“Tell me what’s wrong so I can fix it.”

But on what terms?

When bartender Jeannie Kaufman leaves her job to care for her infant niece, Dr. Robert Wyatt, her favorite customer, offers the help she so desperately needs. Yet as sparks fly, the gruff, gorgeous heir to a fortune still holds back. Does Robert think she’ll never fit in his high-powered world? Or is there danger lurking if they take their romance too far?

SARAH M. ANDERSON is happiest when writing. Her book A Man of Privilege won the 2012 RT Reviewers’ Choice Best Book Award. The Nanny Plan won the 2016 RITA® Award for Contemporary Romance: Short.

Find out more about Sarah’s conversations with imaginary cowboys and billionaires at sarahmanderson.com, and sign up for the new-release newsletter at eepurl.com/nv39b.

Also by Sarah M. Anderson

Seduction on His Terms

The Beaumont Heirs miniseries

Not the Boss’s Baby

Tempted by a Cowboy

A Beaumont Christmas

His Son, Her Secret

Falling for Her Fake Fiancé

His Illegitimate Heir

Rich Rancher for Christmas

First Family of Rodeo miniseries

His Best Friend’s Sister

His Enemy’s Daughter

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Seduction on His Terms

Sarah M. Anderson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09206-7

SEDUCTION ON HIS TERMS

© 2019 Sarah M. Anderson

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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To the Quincy Public Library and the lovely librarians

and staff, especially Katie, Farrah and Jeraca,

who feed my book addiction! Thank you

for helping make my son a reader and for

making literature a part of so many lives!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Epilogue

About the Publisher

One

“Good evening, Dr. Wyatt,” Jeannie Kaufman said as the man slid into his usual seat at the end of the bar. It was a busy Friday night, and he sat as far away as he could get from the other patrons at Trenton’s.

“Jeannie,” he said in his usual brusque tone.

But this time she heard something tight in his voice.

Dr. Robert Wyatt was an unusual man, to say the least. His family owned Wyatt Medical Industries, and Dr. Wyatt had been named to the “Top Five Chicago Billionaire Bachelors” list last year, which probably had just as much to do with his family fortune as it did with the fact that he was a solid six feet tall, broad chested and sporting a luxurious mane of inky black hair that made the ice-cold blue of his eyes more striking.

And as if being richer than sin and even better looking wasn’t tempting enough, the man had to be a pediatric surgeon, as well. He performed delicate heart surgeries on babies and kids. He single-handedly saved lives—and she’d read that for some families who couldn’t afford the astronomical costs, he’d quietly covered their bills.

Really, the man was too good to be true.

She kept waiting for a sign that, underneath all that perfection, he was a villain. She’d had plenty of rich, handsome and talented customers who were complete assholes.

Dr. Wyatt...wasn’t.

Yes, he was distant, precise and, as far as she could tell, completely fearless. All qualities that made him a great surgeon. But if he had an ego, she’d never seen it. He came into the bar five nights a week at precisely eight, sat in the same spot, ordered the same drink and left her the same tip—a hundred dollars on a twenty-dollar tab. In cash. He never made a pass at anyone, staff or guest, and bluntly rebuffed any flirtation from women or men.

He was her favorite customer.

Before he’d had the chance to straighten his cuffs—something he did almost obsessively—Jeannie set his Manhattan down in front of him.

She’d been making his drink for almost three years now. His Manhattan contained the second-most expensive rye bourbon on the market, because Dr. Wyatt preferred the taste over the most expensive one; a vermouth that she ordered from Italy exclusively for him; and bitters that cost over a hundred bucks a bottle. It was all precisely blended and aged in an American white oak cask for sixty days and served in a chilled martini glass with a lemon twist. It’d taken almost eight months of experimenting with brands and blends and aging to get the drink right.

But it’d been worth it.

Every time he lifted the glass to his lips, like he was doing now, Jeannie held her breath. Watching this man drink was practically an orgasmic experience. As he swallowed, she watched in fascination as the muscles in his throat moved. He didn’t show emotion, didn’t pretend to be nice. But when he lowered the glass back to the bar?

He smiled.

It barely qualified as one, and a casual observer would’ve missed it entirely. His mouth hardly even moved. But she knew him well enough to know that the slight curve of his lips and the warming of his icy gaze was the same as anyone else shouting for joy.

He held her gaze and murmured, “Perfect.”

It was the only compliment she’d ever heard him give.

Her body tightened as desire licked down her back and spread throughout her midsection. As a rule, Jeannie did not serve up sex along with drinks. But if she were ever going to break that rule, it’d be for him.

Sadly, he was only here for the drink.

Jeannie loved a good romance novel and for three years, she’d imagined Robert as some duke thrust into the role that didn’t fit him, nobility that hated the crush of ballrooms and cut directs and doing the pretty around the ton and all those dukely things when all he really wanted to do was practice medicine and tend to his estates and generally be left alone. In those stories, there was always a housekeeper or pickpocket or even a tavern wench who thawed his heart and taught him to love.

Jeannie shook off her fantasies. She topped off the scotch for the salesman at the other end of the bar and poured the wine for table eleven, but her attention was focused on Wyatt. She had to break the bad news to him—she’d be gone next week to help her sister, Nicole, with the baby girl that was due any minute.

This baby was the key to Jeannie and her sister being a family again. Any family Jeannie had ever had, she’d lost. She’d never met her father—he’d left before she’d been born. Mom had died when Jeannie had been ten and Nicole...

It didn’t matter what had gone wrong between the sisters in the past. What mattered was that they were going to grab this chance to be a family again now. Melissa—that was what they were going to call the baby—would be the tie that bound them together. Jeannie would do her part by being there for her sister, just like Nicole had been there for Jeannie when Mom had died and left the sisters all alone in the world.

In an attempt to demonstrate her commitment, Jeannie had even offered to move back into their childhood home with Nicole. It would’ve been a disaster but Jeannie had still offered because that was what family did—they made sacrifices and stuck together through the rough times. Only now that she was twenty-six was Jeannie aware how much Nicole had sacrificed for her. The least Jeannie could do was return the favor.

