Bound By The Baby

Of meeting an attractive man at a casino: 1:1

Of having one impulsive night with said attractive man: 5:1

Of falling for your brand-new lover: 10:1

Of becoming pregnant from your one-night stand: 100:1

Of his tracking you down clear across the country: 10,000:1

Of his turning out to be a millionaire: 500,000:1

Of his offering to marry you: 1,000,000:1

Of his actually falling in love: ?????????:1

Bound by The Baby

Susan Crosby

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For the Gilroy connection—

a great place to write a book. Thanks so much.

For Elizabeth Bevarly, Maureen Child,

Anna DePalo, Susan Mallery and Christie Ridgway—five talented and generous women.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Coming Next Month

Prologue

January 2, Sterling Palace Hotel and Casino,

Atlantic City, New Jersey

Devlin Campbell had been taking up space at a blackjack table for two hours. By rights he should be down thousands of dollars, since his head wasn’t in the game but on a letter he’d jammed into his inside coat pocket that morning. It took a lot to shake Dev up, but the one-page document typed on a California law firm’s letterhead had shaken him to the core, the repercussions still resonating. It was impossible to forget the letter, so he’d settled instead on ignoring it as best he could.

He swigged his fourth Scotch and water, then glanced at the woman standing at his shoulder, observing him silently. Even before he’d gotten himself semidrunk, she’d been easy on the eyes. Her hair was long, light brown and shiny, her body curvy and tempting, but her smile didn’t reach her beautiful blue eyes. Oddly, her sadness drew him as much as the physical attraction. He didn’t know her name, only that she’d brought him luck since he’d first laid eyes on her more than an hour ago.

He’d been in the hole a few hundred dollars when he’d spotted her walking toward his table. He had gone on full alert, everything about her appealing to him, calling to him. She’d stopped to talk to a passing employee, who had pointed toward someplace in the distance. She’d glanced in that direction then straight at him and seemed to freeze in place. Her eyes widened. For long, increasingly fascinating seconds, neither looked away. The dealer drew him back into the game, and he won the hand.

When he looked toward her again, she was gone, only to pass by him at that very moment, within reach.

“Wait,” he said, his hand on her arm, the contact sizzling. “You’re my good luck charm.”

Amazingly, she waited. When she tried to walk away several times over the next hour, he implored her to stay, although more with his eyes than his words. He dubbed her Ms. Fortune, hoping to make her laugh, but the sadness in her eyes only deepened.

And yet she stayed, even as a small crowd gathered, curious, as his winning streak continued and his bets became more daring. A pit boss watched. Security people milled.

They scrutinized Dev’s every move, but he wasn’t cheating. Wasn’t counting cards, either, although he was proficient at it. He and numbers had a remarkable affinity. However, no one could count cards at the big casinos anymore, their systems too refined for cheaters to prosper. But this time he didn’t care whether he won or lost, didn’t have the mental wherewithal to do anything more than play the game.

Yet all he did was win.

Dev jiggled the ice cubes in his otherwise empty glass, then set it down as the next hand was dealt. He lifted the corners—a jack and a five—the kind of hand any sensible person would’ve stayed on, letting the dealer’s hand determine the outcome, but Dev took a hit. Odds were he would be dealt a face card, putting him well over twenty-one.

He drew a six. Twenty-one. It was that kind of night.

As conversation buzzed around him, Ms. Fortune leaned close. “I really have to go,” she said. “Congratulations.”

He turned his head. Their noses almost touched. “Have dinner with me.”

She pulled back. “I can’t,” she said quietly.

She left. He would’ve had to stop her by force, something he was tempted to do, but instead he watched her disappear into the crowd, wondering what her story was, wishing he could get his hands on that incredible body.

The thrill of the game gone for him, he scooped up his winnings, was accompanied to the cashier and cashed out. Now what? He couldn’t drive home to Philadelphia, not with four Scotch and waters in him.

He could get a room, order room service and face the contents of the letter, and the memories….

