Bound by the Kincaid Baby / The Millionaire's Miracle

“Evening, Mitch.”

Mitch’s lips flatlined and his attention returned to her. A breeze off the water lifted his glossy dark hair. “Where is Mrs. Duncan?”

“I gave her the day off.”

His scowl deepened. “Carly, that wasn’t your decision.”

“Ball, bubba,” Rhett said before hurling the red sphere.

Mitch caught it and tossed it back—gently, Carly was surprised to see. He fisted his hands by his sides. “I won’t tolerate you interfering with the household staff.”

“Why shouldn’t the woman have time off?”

“She has scheduled days off.”

“Sorry, but her younger sister didn’t conveniently need emergency gallbladder surgery on Della’s scheduled day off. Della wanted to be there and I thought she should. They need to spend time together while they can.” Because you never knew how much time you had left with a loved one.

The stiffness eased from his rigid face and shoulders. “Why didn’t you say her sister was ill?”

“You didn’t ask.” She transferred the fish and vegetables from the top rack of the grill to a platter, then covered it.

“What is that?”

“Our dinner. We’re eating outside. The weather is too gorgeous to be cooped up inside.”

“It’s eighty-five.”

“But the humidity is low for a change and there’s a great breeze blowing in off the water. Shed your jacket and you’ll be comfortable.” She set the platter in the center of the wrought-iron and glass table and pulled the shrimp cocktails from the cooler she’d tucked underneath.

She’d never known there were special bowls or forks to serve the appetizer. This morning when Mrs. Duncan had produced the stemless martini-ish glasses that rested inside crystal globes filled with ice, Carly had had to ask what they were. The special dishes were just one of the many contrasts between the Kincaid’s überrich world and her working-class ways. When she had shrimp cocktail, it came on a black plastic deli tray from the grocery store.

“Have a seat and help yourself.” She flicked a hand toward a chair.

Mitch laid the folded newspaper he carried beside the plate on the opposite side of the rectangular table from Rhett and hung his suit coat over the back of his chair. “You cooked?”

“Yes. But don’t worry. That’s parsley on the squash and zucchini, not arsenic. There’s wine if you want it.”

Mitch lifted a dark eyebrow. “You’re not drinking?”

She shook her head. “We’re going running later.”

He didn’t open the bottle, but instead filled his and her water goblets from the insulated pitcher on the table.

She buckled Rhett into his high chair, wiped his hands and then served his diced grilled cheese sandwich. She added a spoonful of green peas and some of the grilled veggies so he could practice his fine motor skills.

Rhett attacked his food as if he hadn’t eaten in a week.

Mitch eyed his half brother and then pulled out her chair, showing he did have some manners. “You shouldn’t have waited.”

She shrugged and sat. “Rhett only looks like he’s starving. He had a snack two hours ago. And for him to get a sense of family, we should eat together whenever possible.”

Mitch’s expression closed like a slamming door.

“No matter how hectic things were when Marlene and I were growing up, my mother insisted on family dinners. It’s a great way to unwind and catch up on what everyone else is doing.”

Suspicion entered Mitch’s eyes. “Carly—”

“Shut up and eat, Mitch, before the ice under your shrimp melts. Contrary to your high opinion of yourself, this is not a date.”

Wincing, she reached for her napkin. So much for maintaining peace. She’d just bonked him over the head with the olive branch she’d hoped to extend. But his distrustful glares really rubbed her the wrong way.

“I’m sorry. There’s no excuse for me being rude. But it’s just dinner. Della already had most of the meal prepared before her sister called. Cooking it was no big deal.”

Mitch stared at her in silence as if weighing the truth of her words, and then he nodded and started on his shrimp. Carly dug into hers, savoring the citrus tang of Mrs. Duncan’s marinade. She caught herself watching the absurdly sensual sight of Mitch’s straight white teeth biting into the shrimp and his lips surrounding the meat.

Get a grip. Kincaid is not on tonight’s or any other night’s menu. Remember how he treated Marlene?

She polished off her appetizer and reached for the main course. Mitch followed suit, piling large helpings of fish and vegetables on his plate. He devoured his meal almost as ravenously as Rhett had, but with the perfect form of one who’d had etiquette lessons. She wondered who’d taught him the fine art of eating politely. One of his nannies?