Nicole had told Jeannie that, while a thoughtful offer, it was absolutely not necessary for them to share a house again. Thank God, because living together probably would’ve destroyed their still-fragile peace. Instead, Jeannie would keep working nights at Trenton’s—and taking care of Dr. Wyatt—and then she’d get to the house around ten every morning to help Nicole with the cooking or cleaning or playing with the baby.

Jeannie might not be the best sister in the world but by God, she was going to be the best aunt.

That was the plan, anyway.

The only hiccup was sitting in front of her.

Wyatt didn’t do well with change, as she’d learned maybe six months into their partnership, as Jeannie thought of it. She’d gotten a cold and stayed home. He’d been more than a little upset that someone else had made him a subpar Manhattan that night. Julian, the owner of Trenton’s, said Tony, the bartender who’d subbed for her that night, had gotten a job elsewhere right after that. Jeannie knew that wasn’t a coincidence.

Maybe half the time Dr. Wyatt sat at her bar, he didn’t say anything. Which was fine. But when he did talk? It wasn’t inane chitchat or stale pickup lines. When he spoke, every single word either made her fall further in love with him or broke her heart.

“So,” he started and Jeannie knew he was about to break her heart again.

She waited patiently, rearranging the stemware that hung below the bar in front of him. He’d talk when he wanted and not a moment before.

Had he lost a patient? That she knew of, he’d only had two or three kids die and those times had been...awful. All he’d ever said was that he’d failed. That was it. But the way he’d sipped his drink...

The last time it’d happened, she’d sobbed in the ladies’ room after he’d left. Below his icy surface, a sea of emotion churned. And when he lost a patient, that sea raged.

After three years of listening to Dr. Wyatt pour out his heart in cold, clipped tones, Jeannie knew all too well how things could go wrong with babies. That was what made Jeannie nervous about Nicole and Melissa.

“I heard something today,” he went on after long moments that had her on pins and needles.

She studied him as she finished the lemons and moved on to the limes. He straightened his cuffs and then took a drink.

She fought the urge to check her phone again. Nicole would text if anything happened and there’d been no buzzing at her hip. But tonight was the night. Jeannie could feel it.

Wyatt cleared his throat. “I was informed that my father is considering a run for governor.”

Jeannie froze, the knife buried inside a lime. Had she ever heard Dr. Wyatt talk about his parents? She might’ve assumed that they’d died and left the bulk of the Wyatt Medical fortune to their son.

And who the heck had informed him of this? What an odd way to phrase it. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” Dr. Wyatt replied quickly. That, coupled with the unmistakable bitterness in his voice, meant only one thing.

This was extremely bad news.

Jeannie had been working in a bar since the day she’d turned eighteen, three whole years before she was legally allowed to serve alcohol. She’d been desperate to get away from Nicole, who hadn’t wanted Jeannie to get a job and certainly not as a bartender. She’d wanted Jeannie to go to college, become a teacher, like Nicole. Wanting to own her own bar was out of the question. Nicole wouldn’t allow it.

After that fight, Jeannie had moved out, lied about her age and learned on the job. While pouring wine, countless men and women poured their hearts out to her. In the years she’d been at this high-priced chophouse, she’d learned a hell of a lot about how the one percent lived.

But she’d never had a customer like Robert Wyatt before.

Wyatt finished his drink in two long swallows. “The thing is,” he said, setting his glass down with enough force that Jeannie was surprised the delicate stem didn’t shatter, “if he runs, he’ll expect us to stand next to him as if we’re one big happy family.”

Wiping her hands, she gave up the pretense of working and leaned against the bar. “Sounds like that’s a problem.”

“You have no idea,” he muttered, which was even more disturbing because when did precise, careful Dr. Robert Wyatt mutter?

His charcoal-gray three-piece suit fit him perfectly, as did the shirt with cuff links that tonight looked like sapphires—he favored blues when he dressed. The blue-and-orange-striped tie matched the square artfully arranged in his pocket. It was September and Chicago still clung to the last of the summer’s heat, but the way Dr. Robert Wyatt dressed announced that he’d never stoop to sweating.

She could see where the tie had been loosened slightly as if he’d yanked on it in frustration. His hair wasn’t carefully brushed back, but rumpled. He made it look good because everything looked good on him, but still. His shoulders drooped and instead of his usual ramrod-straight posture, his head hung forward, just a bit. When he glanced up at her, she saw the worry lines cut deep across his forehead. He looked like the weight of the world was about to crush him flat.

It hurt to see him like this.

If it were any other man, any other customer, she’d honestly offer him a hug because Lord, he looked like he needed one. But she’d seen how Wyatt flinched when someone touched him.

“So don’t do it,” she said, keeping her voice low and calm.

“I have to.” Unsurprisingly, he straightened his cuffs. “I won’t have a choice.”

At that, she gave him a look. “Why not?” He glared but she kept going. “For God’s sake, you have nothing but choices. If you wanted to buy half of Chicago to raise wildebeests, you could. If you opened your own hospital and told everyone they had to wear blue wigs to enter the building, there’d be a run on clown hair. You can go anywhere, do anything, be anyone you want because you’re Dr. Robert freaking Wyatt.”

All because he had looks, money and power.

All things Jeannie would never have.

His mouth opened but unexpectedly, he slammed it shut. Then he was pushing away from the bar, glaring at her as he threw some bills down and turned to go.

“Dr. Wyatt? Wait!” When he kept going, she yelled, “Robert!”

That got his attention.

When he spun, she flinched because he was furious. It wasn’t buried under layers of icy calm—it was right there on the surface, plain as day.

Was he mad she’d used his given name? Or that she’d questioned his judgment? It didn’t matter. She wasn’t going to buckle in the face of his fury.

She squared her shoulders and said, “I have a family thing next week and I’m taking some vacation time.”

Confusion replaced his anger and he was back at the bar in seconds, staring down at her with something that looked like worry clouding his eyes. “How long?”

She swallowed. She was taller than average, but looking up into his eyes, only a few inches away... He made her feel small at the same time she felt like the only person in his universe.

He’d always leave her unsettled, wouldn’t he?

“Just the week. I’ll be back Monday after next. Promise.”