He hesitated, a rarity for him. He usually dealt with situations head-on and quickly. But this was going to require some soul searching, and he wasn’t comfortable with that. Damn you, Hunter.

Dev found the front desk, got himself a room on the twenty-fifth floor and headed to the elevator banks. When a bell pinged he moved to stand in front of the arriving elevator. The doors opened. Ms. Fortune stood there.

More than a coincidence, he thought. Fate.

She didn’t make a move to exit. He entered, pushed the button for his floor. The doors closed behind him.

A tight, hot ball formed inside his chest at the pain he saw in her eyes. “Who broke your heart?” he asked.

Her eyes filled instantly with tears.

“Let me fix it,” he said softly.

Wordlessly he moved closer, put his arms around her and gently pulled her close. She resisted, then she pressed her face into his shoulder and slid her arms around him, squeezing tight, a small sob escaping. He brushed his lips to her temple.

All too soon the doors opened.

“Come with me,” he said into her ear. “Stay with me tonight.”

After a moment she nodded then stepped away.

He reached for her hand. “What’s your name?” he asked, holding the door, preventing it from closing.

“Nicole.”

“I’m Devlin.”

Hand in hand, they walked down the hall.

One

May 1, Sterling Palace Hotel and Casino,

Stateline, Nevada

Where was Ms. Fortune when he needed her?

Devlin Campbell studied his surroundings, his equilibrium challenged by the garish neon lights and incessant slot-machine noise. This time he couldn’t win at the blackjack table, not one hand. He wasn’t superstitious, wasn’t blaming his losses on his former lucky charm not being at his side. He knew it was, instead, that sly culprit, jet lag.

And so instead of focusing on the cards, he found himself watching the people milling around, even though there was no reason to continually search the casino for her…Ms. Fortune. Nicole. After all, he’d met her on the other side of the country, ships passing in the night—or more appropriately in this case, ports in a storm, finding comfort and refuge in each other’s arms for reasons neither of them had confided. He hadn’t experienced another night like it, before or since, although he’d gone back twice, hoping…

Yeah, jet lag. With the three-hour time difference in Philadelphia, he’d already put in a full day. Not to mention the fourteen-hour days he’d been working the past month in preparation for this trip.

Dev watched the dealer dispense the cards, then turn up a king for himself. Dev looked at his hand—seven and five.

He didn’t know why he’d come to the casino in the first place. The refrigerator at the lodge where he was supposed to stay had been stocked by an attractive, efficient young woman named Mary, who’d met him with a key dangling off an ornate keychain. He could’ve heated up one of the meals from a local restaurant she’d thoughtfully provided, then gone to bed. Instead he hadn’t even unpacked, hadn’t taken time to tour the spectacular log house.

“Hit or stay, sir?” the dealer asked, awaiting Dev’s decision.

He signaled for a hit. A queen landed on his cards. Twenty-two. Loser. It wasn’t a word associated with the name Devlin Campbell. Ever.

Dev scooped up his few remaining chips and left the table, in need of food. He’d spotted a sports bar earlier where he could order from the bar. He would eat something quick and simple, then go back to the lodge and sleep for at least twelve hours.

The televisions were tuned to a baseball game between his beloved Phillies and the San Francisco Giants. He ordered a beer and checked out the menu, deciding on a burger and fries. He lifted the frosty glass set before him and scanned the room. A woman walked past the entrance. A woman wearing a Sterling Palace uniform. A woman who reminded him of—

Beer sloshed over his hand as he thumped his glass onto the bar, then rushed out. He could see her maybe twenty feet ahead, moving at a quick, steady pace. The same long, shiny, light-brown hair, this time braided neatly. Killer body. Sexy legs that had wrapped around him and held tight.

“Nicole!” he called.

She turned, looked straight at him, hesitated, then picked up speed. What the hell? She was trying to get away? Why? He posed no threat. He hadn’t even learned her last name. Not that it mattered, since he hadn’t been on a second date or spent a second night with a woman in the past couple of years, no matter how beautiful or sexy.