“Did you eat lunch today?” she asked to break the silence.

“There wasn’t time. Where are your parents now?”

She gave him points for making conversation. “Arizona. Dad needed the drier climate for his health.”

“With all your talk of family, why don’t you move out there with them?”

“I’ve thought about it. But my parents’ lives are filled with retirement community activities. I’d have to apply for a new license in a different state, and that could mean months without income. My parents can’t afford to support us, but they’d feel obligated to try. Add in that children aren’t allowed to stay overnight in their complex, and things get even more complicated.”

“Leave Rhett with me.”

She sighed and wiped her mouth. “Give it up, Mitch. That’s not going to happen.”

“It could. Say the word and you’re a free woman.”

She’d been footloose and fancy-free before and she hadn’t liked it. How could anyone expect her to go back to normal knowing she’d given up something precious? Twice.

“You act as if caring for Rhett is a burden. It isn’t.”

“You say that now, but give it time.”

“I’ll say the same thing next week, next year and ten years from now.”

He snorted a sound of disbelief, but she decided not to waste her breath arguing. Talk was cheap. He’d soon see by her actions that she meant what she said.

“You’re only twenty-eight. Aren’t your parents too young to retire?”

“Mom was forty and Dad forty-five when they adopted Marlene and me.” And because Carly had been adopted, she knew exactly what kinds of questions her baby girl would be asking.

Silence returned, broken only by Rhett’s babble and the chink of silverware.

“Does Mrs. Duncan need more than one day?”

Surprised, Carly searched Mitch’s face. Good to know the rat bastard had a human side after all. “It would be nice if you’d call and offer it. I have her sister’s phone number.”

“I’ll get someone from the temp agency in to cook our meals and oversee the remaining staff if Mrs. Duncan needs more time.”

“Oh please. We’re adults. We can feed ourselves. I know my way around the kitchen if you don’t. And I think your staff can muddle through pushing a vacuum and making beds for a couple of days.” His eyes narrowed to slits, pinning her like a butterfly on a collector’s board. “What?”

“You intend to work all day and then come home and cook for me. Why?” Suspicion laced his voice.

“For us. And don’t take it personally. I’m not after your heart via your stomach. Rhett and I have to eat, too. And I like to cook. I used to prepare all the meals for Marlene and me.”

He looked ready to argue, but instead consumed the last bites of his swordfish. He sat back, still wearing the skeptical, guarded expression. “That was good.”

“Thank you. And it’s healthier than your usual dinners.”

His eyebrows slammed down. So much for the truce. “Don’t try to change me, Carly. Don’t interfere in my life.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she denied and knew she fibbed. By the end of the year she’d have his bachelor lifestyle turned upside down. Priorities changed when a child entered the picture. He’d discover that sooner or later.

He studied her as if she were a puzzle he couldn’t figure out—and one he didn’t trust.

“Down. Ball,” Rhett demanded.

Mitch stood. “I’ll clear the table. You get the boy.”

Carly blinked. A man in Hugo Boss who wasn’t afraid to do dishes? Nice. Too bad she wasn’t looking. “Thanks, but he’d rather play with you.”

“No.” Swift. Harsh. Unequivocal. Mitch stacked their plates and strode into the house.

Carly stared after him. Mitch Kincaid was going to be a tough nut to crack—even harder than her most difficult client.

But just like she did with her more pigheaded patients, she would find a way to motivate him.

Carly Corbin was a sneaky, devious woman.

Mitch opened the tap in the sink to drown out the squeals of laughter penetrating the kitchen windows. Turning his back on the woman and child racing through the gardens, he bent to load the dishwasher.

Carly was determined to drag him somewhere he would never go again with her home-cooked meals and let’s-play-family games. He still had the scars from his last round of playing house. He wouldn’t give his heart to a child only to have it ripped out when the mother—or in this case, the guardian—had a change of heart. Once he could guarantee Rhett wouldn’t be leaving would be soon enough for Mitch to befriend him. Until then, he’d keep his distance.

Carly had clearly given the idea of moving across the country to be closer to her parents careful consideration. Unless she left the boy behind, that put the terms of the will and everything Mitch held dear in jeopardy.

He had to get custody of his father’s little bastard.

Soon.

