled with light and turned her head to look at Linc, who was walking toward her. She started to apologize for breaking the glass, but her words, and the moisture in her mouth, disappeared when she saw that he was dressed in nothing more than athletic shorts and shoes. Earlier, dressed in his suit, he’d looked urbane and sophisticated, but this Linc—perspiration glinting on his bare skin, bulging muscles, a defined six-pack and muscled thighs—was pure masculine power.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” Linc said, walking over to her and bending his head to look at her heel. He winced at the shard of glass in her heel. “Can you pull it out?”

Tate quickly removed the sliver and dropped her heel.

“Careful,” Linc warned. “There’s glass everywhere.”

“Sorry,” Tate said. “I’ll replace the glass.”

Linc frowned. “It’s a glass, Tate, not a Picasso. Relax. And sit down. I’ll clean up.”

“But—”

“I’m wearing shoes. You are not,” Linc said and turned to walk into the expansive utility room behind the kitchen, returning with a broom and dustpan. Within minutes he’d swept up the glass, mopped up the milk and was chugging down a bottle of water he’d pulled from the fridge.

“Do you normally work out at midnight?” Tate asked, trying to break the heavy silence between them.

Linc lifted a big, broad shoulder, and Tate wondered how it would feel to run her hand through his light sprinkling of chest hair. “I work out daily. Sometimes I have crazy days, and that means that my workout happens at crazy hours.” Linc lowered his water bottle and nodded at the baby monitor on the table in front of her. “Did she go down easily?”

Tate shook her head. “Not really. I had to rock her to sleep.” She made herself meet his hard eyes. “She’s probably missing Kari.”

Linc bent down and rested his forearms on the granite island of the kitchen, his expression broody. “So, have you decided what you’re going to do?”

“About Ellie?” Tate clarified and waited for his nod before continuing. “I’m still thinking it through. My plan is still to get legal advice and go from there.”

“Are you going to talk to my PI?” Linc leaned his butt against the kitchen counter and crossed his ankles. His hands gripped the granite countertop behind him, and his muscles bulged and tightened. Raised veins—a fine indication that he was super fit, in case she didn’t catch a clue from his zero-fat, all-muscle body—snaked over his forearms and biceps.

Concentrate, Harper!

Tate squirmed under his hard, penetrating stare, sensing that he was frustrated by her lack of decisiveness. He wanted answers, an immediate plan of action. It was the CEO way, she decided.

But this wasn’t his company; it was her and Ellie’s lives. She’d take all the time she needed to make a decision she felt comfortable with. Besides, he would be free of them in the morning, so what did he care?

But he’d been kind enough to let her stay here tonight, so she thought she might, maybe, owe him a brief explanation.

“I’m conflicted and feeling a lot overwhelmed, Linc. I need time to process what’s happened,” Tate admitted, she jumped up from her seat at the table and walked toward him.

So much for a brief explanation, she thought, as words rolled off her tongue. “I know I can’t look after a baby, and I don’t want the responsibility of making decisions for Ellie. I have two months before I go back on the road and can’t take a baby with me! Ellie is her daughter, not mine. I mean, God, she’s cute and sweet and pretty damn easygoing but I’m not mommy material!”

How could she be? Lane, Kari, even her aunt Lauren, had been—were—shockingly bad mothers, and there was no reason to think she’d be any different.

Having a baby was the ultimate commitment, so keeping Ellie was out of the question. Besides, conventional wisdom stated that the child was always better off with their mother so restoring Ellie to Kari was her ultimate goal.

“Along with your killer body and gorgeous hair, that seems to be a trait you share with your sister,” Linc said, his voice flat.

His words were an acid-tipped arrow straight to her heart. She wanted to lash back, to tell him that she wasn’t anything like Kari, that she wasn’t irresponsible and selfish and so very screwed up. But the suspicion in his eyes told her that, no matter what she said, he wouldn’t believe her.

But she had to try. For some crazy reason she didn’t want him to judge her by her family name. She was better than he thought. “I’m not my sister, Linc.”

Linc didn’t acknowledge her words. He just held her indignant look, and she watched as his eyes turned from granite to a smoke gray. Oh, God, she recognized that hot, masculine look of appreciation, and it had nothing to do with liking her mind or her personality and everything to do with liking the way she filled out a T-shirt.

He was as attracted to her as she was to him. Oh, Lord, what was she supposed to do with that thought, how was she supposed to process it?

The smart reaction would be to walk away, to turn her back on him and hightail it out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Tate wanted to be smart, she really did. But more than that, she wanted to taste him, to press her breasts into his bare chest, to feel that hard, sweaty skin under her hands. She wanted to inhale him, devour him, climb inside him...

An unintelligible curse erupted from Linc’s mouth, and his hand shot out to grab her wrist. With a hard yank, he pulled her into him, and her hips slammed against his erection—ooh, nice—and he ducked his head to cover her mouth with his.

He didn’t bother to sip or suckle, he didn’t tease or taunt; Linc just slid his tongue into her mouth to tangle with hers, challenging her to give as good as she got. Tate responded by twisting her tongue around his, answering his silent dare.

Something hot and hard arced between them. Tate felt heat zinging through her as Linc’s big hand slipped between the fabric of her shirt to cup her, his hand easily covering her small breast. His thumb swiped her nipple, and she made a guttural sound in the back of her throat, rising on her toes to align her mound with his erection, wanting more heat, more hardness.