Except…he’d wanted to have a second night with Nicole, who had been one passionate handful, as intense as he, assertive and demanding in a way that had made him forget everything else that night.

Even the letter.

He caught up with her, cupped her elbow. She had no choice but to stop.

“Are you in training for a marathon?” he asked. His gaze slid to her name badge: Nicole, Sacramento, California. He’d had no idea she was an employee of the Palace. She hadn’t been wearing a uniform when they met, but jeans, a dark sweater and boots with heels high enough to bring her close to his height. He’d tugged them off her, then her jeans, exposing knock-out legs…

“Oh, hi,” she said. “Um…”

“Devlin,” he supplied, surprised. She’d forgotten? “January? Atlantic City?”

She tugged her jacket together, freeing herself of his grip at the same time. She was even more voluptuous than he recalled. His memory hadn’t failed him. And he definitely wanted a repeat of their night in Atlantic City.

“I remember,” she said, finally smiling a little but, like the first time they’d met, the smile not reaching her eyes.

“You work here,” he said, looking again at her name badge.

“I’m an assistant manager for the hotel.”

“Were you employed by the Palace in when we met in January?”

“Yes, for the hotel, as head reservations clerk. I wasn’t on duty when we…that night. I transferred here to Tahoe…two months ago.”

She gave the information reluctantly and barely made eye contact.

Both intrigued and irritated, he said, “Have dinner with me.”

“I’m working.” She glanced around, as if seeking someone to come to her rescue, a bit of panic in her eyes.

Surely she wasn’t afraid of him, not after the night they’d shared. “When do you get off?”

She finally looked him in the eyes, perhaps concluding he wouldn’t back down, although nothing in her demeanor indicated she was backing down, either. “At nine.”

Less than an hour. His jet lag vanished at the anticipation. “I’ll wait for you.”

“Please, don’t.” She took a step back. “Please. I have to go.”

Dev let her leave. He returned to the bar just as his food was being set on the counter.

There was something to be said for timing. Food first, then Nicole.

She wouldn’t get far.

He knew where to find her.

Nicole didn’t know for sure that Devlin hadn’t trailed her until she slipped behind the front desk and turned around. Holding her breath, she scanned the crowd. He hadn’t followed.

She slipped into an empty office and shut the door, leaning against the wall beside it, one hand pressed to her mouth, one to her stomach. Light-headed, she made her way to a chair and dropped into it.

What was he doing here?

What was she going to do?

Nicole stared into space until the room came into focus. After a minute she typed his name into the computer on the desk, accessing the reservations data base. No Devlin Campbell. So…he wasn’t a guest. Not yet, anyway. Why was he here? Where was he staying?

For how long?

One of the front-desk clerks, Ann-Marie, came up to the window and made a face. Nicole tried to smile. The clerk opened the door and leaned in.

“Are you okay, Nic?”

I am far from okay. I am worried. And I am scared. “I’m fine, thanks.”

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Devlin Campbell was a vision, all right, but completely earthbound. Tall, dark and handsome. High-society born and old-money rich—things she’d learned about him after their night together.

“Did you need something, Ann-Marie?” Nicole saw her recoil. She moved toward the twenty-three-year-old trainee. “I didn’t mean to be so abrupt. I guess I don’t really feel well, after all.”

“Maybe you should just go home.”

Nicole was proud that she hadn’t missed even an hour of work and had no intention of starting now. Anyway, she couldn’t. She was filling in for someone who’d needed to come to work an hour late. She could manage another forty-five minutes.

Under normal circumstances, she would’ve been gone by now, would not have run into Devlin. Once again the hands of fate had grabbed hold of her and not let go. It was too soon. She wasn’t ready—

“Nic?”

She smiled at Ann-Marie. “I’ll be okay until the end of the shift.”

The bubbly blonde smiled back and returned to the desk. Nicole followed. It was Tuesday night. The chances of there being a rush on rooms was slim, although the possibility that Devlin might want one kept her milling around the desk, waiting.