He closed the dishwasher and straightened. The stillness of the backyard grabbed his attention. He scanned the garden and spotted a splash of peach and Carly’s bare legs sprawled on the lawn between the fountain and the koi pond.

Alarm flooded his veins with adrenaline. Had the boy fallen in? Dammit, he’d ordered the gardener to fence the shallow pond and pool, but the custom-made materials hadn’t arrived yet.

Or had Carly hurt herself dashing across the grass with her hair and her dress streaming behind her.

Mitch slammed through the back door, leaped from the porch and sprinted past Poseidon and across the grass. He rounded the roses and jerked to a halt.

Rhett lay stretched out on his belly beside Carly with his dark head near hers. Her bare arm encircled the boy’s waist.

“Orange. That one’s orange,” Carly said, pointing at the water.

“Orange. Big,” the boy warbled.

“Yes, the orange fish is big. The white one is small.”

Mitch’s heart jackhammered against his ribs and his lungs burned. Relief over finding them safe segued into awareness of Carly’s long legs. Runner’s legs. Lean, but muscled. Smooth and tanned. A charge of sexual awareness flooded him and that pissed him off. “What are you doing?”

The duo startled at his harsh tone. Keeping one hand on Rhett’s waistband, Carly rolled to her side. “Looking at the fish.”

Barefooted and bare-legged, with apparently no concern for the grass clippings clinging to her dress, calves and feet, Carly attracted him far more than was safe. Despite her denials, he knew damned well she was out to hook him. The way her sister had his father. The way countless other women had tried to work their way into the Kincaid beds and coffers.

Sure, Carly was more subtle and she brought a unique angle to the table. She might deny the attraction, but he’d seen the interest in her eyes when she looked at him. Like now. With her sun-streaked hair pooling like silk on the grass, her chin tilted up to expose the long line of her neck and her gaze slowly climbing his body.

Oh yeah, she wanted him.

But even without her mercenary genetics, he couldn’t get involved with her. He’d learned the hard way through both his and his father’s affairs that running a business the size of KCL left no room for anything more than temporary liaisons. He’d forget to call, or miss a date, and then there would be hell to pay from the neglected woman. Too much hassle.

He’d stick with women like him who were too committed to their careers to want more than physical satisfaction now and then. The women he called didn’t expect romance. They expected hot, sweaty sex. And nothing more. But even that wasn’t safe with Carly Corbin.

She rolled to her feet as graceful as a cat and brushed the grass fragments from her clothing. She missed the blade stuck in her hair. Mitch fisted his hands against the urge to reach for it. For her.

“Up. Up. Pig me up,” Rhett demanded. Mitch ignored him.

Carly frowned at Mitch, shook her head and bent to lift the boy. Her top gaped as she did, revealing the curves of her breasts and the dusky hint of her nipples. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Need kicked Mitch in the gut.

“Want to help me give Rhett his bath?” Carly asked as she straightened.

He forced his gaze from her chest to her face. “No.”

But he wouldn’t mind bathing Carly, cupping her flesh with soap-slick hands and sinking into her.

Not gonna happen.

He was not like his old man who’d never learned from his mistakes. Mitch thought with the head on his shoulders and not with the one in his pants.

A woman had made a fool of him once.

It wouldn’t happen again.

No matter how much he wanted this one.

“Settle him, Carly,” Mitch muttered and struggled to ignore Rhett’s cries as he paced his room. “C’mon, settle the boy.”

Mitch’s heart hammered against his ribs and his nerves stretched tight. He didn’t want to get involved, but the noise from the blue suite continued to rise.

Where in the hell was Carly?

He yanked open his door and stalked down the hall. Her bedroom door stood open, but the room and bed were empty. Had she gone downstairs? Snuck out of the house for a date?

Bolted like he wanted her to?

At any other time he’d rejoice at the prospect, but not when he was alone in the house with the kid. He forced himself to turn and scan Rhett’s darkened room. The glow of the new night-light illuminated the unhappy, red-faced child.

Short arms extended toward Mitch. “Bubba.”

“It’s okay, kid. Go back to sleep.”

Rhett whimpered in response, ripping Mitch in two.

He strode into Carly’s room to check the status of her clothes. If they were here, she was coming back. Before he reached the closet another sound registered. Running water. The shower. Relief mingled with disappointment. She hadn’t left.

