Daddy In Charge_A Billionaire Romance

by Natasha Spencer

  They had finished their meal—Tom a giant slab of meat, cooked half-raw, and a baked potato; Caroline a much lighter pasta dish, with cornbread—and were enjoying coffee as an aftermath, when Tom suddenly asked her to dance.

  “Oh. Well.” The music had changed from the raucous twangety-twang-twang to something softer and more mellow. She glanced over at Sophie in her bench seat, who, as promised, was working away at her dessert. “But what about—”

  “Darlin’, she’ll be fine. The dance floor ain’t but five feet away.”

  For her trip to the big city, she had changed into a white cotton sweater, a flowing skirt in her favorite purple and teal, and cute little sandals. Now, she was glad she had done so. It had never seemed appropriate to her for a woman to dance in jeans, no matter how many might consider her to be wrong.

  She allowed him to draw her into his arms, to hold her firmly yet carefully as they sashayed around in an easy two-step. Tall, with the spare Westerner’s frame that allowed no extra pounds to settle upon it, Tom’s black and silver hair gave him a look of maturity, and his blue eyes seemed to see into her soul.

  “You’re settlin’ in okay,” he commented.

  She sighed. “I’m relieved you think so. But I’m sure I’ve just scratched the surface with Sophie. We’re bound to have a blowup one of these days, when we don’t get along at all. And I’ll wonder if I’m doing anything right.”

  He twirled her, and brought her in again. Closer to his chest. “Sure nuff. But that’s just people, learnin’ to live together. You’ve been good for her already, Carrie, and that was the main reason Ben married you.”

  “Yeeess...” It was the main reason; no one could dispute that. But she felt a little depressed hearing said it right out in public.

  “It’s made all the difference in the world t’ Ben, knowin’ he could go on his travels, managin’ and addin’ to his empire, without havin’ to worry who was takin’ care of her.”

  “He didn’t do such a good job of filling me in, right at the beginning,” she said tartly. “It was sink or swim. I wasn’t sure how I was to handle a little girl.”

  “Well, you took the bit b’tween your teeth and you went off a-runnin’ with it.” She felt, rather than saw, his comfortable smile. “And she’s accepted you, completely. I’d say Ben got the best of the bargain, in a good mother for his child.”

  “Not so much. He paid my enormous pile of bills.”

  He peered down at her, with those eyes that saw so much. “And you’re kinda worried about it, aren’tcha? It’ll work out, honey. Don’t you doubt it for a minute. Things’ll work out just fine.”

  “Tom—”

  Another twirl, and she felt the strength in his arms and chest. “Think I dunno what’s goin’ on?”

  Caroline felt oddly shamefaced. “You mean—it’s that obvious?”

  “Well, not to most people. But it is to me. Carrie, looks t’ me like our little punkin has just about wore herself out. Whaddya say we get her on home t’ bed?”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Caroline was a light sleeper.

  It could be a curse, as when something vitally important must be taken care early the next morning, but every small sound kept her from getting the rest she needed: the rattle of the wind at a pleated shade; a neighbor’s dog, barking; the sudden eruption into music of a car driving past.

  It could also be a blessing. Perhaps for the care of a child, needing comfort in the dark hours. Or, currently, for the necessary carrying outside of a whimpering puppy with a small bladder.

  She was between that stage of full unconsciousness and semi-stupor, trying to rouse fully awake in case that soft strange sound was something requiring her attention.

  Clouds were drifting across the face of a sullen man-in-the-moon, and the night sky was just light enough to send shadows dancing across the wooden floor. The luminescent numbers on her bedside clock read 2:14. AM, of course, although in her condition the question might rightfully be raised.

  It was three days after her expedition with Tom to the shopping mecca of Marigold, and someone was in her bedroom.

  Although she came suddenly, fully, sharply awake, she did not move but lay, wide-eyed, her heart thumping wildly in the darkness, waiting for the inevitable. Wasn’t that always the case of the movie heroine—she was attacked and left dying, covered with gore, in her own bed?

  The first alert had been a very faint turn of her door knob.