The look on his face—like he wouldn’t be able to function if she wasn’t there to serve the perfect Manhattan to the perfect man—was the kind of look that made her fall a little bit more in love with him while it broke her heart at the same time.

“Will you be okay?” she asked.

Something warm brushed over the top of her hand, sending a jolt of electricity up her arm. Had he touched her? By the time she looked down, Robert was straightening his cuffs. “Of course,” he said dismissively, as if it was impossible for him to be anything but perfectly fine. “I’m a Wyatt.”

Then he was gone.

Jeannie stared after him. This was bad. Before she could decide how worried about him she was going to be, her phone buzzed.

It’s time! read Nicole’s message.

“It’s time!” Jeannie shouted. The waiters cheered.

Dr. Wyatt would have to wait. Jeannie’s new niece came first.

Two

Jeannie was back tonight.

Robert hadn’t gone to Trenton’s, knowing she wouldn’t be there, and he felt the loss of their routine deeply. Instead, he’d spent a lot more time in the office, reviewing cases and getting caught up on paperwork and not thinking about Landon Wyatt or political campaigns.

But finally, it was Monday and Jeannie would be waiting for him. On some level he found his desire to see her again worrisome. She was just a bartender who’d perfected a Manhattan. Anyone could mix a drink.

But that was a lie and he knew it.

He never should have touched her. But she’d stood there staring at him with her huge brown eyes, asking if he was going to be okay, like she cared. Not because he was the billionaire Dr. Robert Wyatt, but because he was Robert.

That was what he’d missed this week. Just being... Robert.

Lost in thought, he didn’t look at the screen of his phone before he answered it. “This is Wyatt.”

“Bobby?”

Robert froze, his hand on the elevator buttons. It couldn’t be...

But no one else called him Bobby. “Mom?”

“Hi, honey.” Cybil Wyatt’s voice sounded weak. It hit him like a punch to the solar plexus. “How have you been?”

Almost three years had passed since he’d talked to his mother.

He quickly retreated to his office. “Can you talk? Are you on speakerphone?”

“Honey,” she went on, an extra waver in her voice. “You heard from Alexander, right?”

That was a no, she couldn’t talk freely.

Alexander was Landon’s assistant, always happy to do the older man’s bidding. “Yes. He said Landon wanted to run for governor.” A terrible idea on both a state level and a personal level.

Robert knew the only reason Landon Wyatt wanted to be governor was because he’d discovered a way to personally enrich himself. He wasn’t content having politicians and lobbyists in his pocket. He always wanted more.

“Your father wants you by his side.” The way she cleared her throat made Robert want to throw something. “We want you by our sides,” she corrected because the fiction that they were all one big happy family was a lie that had to be maintained at all costs, no matter what.

“Are you on speaker?”

She laughed lightly, a fake sound. “Of course not. All is forgiven, honey. We both know you didn’t mean it.”

Hmm. If she wasn’t on speaker, she was probably sitting in Landon’s opulent office, where he was watching her through those cold, slitted eyes of his—the same eyes Robert saw in the mirror every damn morning—making sure Mom stuck to the script. “Let me help you, Mom. I can get you away from him.”

“We’re having a gala to launch his campaign in two weeks.” Her voice cracked but she didn’t stop. “It’s at the Winston art gallery, right off the Magnificent Mile.”

“I know it.”

“It’d mean a lot to your father and me to see you there.”

Robert didn’t doubt that his mother wanted to see him. But to Landon, this was nothing more than another way to exert control over Robert and he’d vowed never to give Landon that much power again—even if it cost him his relationship with his mother.

“Tell me what I can do to help you, Mom.”

There was a brief pause. “We’ve missed you, too.”

Dammit. He didn’t want to pretend to be a happy family, not in private and most certainly not in public. But he knew Landon well enough to know that if he didn’t show, Mom would pay the price.

Just like she always did.

Robert couldn’t let that happen. Of all the things Landon Wyatt had done and would continue to do, dangling Cybil as bait to ensure Robert cooperated was one of the meanest.

He had to fix this. “Think about what I said, okay? We’ll talk at the gallery.”

She exhaled. “That’s wonderful, dear. It starts at seven but we’d like you to get there earlier. Your father wants to make sure we’re all on the same page.”

Robert almost growled. Getting on the same page meant threats. Lots of them. “I’ll try. I have to make my rounds. But if I can get you away, will you come with me?” Because after what had happened last time...

“Thank you, Bobby,” she said and he hoped like hell that was a yes. “I—we can’t wait to see you again.”

“Me, too, Mom. Love you.”

She didn’t say it back. The line went dead.

Robert stared at nothing for a long time.

This was exactly what he’d been afraid of. Landon was going to force Robert to do this—be this...this lie. He was going to make Robert stand next to him before crowds and cameras. He was going to expect Robert to give speeches of his own, no doubt full of bold-faced lies about Landon’s character and compassion. And if Robert didn’t...

Would he ever see his mother again?

Landon would do whatever he wanted, if Robert didn’t stop him. There had to be a way.

You can do anything you want because you’re Dr. Robert freaking Wyatt, he heard Jeannie say.

Maybe she was right.

Now more than ever, he needed a drink.

“Well?” he said in that silky voice of his.

Once, Cybil had thought Landon Wyatt’s voice was the most seductive voice she’d ever heard.

That had been a long time ago. So long ago that all she could remember was the pain of realizing she’d been seduced, all right. She could barely remember the time when she’d been a naive coed right out of college, swept away by the charming billionaire fifteen years her senior.

She’d been paying for that mistake ever since. “He’s coming.”

Landon notched an eyebrow—a warning.

Cybil smiled graciously. “He’ll try to get there early, but he has rounds,” she went on, hoping Landon would dismiss her. Hearing Bobby’s voice again, the anger when he’d promised he could get her away from her husband of thirty-five years...

God, she’d missed her son. Maybe this time would be different. Bobby had grown into a fine man, a brilliant surgeon. Landon hated that both because Bobby worked for a living and, Cybil suspected, because Landon knew Bobby was far smarter.

If anyone could outthink Landon Wyatt, it’d be his own son.

Something warm and light bloomed in her chest. With a start, she realized it was hope.