He crossed the plum carpet to the closed bathroom door and lifted his hand to pound on the panel and order her to get her ass out here and take care of the kid. An off-key voice belting out a country ballad stilled his fist and an image of Carly’s wet, bare golden skin seized his mind and sent a jolt of arousal through him. The slam of his heart reverberated in his groin.

Down, boy. You can be attracted to any woman but her.

He looked over his shoulder and through the open door at the crying child. Which was the lesser of two evils?

Normally Mitch enjoyed naked women, especially wet naked women, but the genetically identical version of the Machiavellian bitch who’d screwed his father over with the oldest trick in the book was off-limits.

His life would be easier if his feelings for Carly were identical to his feelings for her twin. Marlene had left him cold and not just the day she’d calmly accepted cash to get rid of her baby as easily as she would lunch money. She’d never flipped his switch. She was a liar and a con artist who’d set out to nail herself a rich husband and pulled out all stops to achieve her goal. The boy was better off without Marlene Corbin in his life.

“Mama, Mama,” Rhett wailed and Mitch winced. The kid already called Carly Mama. Would Rhett also be better off without Carly? Didn’t matter. Carly Corbin’s days as Rhett’s guardian were numbered.

Being in the same room with Carly when she was undressed and living under his roof could open the door to all kinds of lawsuits and legal complications—if she was looking for a free ride, as he suspected. The last thing he wanted to do was give another Corbin grounds to extort more Kincaid money.

He backed away from the door, heading for the lesser of two evils. The crying child.

Rhett’s breath hitched when Mitch entered the room. The boy stood in his crib and held his arms out, opening and closing his tiny hands. “Pig me up.”

Mitch fisted his hands by his sides. “Hey, buddy. Carly’s in the shower. She’ll be here in a few minutes.”

The kid’s face scrunched up and his bottom lip quivered. Fresh tears oozed from his big brown eyes. Eyes the same shape and color as Carly’s. “Up. Up.”

Mitch remained a yard from the crib. “You have a bad dream?”

The whimper turned into a cry. The boy grasped the railing and bounced. “Up. Up.”

Letting the kid get close even once would be the beginning of nothing good. But he had no choice since Carly wasn’t here doing the job she’d committed to do. He shouldn’t have let her talk him out of the nanny.

Wishing he could avoid it, but knowing he couldn’t, Mitch gritted his teeth and moved closer. Rhett immediately latched his arms around Mitch’s neck, crushing Mitch’s windpipe. Or maybe it was the memories choking him. He lifted the sturdy little body and automatically patted the diaper, checking for soggy overload. It felt dry.

The kid hiccupped and burrowed his wet face against Mitch’s neck. Mitch awkwardly thumped the narrow little back, and when that didn’t settle the boy, he crossed to the rocking chair and sat. Toeing the rocker into motion, Mitch tried to remain detached, tried to shut down the memories. Memories of nights with a colicky child. But he couldn’t. His chest tightened with each sway of the rocker.

Soothing nonsense poured from his lips as if it had only been yesterday when he’d performed this same task for another little boy.

A boy he’d planned to adopt and claim as his own.

Rhett felt like Travis, smelled like Travis, cuddled like Travis. Same weight. Same size. Same desperate need for a father’s love.

Rhett quieted and grew heavy, telling Mitch he’d drifted back to sleep. But as reluctant as Mitch had been to pick up the boy, now he didn’t want to let him go.

He’d missed this. And the only way to ensure he wouldn’t have to let Rhett go was to get rid of Carly Corbin.

The sooner the better.

Carly halted outside Rhett’s bedroom door and blinked.

As if it weren’t shocking enough to find Mitch cradling Rhett and gently stroking his back, a quiet baritone filled the room. Humming? Mitch Kincaid humming?

The image didn’t fit the arrogant executive she’d seen over the past week and a half.

Eyes closed and with a sad expression on his face, he rested his dark head against the back of the rocker. Rhett sagged on Mitch’s bare chest with his head tucked beneath Mitch’s jaw, clearly sound asleep.

Something inside Carly twisted at the sight of the big, strong man gently holding the small boy.