  The second was a click of the latch

  The third was a creak of one particular floorboard.

  And then a heavy body eased onto the bed.

  Rearing up in absolute terror, Caroline opened her mouth to scream. But couldn’t. Because a hard hand instantly covered her mouth and blocked the scream. She chose to fight instead, struggling for release and gasping for breath.

  “Caroline!” hissed the body. “For God’s sake, stop it. You’ll wake the house.”

  Scrambling to reach the bedside lamp, she flicked the switch and both occupant and intruder blinked like owls in the sudden light.

  “Ben!” She wanted to screech her outrage, waking the house or not. “Damn you, Benjamin Taggart. You scared me almost to death! I could kill you!”

  Her heart was pounding like a kettledrum gone berserk, and she had to climb down from the plane she was on to even try matching his level of imperturbability.

  He had the nerve to chuckle. “I suppose I’m lucky you didn’t whack me with a meat cleaver.”

  Caroline fell back upon her piled-up pillows and gradually began to calm down. It was then she realized he was near-naked, having arrived in only a pair of jockey shorts, and he was clearly in a state of readiness for whatever he had planned.

  “What are you doing back at this hour?” she demanded suspiciously.

  “Huh. Y’ know, some wives would be happy to see their husbands home safely. Would be giving them a welcome with open—uh—arms…” He leered at her.

  She was still cross at having her sleep interrupted and her liver almost destroyed by fright. “Yes, yes, of course I’m happy to see—wait a minute! How did you get into my room when I’ve been locking the door every night?” she pounced, feeling suddenly like Mrs. Wyeth and her so-called invasion of privacy.

  Grinning, he raised his hand to show her. In the muted light from the bedside lamp, his master key twinkled as it swung slowly back and forth from its silver chain.

  “Why, you rat! You double-dealing, swamp-running, cherry-picking rat! You enormous—”

  Again she was silenced. But not by a hand this time. By his mouth. He rolled over on top of her, crushing her body beneath his weight, and took his sweet time with a lengthy, mind-blowing kiss that simply sucked her into pure pleasure and held her. Succumbing, as she always did, Caroline savored the taste of his lips conforming to hers and the feel of his tongue playing with her own.

  With a moan, she plunged upward, desperate to connect and end the misery of loneliness she hadn’t even realized was there. She wanted to sob with impatience for the bliss that would be waiting, wanted to cry out with frustration, “Get on with it!”

  “Sssshh,” he urged softly. His hands were already pushing her nightgown aside, so that he could reach all the important parts. “Easy there, girl. We’ve got the rest of the night ahead of us. I’ve had you six ways from Sunday, Carrie; and I’ve had you rough. Tonight I’m gonna have you slow and seductive.”

  Delicious nibbling, from top to bottom and back again. Fingers curved, fingers spread, fingers inserted. For everything he took, she gave; for everything he gave, she took. There was the melding of skin against skin: hers soft and smooth as creamery butter, his muscular and bunched with hair. She sighed, she moaned, she begged for more. He crooned, he gentled, he tried to hold back.

  Ben cupped the mound of her left breast while he suckled from the right. Caroline captured the whole of his erection and stroked every magnificent inch.

  And finally, finally, he took her, in the age-old
rhythm that never tired.

  He was right.

  During their wedding weekend, the sex was tentative at first; a way for two human beings to find out about each other; a time of exploration and possible bonding. At their second encounter, that fateful afternoon under the tree, the sex had been dissolute, abandoned, and insanely arousing; no foreplay, only fornication—the work of a libertine and a trollop.

  But, this. This came close to the concept of actually making love; and when they finished at last, in a few drawn-out moments of spinning toward heaven, and slowly coming back down to earth, both felt a bit of surprise.

  Some time later, Ben was lying on his back, halfway dozing, with Caroline cradled in one arm and her head on his shoulder.

  “Ben,” she said quietly.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Ben, is it okay if I fire Mrs. Wyeth?”

  It was so far from what he was expecting that he almost fell off the bed. Instead, brows raised, he turned slightly to face her. “Fire Mrs. Wyeth? Why would you? She’s been here a long time, and I thought she was doing a fine job.”