What if there really was a way?

But Landon would never let her go.

A fact he reinforced when he stood and stroked a hand over her hair. Years of practice kept her from flinching at his touch. “I know you’ve missed him,” he murmured as if he hadn’t been the one keeping her from her son. His hand settled on the back of her neck and he began to squeeze. “So I know you’ll make sure he does what’s expected. Otherwise...”

“Of course,” Cybil agreed, struggling as his grip tightened.

Like she did every day, she thanked God Bobby had gotten away. If he were still trapped in this hell with her, she didn’t know how she’d bear it. But the knowledge that he was out there, saving children and living far from this—that kept her going. As long as her son was safe, she could endure.

She looked up at the man she’d married and smiled because he expected her to act as if she enjoyed being with him. Maybe... Maybe she wouldn’t have to endure much longer.

“Mr. Wyatt?” The sound of Alexander’s reedy voice cut through the office. “My apologies, but the campaign chairman is on line one.”

“Now what?” he growled, abruptly letting her go.

Cybil did not exhale in relief because he’d already forgotten she was here. She merely escaped while she could.

She didn’t want Bobby to be drawn back into his father’s world, and the fact that Landon was using her to get their son to fall into line sickened her. But Bobby’s anger, his willingness to stand up to his father...

No, maybe she wouldn’t have to endure this marriage much longer at all.

She needed to be ready.

Would Robert convince his mother to leave Landon?

The last time, it’d gone...poorly.

He needed a better plan this time.

More than just hiding Cybil Wyatt, Robert needed to make sure Landon wouldn’t ever be in a position to track her down.

His heart beat at a highly irregular pace. Last time he’d merely tried to hide his mother, in his own home, no less. He hadn’t had a contingency plan in place and without that plan, the whole rescue had been doomed to fail.

This time would be different.

Wyatts didn’t fail. They succeeded.

He entered Trenton’s at five past eight. Thank God Jeannie was back tonight. She might not be able to offer assistance but she could at least tell him if New Zealand was a good idea or not. She might be the only person he knew who’d tell him the truth. Now all he had to do was find a way to ask.

A soft, feminine voice purred, “Good evening, Dr. Wyatt. What can I get you?”

His head snapped up at the unfamiliar voice, the hair on the back of his neck standing up. The bar at Trenton’s was dimly lit, so it took a few moments for Robert to identify the speaker.

The woman behind the bar was not Jeannie. This woman was shorter, with long light-colored hair piled on top of her head. Jeannie was almost tall enough that she could look Robert in the eye, with dark hair cropped close.

“Where’s Jeannie?” he growled.

It was Monday. She was supposed to be here.

The woman behind the bar batted her eyes. “I’m Miranda. Jeannie’s on vacation. I’m more than happy to take care of you while she’s gone...”

Robert glared at her. Dammit, Jeannie had said one week. She’d promised. And now he needed her and she wasn’t here.

The pressure in his head was almost blinding. If he didn’t see Jeannie tonight—right now—he might do something they’d all regret.

“Dr. Wyatt?”

The world began to lose color at the edges, a numb gray washing everything flat.

He needed to leave before he lost control.

But he couldn’t because his mother had called him and there had to be a way to save her and he needed to see Jeannie.

She was the only one who could bring color back to his world.

“She’s not on vacation. Tell me where she is.” He leaned forward, struggling to keep his voice level. “Or else.”

Miranda’s teasing pout fell away as she straightened and stepped back. “She’s not here,” she said, the purr gone from her voice.

He wasn’t going to lash out. A Wyatt never lost control.

So instead of giving in to the gray numbness and doing what Landon would do, Robert forced himself to adjust the cuffs on his bespoke suit, which gave him enough time to breathe and attempt to speak calmly.

He studied Miranda. She held his gaze, but he could see her pulse beating at her throat. She was probably telling the truth.

“I’d like to speak with the owner. Please.”

The buzzing in his head became two discordant sounds. He could hear Landon snarling, Wyatts don’t ask, at the same time as he heard Jeannie say, in that husky voice of hers, There, was that so hard?

When was the first time Jeannie had said that to him? He didn’t remember. All he remembered was that she was the first person who’d ever dared tease him.

When he was sure he had himself back under control, he looked up. Miranda the substitute bartender wasn’t moving.

“Now,” Robert snarled.

With a jolt, she turned and fled.

It felt wrong to sit in his seat if Jeannie wasn’t on the other side of the bar. Like this place wasn’t home anymore.

Which was ridiculous because this was a bar where he spent maybe half an hour every night. It wasn’t his sprawling Gold Coast townhouse with million-dollar views of Lake Michigan. It wasn’t even the monstrosity of a mansion where he’d been raised by a succession of nannies. This was not home. This was just where Jeannie had been when he’d walked into this restaurant two years and ten months ago and sat down at this bar because he’d felt...lost.

It had been thirty-four months since Jeannie had stood in front of him, listening while he struggled to get his thoughts in order because his mother had refused to stay with him and Landon had come for her. Everything in Robert’s carefully constructed world had gone gray, which had been good because then Robert didn’t have to feel anything. Anything but the overpowering need for the perfect drink.

Sometimes, when Robert allowed himself to look back at that moment, he wondered if maybe Jeannie had been waiting patiently for him.

Where the hell was she?

Then it hit him. She’d said she had a family thing. She wasn’t here now.

Something had gone wrong.

The realization gave him an odd feeling, one he did not like. He liked it even less when Miranda the substitute bartender returned with a man that looked vaguely familiar.

“Dr. Wyatt, it’s so good to see you, as always,” the man said, smiling in a way Robert didn’t trust. “I’m sorry there’s a problem. How can I correct things?”

Robert was running out of patience. “Who are you?”

“Julian Simmons.” He said it in a way that made it clear Robert was supposed to remember who he was. “I own Trenton’s. You’re one of our most valued customers, so if there’s a problem, I’m sure we can—”

Robert cut the man off. “Where’s Jeannie?”

Robert couldn’t tell in the dim light, but he thought Simmons might have gone a shade whiter. “Jeannie is taking some personal time.”

Only a fool would think personal time and vacation time were the same thing. Robert was many things, but foolish wasn’t one of them. “Is she all right?”