A few minutes before nine, he approached, pointing toward a place where they could talk without being overheard. “If not dinner, then a drink?” he asked.

She shook her head, made herself smile.

“I’ll be here every night until you say yes.”

Every night? Just how long—“Are you here on business?”

“I’m not sure how to answer that. It’s supposed to be pleasure, but it’s someone else’s definition of pleasure. I’ll be here for a month.”

A month! She gripped the counter. Everything would be different in a month. Now what? What should she tell him? And when? She needed to figure out what to say.

But not tonight. Not tonight. Tomorrow would be soon enough. Nothing would change in that time.

“Do you need a ride home?” he asked.

“I have my own car, thanks.”

“I’ll walk you to it.” His tone was more order than offer.

She’d never responded well to orders. “I have something to do first. I’m sure we’ll cross paths another time.” Take a hint, Mr. Campbell. You are dismissed. She turned away, took a few steps.

“What are you afraid of, Nicole?” he asked, his voice carrying enough that Ann-Marie looked in their direction.

She stalked back to him. “Why are you pressuring me?” she whispered harshly.

“That was a helluva night we spent together.”

So. He was looking for an encore. What had she expected? Love at first sight? “That was then. Good night.” She walked away, taking refuge in the office again and watching the lobby through the window. Seconds later she saw him head toward the parking lot exit.

Someone waved a hand up and down in front of the window then stepped into view. She focused abruptly on the man standing on the other side of the door, grinning.

She grinned back. Who could resist? Juan Torres was the sweetest man on the face of the earth. She opened the door.

“Thanks so much for staying the extra hour,” Juan said as he pinned his assistant manager badge onto his jacket. “I owe you.”

“I’m sure I’ll be calling in the marker.” She handed him a sheet listing the problems that had arisen during her shift, then pointed to one in particular. “The guest in 1015 has changed rooms three times since he got here at six o’clock.”

“What’s his problem?”

“Room’s too close to the elevators. View’s lousy. Noisy neighbors.”

“Ah. The usual. Trying to get us to comp him.”

She started to answer, then saw Mr. Room 1015 approaching the desk, his stare steely, his stride determined, obviously back for round four. “Saved by the time clock,” Nicole murmured with relief. “See you tomorrow, Juan.”

Nicole grabbed her purse and called a good-night to the front-desk personnel, glad to be on her way home. She needed to be alone, to think. To come up with the right words to say to Devlin Campbell.

“Wait,” Ann-Marie said, hurrying to catch up, then matching her stride. “I want to make sure you get to your car okay.”

Nicole couldn’t help but smile. Ann-Marie was five years younger, yet she was mothering Nicole. “I’m fine.” She set a hand on her belly, emphasizing her point. “We’re fine.”

“Humor me. I’m headed your way, anyway.”

A few seconds later they reached the exit door to the parking lot. Devlin stepped in front of her, startling her, blocking the exit. His green eyes cold and hard, he stared into hers, then dropped his gaze to her belly.

“Um, you…go ahead,” she said to Ann-Marie, who looked back and forth between Nicole and Devlin.

“Are you sure? I mean—”

“It’s fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Nicole motioned Ann-Marie toward the door, then waited for Devlin to speak, aiming for calm, but failing. Fate. She couldn’t seem to escape this man.

He moved closer. “Is it mine?”

Two

Dev waited for her response, then waited some more. If her answer was yes, it should’ve come instantly. He took a longer look at her, surprised that he hadn’t noticed right away. But a minute ago when she’d curved her hand over a bump that hadn’t been there when they’d made love in January, he’d calculated the time gap. Four months. His older sister was five months pregnant, her condition a little more visible. Still, every pregnancy was different—and every woman—or so Dev’d heard his sister say.

Maybe it wasn’t his. Maybe his assumption was wrong. Had she turned down his invitation for dinner or a drink because she carried another man’s baby? Had she cheated on that man in January? She’d never told him her last name. Maybe because—

“Were you spying on me?” she asked, shock, or maybe anger, coating her words.

