Bound by the Kincaid Baby / The Millionaire's Miracle

Tomorrow she’d have to reassess the stages of Mitch’s conversion and possibly break the process down into smaller achievable increments. As if she were training an athlete for a marathon she’d set daily and weekly goals toward attaining the ultimate objective by the end of the year. She wanted Mitch to love Rhett as much as she did. Nothing less would do.

She yanked on her nightie and pulled open the bathroom door. Steam wafted into the bedroom from behind her. Glancing at the big four-poster bed, she anticipated sinking into the thick mattress, but first she needed to check on Rhett one last time. She crossed the hall.

This morning, a team of employees had removed the furniture from the blue room and replaced it with obviously new nursery furniture. After lunch, Mitch had surprised her by dismissing them and helping her unload her car himself during Rhett’s nap.

So he wasn’t a complete jerk and he wasn’t afraid of hard work. But not once had she seen him try to connect with Rhett, and that annoyed her like a festering splinter. A child needed the love and support of his family. All of his family. And he needed to know he was loved and that the one in charge would do the right thing. No matter how difficult.

Rhett had been overwound after a day full of changes, but had finally gone out like a light thirty minutes ago. Carly straightened the lightweight blanket covering him and bent to kiss his forehead. She couldn’t possibly love him any more if he were her own.

A sound behind her made her straighten and turn. Mitch stood in the open doorway silhouetted by the light she’d left burning in her bedroom.

“He finally settled?” His low rumbling voice raised the hairs on Carly’s arms and reminded her she was naked except for her worn thigh-length nightshirt. She hadn’t bothered with a robe because she’d thought Mitch would be off in his own wing of the monstrous ten-bedroom house.

Wrapping her arms around her middle, she crossed the lush carpet and stopped in front of him before whispering, “Yes. He’s not usually so cranky. Today was a bit much for him, I think.”

Mitch’s slow head-to-toe appraisal set her pulse aflutter. Dark evening beard shadowed his jaw and upper lip, and his slightly rumpled hair looked as if he’d run his hands through the thick strands a few times. He’d removed his suit coat and tie and rolled back the sleeves of his shirt to reveal muscular forearms dusted with dark whorls.

In a word, he looked sexy. And he smelled great. The crisp aroma of his cologne had faded and a more masculine, more alluring scent had taken its place. Mitch’s scent.

Forget it. He’s not your type.

“Well…good night.” She stepped forward and he moved aside.

“Good night.” He turned and walked toward the double doors at the end of the hall. One stood open, revealing the bottom end of a king-size bed covered in a dark green damask spread.

Alarm bells clamored in Carly’s head. “That’s your room?”

“Yes.”

How could she sleep with her door open to listen out for Rhett when she knew Mitch could stroll past at any moment?

Mitch’s gaze turned arctic. “And don’t bother sleepwalking. My door will be locked.”

Anger shrieked through her like steam through a boiling teakettle. Before she could think of an appropriate comeback, Mitch entered his room and shut his door. The lock clicked.

Carly’s short nails bit into her palms and fury chewed her insides. Marlene had been too kind in labeling Mitch Kincaid a rat bastard.

So much for sweet dreams.

Laughter pulled Mitch from the dining room to the kitchen. Surprise halted him in the doorway.

Mrs. Duncan had been a fixture at Kincaid Manor since before Mitch’s birth, but he’d never heard the woman laugh. He wasn’t even sure he’d ever seen her smile.

Making airplane noises, the head housekeeper bent over the brat’s high chair with a spoon in her hand and a twinkle in her eyes. Mrs. Duncan could twinkle? She caught sight of Mitch and abruptly stopped buzzing. Her amusement vanished and her lined face settled back into a familiar expressionless cast. She snapped upright.

“I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t realize you were waiting for your breakfast. I’ll bring it right through.” She set the spoon and bowl she held in front of Carly.

Mitch’s gaze shifted to his unwanted guest. Instead of her usual ponytail, Carly’s hair draped her shoulders in a silky smooth curtain of mink brown. The sunlight streaming through the window behind her glinted on a few golden strands.

“Morning, Mitch.” She flashed him one of her brick-melting smiles and a shot of adrenaline negated his need for coffee. Apparently, this Corbin didn’t hold grudges. Or did she merely conceal her vindictiveness better than her sister had?