  Her hand was dallying on his chest, doing funny things to both nipples, curling and uncurling the silky hair. If she didn’t watch out, she could expect to be tumbled again, soon. Certain vital components were already beginning to show interest.

  “We’re having a little trouble with—uh—adjustment.”

  “Huh. I can’t say that I’ve ever had any problems with her. Won’t you be able to work it out?”

  Caroline seriously considered the question. “I don’t know, Ben. She’s taken such a strong dislike to me that I’m not sure she’s willing to save her job just to keep me around.”

  “Won’t bend at all, huh? In that case, I’m surprised she hasn’t put a spot of arsenic in your stew.”

  Naked, with just the sheet tucked up to her waist, she started to laugh, with the expected result. Every burst sent her breasts jiggling, and that drew his immediate attention. With a salacious satyr’s smile, he covered one with a big hand and squeezed.

  “Hey, Benjamin, be careful. If you hadn’t left bruises all over my body…”

  “Mmmm. Bruises, huh? Let me just kiss ’em, and make ’em well…”

  “No, I’m serious. Now, listen to me, because—Ben, I mean it. I want to know what to do about your cook.”

  Sighing, he released his grip. “Our cook, Carrie. What d’ you want to do?”

  “Well, I’m not sure. She’s accusing me of all sorts of things, and I’m not sure she even wants to stay, with me here. Seriously. I just want your permission to do anything that’s necessary.”

  “Of course. How many times do I have to tell you that the house is yours? Just keep it standing in one piece, will you?”

  “All right. Thank you.” Silence for a few moments, while the bedside clock ticked away the seconds and Ben let out a mighty yawn. “Why were you so late getting back tonight?”

  “Late? Oh. Change of plans from San Antonio stop to one in Albuquerque. And then we got a thunderstorm, had to lay low for a while.”

  “I see.”

  Another yawn, as he slipped lower onto the pillow and his eyes closed. “All right, I admit, I probably should’ve called to let you know. But you were aware of the rules going in, Carrie. This is not a typical marriage, and I don’t have to answer to anyone. Besides, it was already so late I figured you’d be asleep. Which is where I plan to be in about ten minutes.”

  The hurt stabbed so deeply, so sharply, that she thought surely blood must be dripping from the wound it had caused. She almost curled up around it, this grievous injury straight to the gut, and only barely managed to suppress a sob of pure pain. How could she have forgotten the rules she was supposed to live by, as a mail order bride? How could she be so blind and dumb to the type of person Ben Taggart actually was: a cold, selfish, insensitive autocrat who lived only for business and sex?

  Pulling slightly away, to more easily hide her woes beneath these exquisite sheets, Caroline, at a distance of several inches from the warm body which had so encapsulated hers, whispered, “Ben?”

  He groaned and flung one arm across his face. “Just about driftin’ off here, Carrie. What is it?”

  “Ben. How many women’s files and photographs did you look over before—before you chose—me?”

  “Hell, I dunno. A lot.”

  “And what was your—criteria?”

  “Aw, Carrie, d’ you have to go into this now? For God’s sake, it’s almost four o’clock in the morning. I have to be at—”

  “Yes,” she said quietly. “Yes, I want to know now.”

  Another heavy sigh that lifted the hard naked chest. “I wanted a woman who was reasonably attractive and intelligent, who could run my house and take care of my daughter. I already told you that.”

  “But why mail order? You’re a—” Much as she hated to speak the words, she swallowed hard and spat them out, “You’re a fine chunk of man. Surely in your business dealings, even in your own world right here around the ranch, there were plenty of women just dying to be part of your life. Why me, in particular?”

  Suddenly he reared up on a surge of very real anger—a sign, she realized much later, that her probing had struck a nerve. Turned to confront her, as some antagonist across a dueling plain, the face that had just a little while before been soft with tenderness was now set in lines of resentment.

  “Because I didn’t want any complications! I didn’t want any questions! I wanted a woman who would leave me alone to do as I wanted, no strings attached, and that woman looked and sounded like what I’d get in you. I basically just wanted a housekeeper with sexual benefits!”