“I was looking out for you. Making sure you made it to your car safely.”

“I get myself safely to my car five nights a week.”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

She crossed her arms. “Of course it’s yours.”

Of course? The casino sights and sounds faded as the shock of her acknowledgment ripped through him. Could he believe her?

“You took a long time to answer. Too long,” he said, mimicking her posture.

“Not because I was lying.”

“It’s not looking like that to me, Nicole.”

She finally softened a bit, losing a little of her defensive posture. “I didn’t want to tell you here, among all these people and the noise.”

“You should have told me months ago.”

“I know. Devlin, please. This is where I work. Several coworkers have already walked by and stared.”

“Fine. Let’s go.” He cupped her elbow, propelling her forward, but she broke away.

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

No surprise there. “We apparently have a lot to talk about.”

“I agree. But not tonight. I’ll meet you tomorrow.”

He didn’t want to give her time to fine-tune her story. He wanted the raw, uncut version. Otherwise, how could be believe her? “Why didn’t you tell me? You had access to the guest data. I’m sure you found out my name and address.”

“I’ll give you all the details…tomorrow.”

Short of kidnapping her, he couldn’t make her come with him. Security would be all over him. “You won’t skip town?”

“I promise.”

“Like that’s supposed to mean something?”

“You know where I work. How can I avoid you?”

“What’s your last name?”

“Price.”

Ah, the irony. There was going to be a Price to pay for falling into bed with a stranger, and then, like an idiot, not using protection. He pulled out a business card and pen, wrote down the address and phone number of the lodge, then passed it to her. “Here’s where I’m staying. Do you need directions?”

She shook her head. “Every local knows about that lodge. Is it yours?”

“No. What time should I expect you?”

“I have to be at work at noon, so how about eleven o’clock?”

“Ten-thirty.”

“All right. I’ll see you then.”

He opened the door for her, then followed her out.

“I don’t need an escort.” The words came through gritted teeth.

“Tough.”

She stayed silent until they reached her car, a Subaru that looked to be a few years old.

“Four-wheel drive?” he asked.

“Of course. I live in snow country.” She unlocked the door and climbed in.

He waited until she started the engine, then he signaled for her to roll down her window. Her expression reflected her annoyance at being delayed even longer. “Are you seeing someone?” he asked.

Her brows rose. “You mean, dating?”

He nodded.

“No.”

“Were you seeing someone?”

“In January?”

Was she being deliberately obtuse? Probably. She probably wanted to irritate him. She’d succeeded. If he was the father of her child, and she’d known his name and where he lived, and then had decided not to tell him about the pregnancy, he had reason to be irritated. And furious. He could see no justification for her keeping it a secret from him.

He didn’t answer her question about the month but gave her a look he figured she could interpret.

“I was not dating anyone then,” she said, looking straight out the windshield, a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. “And no one since, either.”

Again, no eye contact. He didn’t trust someone who wouldn’t look him in the eyes. In the banking business you learned to trust your instincts about people. Body language spoke loudly. He didn’t like what hers was saying.

He took a step back. “See you tomorrow.”

She didn’t even roll up her window against the chill but backed out of the parking space and sped off.

He watched her go. He’d come to Lake Tahoe as part of a deal he’d made ten years ago. He’d come with a plan to change his life, giving himself the month to work it out, since he was stuck here, anyway.

Now his life was being changed for him.

It wasn’t a good start.

At midnight Nicole wrapped herself in a quilt and stepped onto her porch. She glanced at the thermometer tacked to the porch post—thirty-eight degrees. The roads would probably be icy by morning.

Her breath puffed white in front of her, but the fresh air felt good. Since she’d moved to the area two months ago, she’d come to crave the crisp coldness of Lake Tahoe the way some people yearned for the heat of her hometown, Sacramento. She wouldn’t miss the hundred-degree summers a bit, nor the humidity of Atlantic City, which she’d called home for ten years.