“Good morning, Carly.” She wore another tracksuit—this one in blinding tangerine with white stripes on the sleeves. He focused on her obnoxiously bright clothing in a failed attempt to wipe the image of last night’s attire from his mind. Her shapeless, oversize T-shirt had been worn almost to the point of transparency. The shadows of her nipples, navel and the dark curls between her legs had been obvious through the faded fabric.

He’d resented the hell out of his instantaneous response. He didn’t like the woman. How could he possibly desire her?

Because you need to get laid.

But not by her.

She had a bowl in front of her and a glass of orange juice. “Della treated me to her secret recipe apple-cinnamon-raisin oatmeal. You should try it.”

Della? Who was Della?

“Mr. Kincaid prefers bacon and eggs,” Mrs. Duncan said in her usual monotone.

Della was Mrs. Duncan? And Carly was on a first-name basis with her in less than twenty-four hours? As far as he knew, no one in the Kincaid household had ever called the formidable sixty-something woman by her first name.

Carly grimaced. “They’re your arteries. But you’d think after your father’s heart attack you’d be more careful.”

“I am perfectly healthy, thank you.” His cool tone dimmed her smile. “Why aren’t you eating in the dining room?”

“Mr. Messy.” Her nod indicated the slimy child.

“Which is why we should have kept the nanny. You could have eaten in peace.” Yesterday she’d waited until the boy napped to eat lunch.

“Breakfast is one of our favorite times of the day. Isn’t it, munchkin?” She tweaked the child’s nose—the only clean part of his face as far as Mitch could tell. The brat cackled infectiously, stabbing Mitch with a reminder of other children and another time. An old ache invaded his chest.

“Besides, the view from the breakfast nook is gorgeous. But I told Della that you should add a bird feeder or two to the patio. Rhett loves to watch the birds—especially hummingbirds. We’ll pick up some feeders this afternoon after church.”

She attended church?

Probably to confess her fortune-hunting sins. She might try a different brand of ammunition than her twin, but he knew why she’d been prancing around in her nightshirt last night.

Carly’s brown eyes took on a challenging glint. “So…are you going to eat in the dining room by yourself or are you brave enough to join us? Rhett’s almost finished. You and your Armani should be safe from soggy cereal bombs.”

“I’ll join you.” If for no other reason than to keep an eye on his unwanted houseguest—the same reason he’d put her in the suite beside his. He chose the chair farthest away from the alleged cereal-bomb thrower.

“Not a morning person, eh?” Carly asked as she scraped the last of her oatmeal from a bowl and tucked it between her pink lips.

“I prefer to gather my thoughts for the upcoming day and read the business section. Are you?”

“Absolutely. On really hot days, we take our run before we eat.” She leaned over to wipe the boy’s face with a cloth and her jacket and the top she wore beneath it gaped, revealing a glimpse of scalloped white lace on the pale curve of her breast. The sight hit Mitch with an unexpected surge of hunger—and not for bacon and eggs.

No. He would not be attracted to Carly Corbin. Her sister had taken his father for a ride. This twin wasn’t going to get the chance to do the same with Mitch. He made a mental note to call one of his usual dates—women who knew good sex was all he’d give them.

“Perhaps one day I’ll join you on your run.” Again, if only to keep an eye on her. The majority of his neighbors were wealthy and older—prime pickings for attractive gold diggers on the make. Like the Corbin sisters.

“If you can keep up, you’d be welcome. Rhett would love the company.”

Another challenge. She seemed to enjoy issuing them. “I can keep up.”

Mrs. Duncan placed a plate in front of him. Was that a smirk on her lined face?

“What’s with the suit?” Carly asked, recapturing his attention. “Going to church?”

“No. To the office.”

“It’s Sunday,” she enunciated as if he were lacking fifty IQ points.

“I have work to do.”

Carly shook her head and made a face at Mrs. Duncan. “A workaholic and a diet disaster. Just like his father.”

True, but his spine straightened regardless. “How would you know?”

Sadness shadowed her eyes. “Marlene told me.”

“And yet she didn’t tell you about the hundred grand she accepted to have an abortion.”