Simmons didn’t answer for another long beat.

Something had happened; Robert knew it. Helplessness collided with an ever-increasing anger. He was not going to stand by while another woman was hurt. Not when he had the power to stop it.

“Jeannie is fine,” Simmons finally said. “We’re hopeful that she will rejoin us in a few weeks. I know she’s your personal favorite, but Miranda is more than happy to serve you.”

Both Miranda the substitute bartender and Simmons the restaurant owner recoiled before Robert realized he was snarling at them. “Tell me where she is. Now.”

“Dr. Wyatt, I’m sorry but—”

Before he was aware of what he was doing, Robert had reached across the bar and took hold of Simmons’s tie.

Robert could hear Landon Wyatt shouting, No one says no to a Wyatt, in his mind.

Or maybe he hadn’t heard the words. Maybe he’d said them out loud because Miranda squeaked in alarm.

“You,” he said to the woman, “can go.”

He didn’t have to tell her twice.

“Dr. Wyatt,” Simmons said. “This is all a misunderstanding.”

Belatedly, he realized he was probably not making the best argument. Abruptly, he released Simmons’s tie. Robert realized he had overlooked the path of least resistance. Instead of allowing his temper to get the better of him, he should’ve started from a different negotiating position.

“How much?”

“What?” Simmons winced.

“How much?” Robert repeated. “I have frightened you and your employees, which wasn’t my intent. I like coming here. I would like to return, once Jeannie is back in her position. I would like to...to make amends.”

Which was as close as possible to apologizing without actually apologizing because Wyatts did not apologize.

Ever.

Simmons stared at him, mouth agape.

“Shall we say...” Robert picked a number out of thin air. “Ten thousand?”

“Dollars?” Simmons gasped.

“Twenty thousand. Dollars,” he added for clarity’s sake. Everyone had a price, after all.

Jeannie was in trouble and he had to help her. But to do that, he had to know where she was. If Simmons refused to take the bribe, Robert had other ways of tracking her down, but those would take more time. Time was one commodity he couldn’t buy.

The buzzing in his head was so loud that it drowned out the hum of the restaurant. He gritted his teeth and blocked it out.

Simmons pulled his pocket square out and dabbed at his forehead. “Do you realize how many laws you’re asking me to break?”

“Do you realize how little I care?” Wyatt shot back.

When it came to things like abuse or murder, Wyatt knew and respected the law. When it came to things like this? Well, he was a Wyatt. Money talked.

Simmons knew it, too. “Do I have your word that you won’t hurt her?”

“I won’t even touch her.” Not unless she wants me to.

The thought crossed his mind before he was aware it was there, but he shook it away.

Simmons seemed to deflate. “There was a family emergency.”

The longer this man stood around hemming and hawing, the worse things could be for Jeannie. Belatedly, Robert realized he did not have twenty thousand dollars in cash on him. He placed a credit card on the bar. “Run it for whatever you want.”

After only a moment’s hesitation, Simmons took the card. “Let me get you the address, Dr. Wyatt.”

About damn time.

Three

Jeannie all but collapsed onto the concrete step in front of Nicole’s house, too numb to even weep.

No, that was wrong. This was her house now.

Nicole was dead.

And since there were no other living family members, Jeannie had inherited what Nicole had owned. Including their childhood home.

Everything left was hers now. The sensible used family sedan. The huge past-due bills to fertility clinics. The cost of burying her sister.

The baby.

It was too much.

Death was bad enough because it had taken Nicole, leaving Jeannie with nothing but wispy memories of a happy family. But who knew dying was so complicated? And expensive? Who knew unraveling a life would involve so much damned paperwork?

That didn’t even account for Melissa. That baby girl was days old. It wasn’t right that she would never know her mother. It wasn’t right that the family Nicole had wanted for so long...

Jeannie scrubbed at her face. It wasn’t Melissa’s fault that delivery had been complicated or that Nicole had developed a blood clot that had gone undiagnosed until it was too late. Dimly, Jeannie knew she needed to sue the hospital. This wasn’t the 1800s. Women weren’t supposed to die giving birth. But Jeannie couldn’t face the prospect of more paperwork, of more responsibilities. She could barely face the next ten minutes.

She looked up at the sky, hoping to find a star to guide her. One little twinkling bit of hope. But this was Chicago. The city’s light pollution was brighter than any star, and all that was left was a blank sky with a reddish haze coloring everything. Including her world.

She was supposed to be at work. She was supposed to be fixing the perfect Manhattan for the perfect Dr. Robert Wyatt, the man whose tipping habits had made her feel financially secure for the first time in her life. A hundred bucks a night, five nights a week, for almost three years—Dr. Robert Wyatt had single-handedly given Jeannie the room to breathe. To dream of her own place, her own rules...

Of course, now that she had an infant to care for and a mortgage and bills to settle, she couldn’t breathe. She’d be lucky if her job at Trenton’s was still there when she was able to go back. If she would be able to go back. Julian might hold her job for another week or so, but Jeannie knew he wouldn’t hold it for two months. Because after an initial search of newborn childcare in Chicago, she knew that was what she’d need. Jeannie had found only day care that accepted six-week-old babies, but the price was so far out of reach that all she’d been able to do was laugh and close the browser. If she wanted childcare before Melissa was two months old, she needed a lot of money. And that was something she simply didn’t have. Even if she sued the hospital, put the house on the market, sold the family sedan—it still wouldn’t be enough fast enough.

Even though there were no stars to see, she stared hard at that red sky. This time she caught a flicker of light high overhead. It was probably just an airplane, but she couldn’t risk it. She closed her eyes and whispered to herself, “Star light, star bright, grant me the wish I wish tonight.”

She couldn’t wish Nicole back. She couldn’t undo any of the loss or the pain that had marked Jeannie’s life so far. Looking back was a trap, one she couldn’t get stuck in. She had no choice but to keep moving forward.

“I need help,” she whispered.

Financial assistance, baby help, emotional support—you name it, she needed it.

There was a moment of blissful silence—no horns honking in the distance, no neighbors shouting, not even the roar of an airplane overhead.