  Leave him alone, to do as he wanted. Like a selfish child, with no responsibilities to anyone’s wishes or needs but his own.

  Caroline had thought the hurt couldn’t go any deeper. She was wrong. This one was mortal.

  “There, are you satisfied? Now, for God’s sake, turn off the light and let me sleep!”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Carrie, Carrie, you oughta see what I taught Jasper to do! Carrie!”

  The child’s voice and the pound of her running steps brought Sophie tearing down the long hall to Caroline’s room. Roughly awakened from her position face-down on the bed, she raised a tousled head from the pillow just as Sophie erupted through the door.

  “Carrie, Carrie, wait till you—oh.” She skidded to a stop, with the puppy right behind her, and paused on the threshold to ask in a tentative voice, “Uh. Daddy—?”

  “Uh-huh.” Rolling over, Ben cleared his throat of morning fog and made sure that every inch of incriminating bare flesh was covered by the sheet before addressing his daughter. “Yeah, puddin’. And hello to you, too.”

  “Daddy?” Blue eyes huge, dimples shut down, she was still feeling hesitant and uncertain. “Daddy, how’s come you’re in Carrie’s room?”

  “Well—uh—well…“

  Perhaps his brain circuits couldn’t rewire themselves enough on three hours of sleep to think up a feasible answer. Perhaps he was still in too much of a haze to think clearly. Or perhaps he was just completely stumped.

  Reluctantly, Caroline came to his rescue. “Honey, mommies and daddies often share a bed. You’re just not used to it, because your daddy has been away from home, traveling so much.”

  “Oh.” Sophie considered that, while the puppy, anxious for more play, nipped at her heels. Then, in the manner of almost seven-year-olds, she put it aside to think about later. “Okay. But I still wanna show you what Jasper can do. Are you gettin’ up soon?”

  “Yes, Sophie; very soon. We’ll be down shortly. Is that all right?”

  “Sure.” At the doorway, she paused again, a brave little girl who had dressed herself in a blue shirt printed with unicorns and a pair of neon green shorts. “Carrie?”

  “Yes?”

  “If you and Daddy are in bed together, does that mean I should call you Mommy?”

  Caroline choked. With t
ears filling her eyes and threatening to fall, she managed to nod. “Yes, Sophie. You can call me Mommy. But only if you want to.”

  “Yeah. I would.” Her world righted, she raced away, and the dog with her. Inseparable companions. At least she closed the door behind her.

  “Well, just cry about it, why don’t you?” Ben said, with one of his rare non-mischievous smiles. More of a bland, let’s-see-where-this-goes speculative tilt of the lips.

  She sniffled a little. “I can’t help it. That was just—sweet. So sweet. You are unbelievably lucky, Benjamin Taggart, with that daughter of yours.”

  “And don’t I know it.” His voice was husky, and his eyes clouded with notions only suited for the bed they occupied. “Looks to me like you’ve been completely accepted. Sophie seems to be all prepared for you to be her mama.”

  Nodding, she started to push away the covers. Immediately Ben, catching a flash of her bare bottom, began to protest.

  “Hey, where are you goin’?”

  “To shower and dress, of course. Sophie is waiting.”

  “So am I.” Leaning on one elbow amongst a pile of disheveled sheets, with the seductive lazy grin that always got him his way, he waggled his brows at her and pointed downward. “Got somethin’ right here for you.”

  Caroline was suddenly flooded by memory of his last hurtful words to her, just a few hours ago, and the silent weeping she had done until exhaustion had finally claimed her. Her bedroom, her lovely, pristine, blue-and-white bedroom, had now lost all semblance of a refuge, thanks to the presence of this—this man. She couldn’t even escape here to shed her tears and nurse her aching heart, because a great galumphing brute of a male had taken over, to lie sprawled and slumbering upon her king-sized mattress.

  No. She was not about to let him off the hook so easily. Arranged marriage or not, he had a lot to make up for before using her so cavalierly again.

  “I’m sure it’ll keep,” she sniffed, and turned away.