Carly glared with enough fire to make a lesser man duck for cover. “If you want to talk trash, then you do it when we’re alone. I will not tolerate you making Rhett feel unwanted. And I think you’re lying about the money.”

“I made the transaction myself. And I have a copy of the check with Marlene’s signature on the back.”

“I want to see it.”

The Corbin women were identical in looks and yet not. Marlene had dressed in designer clothing. Her makeup had been flawless, and he’d never seen one single hair out of place. Beautiful, but hard, he’d concluded within seconds of making her acquaintance. And he hadn’t been attracted to her. Nonetheless he’d tried seduction and later threats, but neither had swayed her toward breaking it off with his father. And when he’d finally convinced his father to end the relationship, she’d turned up pregnant a month later.

A calculating woman with an eye out for number one, he’d concluded. He hadn’t seen that side of Carly. Yet. But he would. She camouflaged her mercenary streak well. But sooner or later the facade would crack.

Carly sipped her juice. Without the red gloss her twin had worn, Carly’s mouth looked softer than Marlene’s. Thus far, the only time Carly had shown her hard side was when butting heads with him over the boy. That was to be expected, since the kid was her ticket to Easy Street. Mitch hadn’t figured out her MO yet, but she and Marlene were genetically identical twins—one egg separated in the womb. Carly’s altruistic pretense had to be exactly that. A pretense to cover a mercenary heart.

And once she realized he was onto her, her mouth would twist the way her sister’s had and her eyes would glint like flint. In the meantime, he’d watch Carly Corbin like a hawk does its prey, waiting for the perfect opportunity to swoop in and steal the child from her.

The boy slammed his hands on the high chair tray, startling Mitch. His eggs fell from his fork.

“Man. Man. Man.”

Carly righted the sippy cup. “That’s Mitch. Your brother.”

“Bub. Bub. Bub.”

“That’s right. Your bubba.”

Mitch’s spine fused into a rigid line. He opened his mouth to protest he was no one’s bubba, but the sparkle in Carly’s eyes and something about the angle of her chin, dared him. The witch was trying to provoke him, he realized.

Too bad he refused to be her source of entertainment.

He flicked open his newspaper, concentrated on the financial section and tried to ignore the boy’s chorus of “Bubbas” and the smirks on Carly’s and Mrs. Duncan’s faces.

He wasn’t going to let Carly disrupt his life. In a matter of days—a month at the most—she’d realize she was fighting a losing battle. And then she’d turn over guardianship of the kid.

Peace and a nanny would return to the Kincaid household the day Carly Corbin moved out.

Carly’s body reacted like a Geiger counter nearing radioactive material.

The hairs on her arms rose and her pulse stuttered erratically. By the sound of his step and the scent of his cologne she knew who had entered the living room behind her without looking over her shoulder.

Despite its predominantly white decor, the room wasn’t cold or uncomfortable due to the plush rugs on the marble floor, overstuffed upholstery and surprising colorful accents scattered about. She preferred this space to the darker, more masculine den.

“Rhett looks like you,” she said, keeping her gaze on the Kincaid family portrait hanging above the mantel. “How old were you when this was painted?”

“Eleven,” Mitch replied.

“Everyone looks so happy. The all-American family success story.” Her family had been happy…until she’d made an unforgettable mistake.

“Appearances can be deceiving.”

That brought her around abruptly. Exhaustion dragged Mitch’s features, not surprising since he’d left for work before eight this morning, and it was after 10:00 p.m. now. His suit coat was draped on his forearm and his loosened burgundy tie hung askew.

So much for Sunday being a day of rest. “What do you mean?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. Did you and Rhett get settled in today?”

“We did. Mrs. Duncan and I have babyproofed most of the rooms. So when you notice some of your priceless collectibles missing, I didn’t hock them. They’ve been put away.”

As a physical therapist, Carly spent a lot of her day encouraging people to go a little farther than they wanted to go. She saw no reason not to continue that practice with Mitch. “Why is the picture deceptive?”

“Let it go, Carly.” If his voice dropped any lower he’d be growling. He turned away.

She reached out and grabbed his bicep to stop him. The muscle bunched beneath her fingers and his heat burned her hand through the thin fabric of his sleeve. “If you expect me to let Rhett live here, then you need to level with me, Mitch. Are there skeletons in the Kincaid closet that I should worry about?”