But if Jeannie was hoping for an answer to her prayers, she didn’t get it because that was when the small sound of Melissa starting to cry broke the quiet.

Sucking in a ragged breath, Jeannie dropped her head into her hands. She needed just a few more seconds to think but...

The baby didn’t sleep.

Was that because Jeannie wasn’t Nicole? Or was Melissa sick? Could Jeannie risk the cost of taking Melissa to the emergency room? Or...there was a pediatrician who’d stopped at the hospital before Melissa was discharged. But it was almost ten at night. If anyone answered the phone, they’d probably tell her to head to the ER.

The only person she knew who knew anything at all about small children was Dr. Wyatt, but it wasn’t like she could ask him for advice about a fussy newborn. He was a surgeon, not a baby whisperer.

Jeannie had helped organize a shower for Nicole with some of Nicole’s teacher friends and she had picked out some cute onesies. That was the sum total of Jeannie’s knowledge about newborns. She wasn’t sure she was even doing diapers right.

“Please,” she whispered as Melissa’s cries grew more agitated, although she knew there would be no salvation. All she could do was what she had always done—one foot in front of the other.

Jeannie couldn’t fail that baby girl or her sister. But more than that, she couldn’t give up on this family. She and Nicole had just started again. It felt particularly cruel to have that stolen so soon.

A car door slammed close enough that Jeannie glanced up. And looked again. A long black limo was blocking traffic in the middle of the street directly in front of the house. A short man wearing a uniform, complete with a matching hat, was opening the back door. He stood to the side and a man emerged from the back seat.

Not just any man.

Oh, God, Dr. Robert Wyatt was here. Her best, favorite customer. All she could do was gape as his long legs closed the distance between them.

“Are you all right?” he demanded, coming to a halt in front of her.

She had to lean so far back to stare at him that she almost lost her balance. He blocked out the night sky and her whole world narrowed to just him.

Yeah, she was a little unbalanced right now. “What are you doing here?”

Because he couldn’t be here. She looked like hell warmed over twice, and the shirt she was wearing had stains that she didn’t want to think about and she was a wreck.

He couldn’t be here.

He was.

He stared at her with an intensity that had taken her months to get used to. “Are you all right?”

It wasn’t a question. It was an order.

Jeannie scrambled to her feet. Even looking him in the eye, it still felt like he loomed over her. “I’m fine,” she lied because what was she supposed to say?

She liked him as a customer. He was a gorgeous man, a great tipper—and he had never made her feel uncomfortable or objectified. Aside from that phantom touch of his hand brushing against hers—which could’ve been entirely accidental—they’d never done anything together beyond devise the perfect Manhattan. That was it.

And now he’d followed her to Nicole’s house.

The man standing in front of her looked like he would take on the world if she asked him to.

His brow furrowed. “If everything’s fine, why aren’t you at work?”

“Is that why you’re here?”

“You promised you’d be back today and you weren’t. Tell me what’s wrong so I can fix it.”

She blinked. Had she actually wished upon a star? One with magical wish-granting powers?

“You can’t fix this.” It didn’t matter how brilliant a surgeon he was, he couldn’t help Nicole. No one could.

“Yes, I can,” he growled.

He growled! At her! Then he climbed the first step. “I need you to be there, Jeannie.” He took another step up, another step closer to her. “I need...”

“Robert.” Without thinking, she put her hand on his chest because she couldn’t let him get any closer.

She felt his muscles tense under her palm. It was a mistake, touching him. That phantom contact a week ago in the bar? The little sparks she’d felt then were nothing compared to the electricity that arced between them now. He was hot to the touch and everything had gone to hell, but he was here.

He’d come for her.

He looked down to where she was touching him and she followed his gaze. He wasn’t wearing a tie, which was odd. He always wore one. She stared at the little triangle of skin revealed by his unbuttoned collar.

Then his fingertips were against her cheek and she gasped, a shiver racing down her back. “Jeannie,” he whispered, lifting her chin until she had no choice but to look him in the eye. His eyes, normally so icy, were warm and promised wonderful things. His head began to dip. “I need...”

He was going to kiss her. He was going to press his perfect mouth against hers and she was going to let him because she could get lost in this man.

Just as she felt his warmth against her lips, Melissa’s cries intruded into the silence that surrounded them.

“Oh! The baby!” Jeannie hurried into the house.

“The baby?” he called after her.

How much time had passed since Robert had emerged from the back of that sleek limo? Could have been seconds but it could’ve just as easily been minutes. Minutes where she’d left Melissa alone.

By the time she got back to the baby’s room, Melissa was red in the face, her little body rigid, her arms waving. Was that normal? Or was Melissa in pain? Or...

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Jeannie said as she nervously picked the baby up, trying to support her head like the nurse had shown her. She was pretty sure she wasn’t doing it right because Melissa cried harder. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.” Sorry Nicole wasn’t here, sorry Jeannie couldn’t figure out the problem, much less how to fix it. “What’s wrong, sweetie?” As if the baby could tell her.

Melissa howled and Jeannie couldn’t stop her own tears. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing this last part of her family.

“Here,” a deep voice said as the baby was plucked out of Jeannie’s arms. “Let me.”

She blinked a few times, but in her current state of exhaustion what she saw didn’t make a lot of sense.

Dr. Robert Wyatt, one of the Top Five Billionaire Bachelors of Chicago, a man so remote and icy it’d taken Jeannie years to get comfortable with his intense silences—that man was laying Melissa out on the changing pad, saying, “What seems to be the problem?” as if the baby could tell him.

“What...” Jeannie blinked again but the image didn’t change. “What are you doing?”

Instead of answering, Robert pulled out his cell. “Reginald? Bring my kit in.”

“Your kit?”

He didn’t explain. “How old is this infant? Eight days?”

She wasn’t even surprised he hadn’t answered her question, much less come within a day of guessing Melissa’s age. “Nine. Nicole, my sister, went into labor right after I last saw you.” She tried to say the rest of it but suddenly she couldn’t breathe.

Robert made a gentle humming noise. The baby blinked up at him in confusion, a momentary break in her crying. “What was her Apgar score?”

“Her what?”