Her hands, by their own volition, skated up his rib cage, across his chest, flirted with the ridges of his stomach. Linc responded by placing his arm under her butt and lifting her off her toes. It made sense for her thighs to grip his waist, to hook her ankles behind his back, to rub her long-neglected core against his hot-and-hard-as-hell length. She wanted this man. She wanted him in the worst possible way.

She wanted no fabric between them, she wanted them slick and hot...battling to breathe and crazy with need. Because feeling Linc inside her, touching all those neglected, lonely places, was what she needed, craved. Tate thought about asking him whether he had a condom as she pushed her hands down the back of his shorts to thrust her fingers into the hard muscle of his butt. A wave of desperation rose within her. They had to rid themselves of the barriers of clothing, mostly hers, that kept him from sliding inside her, stretching her and filling her.

Words, she needed them, but she couldn’t bring herself to stop kissing him long enough to get her point across. Tate swirled her tongue around his, pulling on his bottom lip, but, unlike earlier, he didn’t respond. Tate frowned. Taking stock, it occurred to her that his hands had stopped exploring her body, that she was sliding down his big frame, that her toes and then her feet were touching on the cold floor. Shaking her head, she tried to work out why he’d stomped on the brakes.

Had she done something he didn’t like? Did he think that she was a wild woman? A slut? Oh, God, did he think he was kissing Kari and suddenly realized that it was her?

Tate shoved her hands into her hair and looked up him, dreading the expression of cool disdain she knew she’d see.

Linc, however, looked calm and in control and not at all like he’d just tried to inhale her. Where did all that passion go? What had he done with all that hot, unbridled desire? Tate looked down and saw that he was no longer rock hard... That’s an amazing amount of control, Ballantyne.

It pissed her off.

Tate opened her mouth to utter a very snarky comment, but he spoke first. “Ellie is crying.”

Tate blinked, trying to make sense of his words. Who? What? Where?

“The baby is crying, Tate. You need to go to her.”

Through the monitor on the dining table Tate heard Ellie’s soft wail, heard the desolation in her muffled cry, and she snapped back to the here and now. Oh, God, the poor thing sounded like her heart was breaking. How long had she been crying? Minutes? An hour? Longer? How long had she and Linc kissed? She couldn’t tell, she’d lost all sense of time, and of reality.

Oh, my God... She almost lost her freaking mind. She’d been a heartbeat away from asking her sister’s ex to do her on the kitchen counter!

What must he think?

And more important, what must Ellie think? Did she think that Tate had abandoned her just like her mother? Not wanting to make the little girl wait another minute, Tate whirled away from Linc and sprinted for the stairs.

Yes, she was desperate to get to Ellie, but honesty made her admit that she was equally desperate to get away from Linc. She had absolutely no control of herself around him, and she thanked God for Ellie’s interruption. And for his keen ears because she hadn’t heard a damn thing.

She’d been deaf, dumb, blind with lust for him...

It was a very good thing, Tate thought as she sprinted up the stairs, that she was leaving tomorrow.


Four (#uc1279b79-b238-5547-882d-1e5301c8b930)

Linc, after a night short on sleep and long on aggravation, hustled Shaw through his morning routine, trying not to think about the fact that he’d been so close to taking his ex’s sister on the kitchen counter the night before. He’d been desperate to know if she was as hot and honeyed as he expected, and his hands had been in her pants, about to push the fabric over her hips, when he’d heard Ellie crying. Would he have stopped if she’d slept through?

Possibly. Maybe. Not a chance in hell.

In his bedroom, Linc muttered a curse as he pulled on his shoes. What the hell happened last night? Yeah, he was horny; it had been a while since he’d last got lucky, but, crap, he never lost control like that. Even as a teenager and at his craziest with Kari, he’d never felt so desperate for a woman, so utterly and incomprehensibly caught up in pleasure.

And the fact that he felt this way about his ex’s sister just pissed him off. Bloody Harper women. They had a way of turning his life upside down and inside out. But, he was compelled to admit, he hadn’t, not once, thought of Kari when he’d been kissing Tate. Thank God, because this situation was weird enough without getting them confused.

And thank God again that Tate was leaving today because he didn’t know if he could spend another night tossing and turning and talking himself out of the urge to go to her room and finish what they’d started.

The sooner Tate left, the better. The world could then stop trying to spin off its axis.

She was the exact opposite of the woman he thought that he and Shaw might someday want. On those odd times when he wished that his life had turned out differently, he fantasized about a sexy, funny stay-at-home mother and lover, someone who adored Shaw. Someone who’d put him and his son at the center of her world, someone he’d trust to stay with him, surfing the waves of life with him and never swimming away.

If he ever got to that place where he felt he could trust again, risk again, Linc knew that he’d want someone who believed in traditions, in order, someone who could fit into his life and who looked the part. He wanted a woman who was easy, and he wanted calm, a lake and not a storm-swept sea.

Tate was exactly what he didn’t want or need. She’d create waves and whirlpools, the turbulence he tried to avoid at all costs in his personal life. The woman didn’t have a conventional bone in her body; her clothes were bohemian, and, according to Kari, they’d had an unstable upbringing. Tate was a modern-day nomad, a free spirit, innately unconventional.





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