He stabbed a hand through his hair, effectively dislodging her grasp, and lifted his gaze to the oil painting. “As far as I can remember, my mother wasn’t the contented person you see depicted there. She died in a car accident shortly after that portrait was painted. But I was a kid. So what do I know?”

“I’m sorry. Going through your teens without the steadying influence of your mother must have been difficult.”

A familiar ache welled in her chest. Her daughter would be twelve now and entering what Carly’s mother had always called the testing years. Was her daughter asking the same questions Carly had asked about her birthmother? Did she wonder why she’d been given up and if she was too flawed for even a mother to love? Carly prayed her daughter’s adoptive parents were as supportive and loving as Eileen and Dan Corbin had been.

Carly pushed the questions and regrets aside, the way she always did, and focused on the present. But the ache didn’t abate. It never did. The pain rested just behind her breastbone like a hole in her heart.

Mitch grunted a nonanswer and headed toward the wet bar built into the cabinetry flanking the fireplace. But instead of liquor, he splashed bottled water over his ice cubes.

“I’m sure you can see why I want to make certain Rhett doesn’t suffer from Marlene’s absence.”

Studying his reflection in the mirror above the marble countertop, she noted the groove in his brow. For a moment, he looked tired and very much like a man who’d just lost his father and had to take over a multi-billion-dollar corporation despite the grief he must dealing with. “Rough day?”

He stared into his glass, then met her reflected gaze. “I’ve spent the past week reacquainting my brother with KCL. He’s been working for our west coast competitor for the past five years. And we had to hire my sister’s replacement. Rand and I spent the day training her.”

Carly had been disappointed when she’d read in the will that Nadia would be out of state. She’d hoped the female Kincaid would have some maternal instincts and side with Carly on Rhett’s care. “Training on Sunday?”

“The cruising industry runs 24/7, three hundred and sixty-five days per year. Good night.” He headed for the foyer.

Tonight for the first time since she’d met him, Mitch looked anything but invincible and nothing like the overconfident rat bastard Marlene had described. For some foolish reason, Carly was reluctant to let this approachable mood pass. “Have you had dinner? Mrs. Duncan left a plate for you in the refrigerator. Want me to heat it up?”

His eyes returned to hers and narrowed suspiciously. “I’m capable of operating a microwave.”

His terse reply raised her hackles, but for Rhett’s sake, she’d be polite. She had to be if she wanted to make a place for the youngest Kincaid in this family. “I’m sure you can, but I’m offering help and company.”

The long stretch of silence spoke volumes. “I could eat.”

Carly headed for the kitchen despite the lack of warm fuzzies his reply elicited. And this time she didn’t get lost. She’d taken more than a few wrong turns today in the enormous house.

She removed the plate from the refrigerator, slid it into the microwave and punched the buttons. “Your home gym is pretty amazing. Would you mind if I used it?”

“Go ahead.”

She leaned back against the counter and observed Mitch. “If you like, I can check your form when you work out to make sure you’re not doing yourself any harm.”

His shoulders squared. “What are you doing?”

“Heating your dinner? Trying to make conversation? Offering professional advice?”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Don’t be polite?”

“Don’t try your wiles on me.”

Carly’s temper ballooned like the plastic wrap covering the plate rotating on the microwave’s turntable. She gestured to her tracksuit, which had taken a beating during Rhett’s dinner and bath. “That’s the second time you’ve accused me of putting the moves on you. Open your freaking eyes, Kincaid. Am I dressed to seduce you?”

She realized her mistake immediately. Her question invited him to inspect her from her ponytail to her running shoes. He did so slowly and thoroughly, lingering over her breasts and legs before returning to her face. It annoyed her immensely that his appraisal left her breathless and agitated.

“It won’t work, Carly. I’m not a sap like my father, nor am I so hard up for a woman that I’ll fall into bed with the first attractive female who offers.”

His rudeness shocked and infuriated her. If this were a cartoon, steam would shoot from her ears. “Hello! I’m not offering anything except leftovers.”

“Precisely.” From his tone she didn’t think he referred to the leftover orange roasted chicken and vegetables.