Who the hell was this man? The Dr. Wyatt she knew didn’t make gentle humming noises that calmed babies. There was nothing gentle about him!

Robert had Melissa down to her diaper. The poor baby began to wail again. He made a tsking noise. “Where is the mother?”

Jeannie choked on a sob. “She’s...” No, that wasn’t right. Present tense no longer applied to Nicole. “She developed blood clots and...”

Robert’s back stiffened. “The father?”

“Sperm donor.”

He made that humming noise again. Just then the doorbell rang and Melissa howled all the louder and Jeannie wanted to burrow into Robert’s arms and pretend the last week had been a horrible dream. But she didn’t get the chance because he said, “My kit—can you bring it to me, please?”

“Sure?” When Jeannie opened the door, the man from the car was there. “Reginald?”

“Miss.” He tipped his hat with one hand. With the other, he hefted an absolutely enormous duffel bag. “Shall I bring this to Dr. Wyatt?”

“I’ll take it. Thank you.”

“Babies cry, miss,” he said gently as he handed over the bag. “The good doctor will make sure nothing’s wrong. Don’t worry—it gets easier.”

The kind words from an older man who looked like he might have dealt with crying babies a few times in his life felt like a balm on her soul.

“Thank you,” Jeannie said and she meant it.

Reginald tipped his hat.

It took both hands, but she managed to lug the kit back to the baby’s room. Melissa was still screaming. Probably because Robert was pinching the skin on her arms. “What are you doing?” Jeannie demanded.

“She’s got good skin elasticity and her lungs are in great shape.” He sounded calm and reasonable. “Ah, the kit. Come,” he said, motioning right next to him. “Tell me everything.”

Jeannie did as she was told, putting her hand on Melissa’s little belly as Robert dug into the duffel. “She hasn’t stopped crying since I brought her home two days ago. Nicole never even left the hospital. I don’t know anything about babies.”

“Clearly.” She couldn’t even be insulted by that. “Which hospital? Who were the doctors?” He came up with a stethoscope and one of those tiny little lights.

Oh. His kit must be an emergency medical bag. “Uh, Covenant. Her OB was some old guy named Preston, I think? I don’t remember who the pediatrician is.” She realized that, at some point, Robert had shed his suit jacket and had rolled up his sleeves. He still had on his vest but there was something so undone about him right now...

He’d almost kissed her. And she’d almost let him. The man who didn’t like to be touched, didn’t show emotion—she’d touched him and he’d come within a breath of kissing her.

Even stranger, he was now touching—gently—Melissa.

This just didn’t make sense. Robert didn’t like touching people. Simple as that.

What exactly had she wished upon? No ordinary star had this kind of power behind it.

Robert listened to Melissa’s chest and then peered into her mouth and ears before pressing on her stomach.

With a heartbreaking scream, the baby tooted.

“Oh, my gosh. I’m so sorry,” Jeannie blurted out.

“As I expected,” Robert said, seemingly unbothered by the small mess left in the diaper that was thankfully still under Melissa’s bottom. He listened to her stomach. “Hmm.”

“What does that mean?” Dimly, Jeannie was aware that this was the longest conversation she’d ever had with him.

“When was the last time you fed her?”

“Uh, about forty-five minutes ago. She drank about two ounces.” That, at least, she could measure. She’d watched a few YouTube videos on how to feed a baby. Thank God for the internet.

Wait—when had she started thinking of him as Robert? Except for that one time, she hadn’t allowed herself to use his given name at Trenton’s because that implied a level of familiarity they didn’t have.

Or at least, a level they hadn’t had before he’d shown up on her doorstep to make an accidental house call. Or before she’d touched his chest and he’d caressed her cheek and who could forget that near-kiss?

Robert it was, apparently.

“What are you feeding her?”

“The hospital sent home some formula...” She couldn’t even remember the brand right now.

“Get it.”

She hurried to the kitchen and grabbed the can and the bottle she hadn’t had the chance to empty and clean yet. By the time she got back to the baby’s room, Robert had apparently diapered and dressed the baby and was wrapping her in a blanket so that only her head was visible.

“This is called swaddling,” he explained as, almost by magic, Melissa stopped screaming. “Newborns are used to being in the womb—not a lot of room to move, it’s warm and they can hear their mother’s heartbeat.”

Embarrassment swamped her. “I thought... I didn’t want her to get too hot.”

“You can swaddle her in just a diaper—but keep her wrapped up. She’ll be happier.” He scooped the baby burrito into his arms and turned to Jeannie, casting a critical eye over her.

“Where did you learn how to do that?”

“Do what?”

She waved in his general direction. “Change a diaper. Swaddle a baby. Where did you learn how to take care of a baby?”

He notched an eyebrow at her and, in response, her cheeks got hot. “It’s not complicated. Now, some babies have what we call a fourth trimester—they need another three months of that closeness and warmth before they’re comfortable. Hold her on your chest as much as you can right now. She doesn’t need to cry it out.” His lips curved into that barely there smile. “No matter what the internet says.”

She blushed. Hard.

He tucked Melissa against his chest as if it was the easiest thing in the world. He didn’t seem the least bit concerned about how to support her head or that he might accidentally drop her or any of the worries that haunted Jeannie. Nor did he seem worried in the slightest about holding a baby in the vicinity of a suit that probably cost a few thousand dollars. He made the whole thing look effortless. Because it wasn’t that complicated, apparently.

She wanted to be insulted—and she was—but the sight of Dr. Robert Wyatt cuddling a newborn, for lack of a better word, hit Jeannie in the chest so hard she almost stumbled.

“Here,” she managed to say, holding the formula out for him.

With a critical eye, he glanced at the brand. Then, without taking it, he pulled out his cell again. “Reginald? Find the closest grocery store and pick up the following items...”

He rattled off a list of baby products that left Jeannie dizzy. When he ended the call, he nodded to the formula. “That brand has soy in it. Her symptoms are in line with a soy sensitivity.”

“Crying is a symptom?”

He gave her a look that was almost kind. But not quite. “Her stomach is upset and she’s not supposed to be that red. Both are signs she’s not tolerating something well. Reginald will bring us several alternatives.”

“So...there’s nothing wrong with her?”