Why was Mitch here? Had he come in on other nights without her knowledge? Was his jerk act just that? An act? Which was the real Mitch Kincaid? The picture in front of her certainly didn’t mesh with the description Marlene had provided of Everett’s henchman or the emotionless robot Carly had seen so far.

Carly entered the room, and Mitch’s eyes flew open.

“Is something wrong?” she whispered.

“He woke up crying. You didn’t come.” The accusatory tone raised her hackles.

He rose quickly and laid Rhett back in the crib. Carly pried her gaze off the bare, broad V of his back to note the care Mitch took not to jostle the child. He handled Rhett with experienced hands and tucked the blanket around him.

Interesting.

“I didn’t hear him. I was showering off the stench of our evening run. I forgot to take the baby monitor into the bathroom with me.”

When Mitch turned, the sight of his naked chest made her catch her breath. Oh yeah, he had a fine physique above the low waistband of his pants. Wide shoulders. Muscled arms. Washboard abs. Dark swirls of curls circled his flat nipples and painted a silky line down the center of his lean abdomen.

Dampening her suddenly dry lips, she hoped the lust percolating through her didn’t show on her face.

“Don’t forget next time.” His sandpaper voice sounded harsh in the quiet room. He brushed past her, heading toward the door.

“You’ve done this before.”

Mitch stopped in the hallway and slowly turned. “I told you I knew how to handle kids.”

“This is the first evidence I’ve seen of that. Do you have children of your own who live with their mother?”

“No.”

“Then where did you get your experience?”

“Leave it, Carly.”

She advanced on him in the dimly lit hall. “You expect me to trust you with Rhett. Tell me why I should.”

A nerve in his jaw twitched. “I was engaged to a single parent once.”

“What happened?”

“She went back to her famous ex-husband.” His blank expression couldn’t completely mask the pain in his eyes or the husky edge to his words.

“I’m sorry.” Carly reached out and gave his forearm a comforting squeeze. His skin scorched her, but she couldn’t seem to pull away.

Mitch’s muscles shifted beneath her palm and his chest expanded on a long, slow inhalation. His gaze met hers and desire widened his pupils. The same hunger flooded her veins.

Carly gulped. This could so not happen. Not with him.

“What are you doing, Carly?”

Playing with fire, that’s what. But she could only shake her head and lower her hand. Too late. Electricity arced between them unbroken.

The dark green gaze dropped from her eyes to her mouth. “Is this what you want?”

Mitch hooked an arm around her waist and yanked her forward. The thin cotton of her sleep shirt and robe weren’t nearly enough protection from his searing flesh. Her torso fused to his.

Mitch took her mouth roughly, the initial contact slamming his teeth against hers. She squeaked a protest, but he didn’t release her. He merely changed the angle of the kiss.

Every cell in her body screamed with alarm. With arousal.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Mitch Kincaid had hurt and insulted her sister. Carly didn’t even like him. How could she when he made no secret of his desire to dump her and keep Rhett locked up like a dog in quarantine?

She had every intention of shoving him away when she dug her fingers into his arm and pressed her free hand against his waist. But the moment his bare, supple skin melded to her palm her body seemed to come up with a different plan. It burned and ached and needed, reminding her that she hadn’t been with a man in a while. And even then, making love with Sam hadn’t felt like this—like a swarm of fireflies taking flight, flickering and sparking nerve endings that had previously lain dormant.

Mitch’s lips parted and his tongue traced the outline of her mouth, caressing, stroking. She gasped, and he swept the inside of her bottom lip, tempting her against her will into settling against him and relaxing her jaw. Their tongues touched, intertwined.

She shouldn’t be kissing him back. But his flavor filled her mouth and his musky scent invaded her lungs. Dizziness rocked her. She grappled for steady ground.

One hand mapped an upward path along his bicep to grasp his shoulder. The other spread over his back. Hard muscles flexed beneath his smooth skin.

Mitch’s big hands raked her back, her waist. He cupped her buttocks and pressed her against his thickening flesh. Her internal muscles clenched and wept in appreciation of the length pressing her belly. A moan snaked up her throat.

He shoved her robe from her shoulders. It snagged at her waist. His frustrated growl filled her mouth. A quick tug and the belt gave way. Her robe parted. His hot hands found her waist through the thin fabric and raked upward. He traced the underside of her breasts with his thumbs and the air thinned.