The timer beeped. Mitch reached past her and retrieved the plate. She could feel both his warmth and, conversely, the chill emanating from him. He crossed the room and plunked his plate down on the kitchen table. His body language made it clear he didn’t want her company.

Carly resisted the urge to stab him with the fork she retrieved from the drawer and settled for slapping the utensil down on the table beside his plate. “If your father was half the conceited jackass you are, then I can’t see what Marlene ever saw in him.”

“She saw a billionaire sugar daddy and a meal ticket.”

Carly glared at him and prepared to blister him with one of the many insults she’d learned from the professional athletes she worked with. But doubt stilled her tongue.

Marlene had confessed in her notebook that she found Everett’s fortune quite attractive. But surely her sister had cared about more than the man’s finances? And what about the times Marlene had told her she loved Everett? Her sister wouldn’t have lied to her, would she?

Yes, she would.

Carly broke eye contact and retrieved the pitcher of iced tea from the fridge. She set it down beside Mitch’s plate.

“Go screw yourself, Kincaid. That’s the only way a jerk like you will ever have a partner you consider your equal.”

With that she pivoted and stomped out of the kitchen, leaving the lord of the manor to his solitary dinner.

She hoped he choked on it.

Three

Kill him with kindness.

As opposed to just killing him—a notion that had entertained Carly far more than it should have for the past few days. Okay, so she couldn’t really off Mitch Kincaid. But making him run a marathon on a treadmill with no change in scenery could be fun. Or maybe five hundred sit-ups on a cold tile floor…

But none of those would get her closer to her goal of bonding Mitch and Rhett. She sighed and rolled the ball across the emerald lawn to Rhett Wednesday evening.

It had taken her three days to cool off, three days of not seeing the middle Kincaid, of Rhett not spending a single moment with his half brother, for Carly to realize Mitch had deliberately antagonized her Sunday night.

Why?

She didn’t think for one minute he honestly believed she was chasing him, because she hadn’t flirted even once. Sure, she’d appreciated his physique a time or two. Who wouldn’t? But unless he had eyes in the back of his head, he hadn’t caught her looking, so that didn’t count.

He had to have been trying to avoid Rhett, and since she and Rhett were practically joined at the hip…annoying her meant avoiding his half brother.

She’d decided she’d have to follow through with her plan—regardless of Mitch’s irritating comments—if she wanted the males to get to know each other better. With a thirty-something-year age gap between them, Mitch and Rhett would never have the close bond Carly had shared with Marlene. But the brothers had to start somewhere.

A salt-scented breeze blowing in from the water lifted the skirt of the simple peach sundress she’d donned for dinner. She smoothed the fabric back in place. Dresses. Ick. Give her a tracksuit or running shorts and a tank any day. Carly had been the jock in their family. Marlene had been the girly girl.

A wave of sadness swamped her. Carly lifted her chin and inhaled deeply, trying to alleviate the emptiness. The mouthwatering aromas of grilling swordfish with citrus salsa and marinated vegetables filled her nostrils. Her stomach growled with hunger. Mitch would be home soon and they’d have their first family dinner.

She dug her bare toes into the thick grass. So she’d dressed up. Big deal. The evening sun burned down on them, and her outfit would be cooler than pants. If Mitch wanted to make something out of it, fine. Time would prove him wrong. She wasn’t looking for a lover, or a sugar daddy or anything remotely resembling either one. Her broken engagement had left her too raw to think about another romantic entanglement.

She caught the ball and rolled it back to Rhett. Rhett needed her. Sure, having someone depend on her for everything both frightened and overwhelmed her, but she wouldn’t let down Rhett or Marlene. Or herself. This time she wouldn’t let anyone convince her to take the easy way out. This time she would be the parent she should have been twelve years ago.

The sound of the back door gliding open drew her gaze to the house. Mitch stepped onto the patio. With his eyes narrowed against the setting sun and his hands parked on his hips, he scanned the backyard like a lord surveying his property. He zeroed in on them and her pulse did something wonky. What was up with that?

She touched Rhett’s shoulder. “Look who’s here.”

Rhett beamed and shouted, “Bubba. Ball.”

Mitch grimaced and Carly didn’t even bother to smother her grin as her nephew chugged forward. Mitch clearly hated the nickname—which is probably why Carly had practiced it with Rhett since she’d picked him up from day care.