“No. Of course it could be colic and something more serious...”

All the blood drained from Jeannie’s face so fast that she felt ill. More serious?

Robert cleared his throat. “I’m reasonably confident it’s the formula.”

“Oh. Okay. That’s...” She managed to make it to the rocker that Nicole’s fellow teachers had all pooled their money to buy. The baby just had a sensitive stomach. It wasn’t anything Jeannie was doing wrong—the hospital had given her the formula, after all. “That’s good.” Her voice cracked on the words.

Robert stared at her. “Are you all right?”

Only this man would ask that question. She began to giggle and then she was laughing so hard she was sobbing and the words poured out of her. “Of course I’m not okay. I buried my sister and there was so much we didn’t say and I’m responsible for a newborn but I have no idea what I’m doing and I don’t have the money to do any of it and you’re here, which is good, but why are you here, Robert?”

He stared at her. It would’ve been intimidating if he hadn’t been rubbing tiny circles on the back of a tiny baby, who was making noises that were definitely quieter than all-out wailing. “You weren’t at the bar.”

“This,” she said, waving her hand to encompass everything, “qualifies as an emergency.”

“Yes,” he agreed, still staring at her with those icy eyes. “When will you be back?”

If it were anyone else in the world, she’d have thrown him out.

Jeannie had made sure Miranda at work knew exactly how Robert liked his drink. Because Jeannie aged it in a cask, Miranda didn’t even have to mix it. She just had to pour and serve. Even someone with standards as impossibly high as Robert’s could be content with that for a few damn nights while Jeannie tried to keep her life from completely crumbling.

But for all that, she couldn’t toss him onto the curb. He’d examined Melissa and calmed the baby down. He had a good, nonterrifying reason for why she kept crying and he had sent Reginald to get different formula. For the first time in a week, Jeannie felt like the situation was almost—almost—under control.

But not quite.

“Why do I need to go back to work?” she asked carefully because this was Dr. Robert Wyatt, after all—a man of few words and suspiciously deep emotions.

He looked confused by her question. “Because.”

A hell of a lousy answer. “Because why?”

His mouth opened, then shut, then opened again. “Because I... I had a bad day.” He seemed completely befuddled by this.

“I’m sorry to hear that. I’m currently having a bad life.” He didn’t smile at her joke. “Look, I don’t know what to tell you. I have to put the baby first—you know, the baby you’re currently holding? She’s the most important thing in my life now and I’m all she’s got. So I can’t go back to work until I figure out how to take care of an infant, pay for childcare, possibly sue a hospital for negligence, settle my sister’s outstanding debts and get a grip on my life. You’ll have to find someone else to serve you a Manhattan!”

If he was insulted by her shouting, he didn’t show it. “All right.”

“All right?” That was almost too easy. “Good. Miranda at the bar knows how to pour... What are you doing?”

He had his cell again. “I don’t like Miranda.” Before Jeannie could reply to that out-of-the-blue statement, he went on, “Len? Wyatt. I’ve got a case for you—malpractice. Postpartum mortality. I want your best people on it. Yes. I’ll forward the information to you as I get it.”

“Robert?” Admittedly, she was having an awful day. But...had he just hired a lawyer for her?

“One moment.” He punched up another number, all while still holding Melissa, which was more than Jeannie had been able to accomplish in the past two days. “Kelly? I’m going to need a full-time nanny to care for a newborn. Yes. Have a list for me by eleven tomorrow morning. I’ll want to conduct interviews after I’m out of surgery.”

Jeannie stared at him. “Wait—what are you doing?”

“My lawyer will handle your lawsuit. It won’t get that far—the hospital will want to settle, but he’ll make sure you get enough to take care of the child.”

She heard the threat, loud and clear. His tone was the same as one time when he’d threatened a woman who’d groped him once. This was Robert Wyatt, a powerful, important man. He might be Jeannie’s best customer and she might be infatuated with him but he also had the power to bend lawyers and whole hospitals to his will.

This was what she couldn’t forget.

If he really wanted to, he’d bend her to his will.

She had to keep this from spinning out of control. “Melissa.”

“What?”

“Her name is Melissa.”

“Fine.” But even as he dismissed that observation, he leaned his chin against the top of the baby’s head and—there was no mistaking what she was seeing.

Dr. Robert Wyatt nuzzled Melissa’s downy little head.

Then it only got worse because he did something she absolutely wasn’t ready for.

He smiled.

Not a big smile. No, this was his normal smile, the one so subtle that most everyone else wouldn’t even notice it. But she did. And it simply devastated her.

She had to be dreaming this whole thing. In no way, shape or form should Dr. Robert Wyatt be standing in what was, essentially, Jeannie’s childhood bedroom, soothing a baby and somehow making everything better. Or at least bearable.

“Now,” he went on, “I’ll have a nanny over here by two tomorrow.” He made as if he wanted to adjust his cuffs, then appeared to realize that he’d not only rolled his sleeves up to his elbows but was also still holding an infant who wasn’t crying at all. He settled for looking at his watch. “You should be back at work on Wednesday.”

Her mouth flopped open. “What?”

“You don’t know how to care for an infant. I need you to be back at work. I’m hiring a nanny to help you.” He glanced around the room. “And a maid.”

He was already reaching for his phone when she snapped, “I don’t know whether to be offended or grateful.”

“Grateful.”

Oh, she’d show him grateful, all right. “I’m not going back to work on Wednesday.”

He paused with the phone already at his ear. Something hard passed over his eyes, but he said, “I’ll also need a maid. Three days a week. Thanks.” Then he ended the call. “What do you mean, you won’t go back?”

She pushed herself to her feet. Thankfully, her knees held. “Dr. Wyatt—”

He made a noise deep in his throat.

“Robert,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm and level because if she didn’t at least try, she might start throwing things. “I’m sorry you’re having a bad day and I appreciate that you’re willing to throw a bunch of money at my problems, but I’m not going back to work this week. Maybe not next week.”

“Why not?” His voice was so cold she shivered. “What else could you possibly need?”

She’d been wrong all these years because it turned out that Dr. Robert Wyatt really didn’t have a heart. “To grieve for my sister!”

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