The Irish Prince (The Billionaire Dynasties)

by Nelson, Virginia

  Which prompted a stop at a gas station so he could buy one for Waverley. She’d never tried one, which he thought was a travesty of her childhood so far. They munched them and talked comics—a conversation which left Chelsea lots of time for thinking, since she didn’t know Captain Wonderwoman from Iron Spider, or whatever the hell their names were.

  Basically, she kind of felt like a third wheel and tried to focus on just driving. Her being left out of the conversation, she reminded herself, was a very good thing, because it meant they didn’t need her as a buffer. The whole point of this trip was for Aiden to connect with his daughter, and based on the conversation over the duration of the drive, it worked like a charm.

  …

  Once they’d gotten the key and checked into the gorgeous and no doubt overpriced cabin he’d rented for the week—because why would he just get a hotel room like a normal person?—she’d done her best to fade into the shadows. Even after what should have been a good night’s sleep in a plush and decadent bed, she was tired and cranky. Then again, she’d spent most of the night tossing and turning.

  Chelsea stretched as she padded down the wide-plank, hand-hewn wooden floor of the hallway toward the central room of the cabin. It was nice not being on the road anymore. Her ass was still numb from being in the car for so long, and she secretly hoped he’d book a plane back. Although the ride had been fun at points, she’d be happy not to be in a car for at least another year or two.

  She slammed to a stop when she got to the kitchen. If she’d thought he’d have a chef or some other set up for food, she’d been very, very wrong. Or at least she was wrong this morning, or he’d gotten some wild hair up his ass and decided to cook.

  Because instead of a chef in the kitchen, a shirtless and barefoot Aiden stood over the stove, flipping pancakes to go with, based on scent, what was some delicious bacon. He hummed softly while he cooked, and if she were to guess…he was humming the theme song to The Greatest American Hero.

  If she hadn’t already lusted after the man before, she would’ve started right that second.

  Reminding herself of his cocky, bossy nature at work wasn’t curing her crush. Thinking of the model who gave birth to his child wasn’t dulling it. Everything in her wanted to walk up behind him and give him a hug.

  Which was lame. If her imagination had ideas about him, shouldn’t they be all about sweat-slicked skin and silk sheets? Not something simple like a hug. It seemed even her imagination was terrifically mundane, just like the rest of her.

  She’d lingered in the doorway for too long, because he turned and made her heart squeeze with his easy smile. “Good morning,” he rumbled, his voice still a bit gruff from sleep.

  Which annoyed her unreasonably. Apparently, he’d slept well and woken up in a great mood. While she’d been tossing and turning and overthinking everything, he’d probably snored the night away without a worry in the world. Without saying anything in response, she moved to the coffee pot to grab a cup of magical go-go juice.

  “Sleep well?” he asked.

  “Of course he’s chipper in the morning. All smiles and bacon and smiling. Refreshed and looking as if he doesn’t have a care in the world…he could at least look scruffy or have bags under his eyes like a normal human being. It just isn’t right.”

  “Have I mentioned that your annoyed mumbling drives me crazy? Because it still drives me crazy,” he said. The bastard had the audacity to smile while he said it, though, which only aggravated her further. She quit mumbling, all the same, not even realizing she’d started.

  Once she had the mug poured, she doctored it with sugar and cream and took the first sip of life-giving, sanity-bringing caffeine. She focused on the warmth of the cup in her hand, in the smooth way each gulp went down, in the sweet aftertaste, and tried to ignore the nearly naked man practically dancing on his too-sexy feet as he continued to make breakfast and hum.

  The bastard. It was downright dastardly of him to be so chipper and adorable so early in the day. The least he could do was be a jerk and remind her why wanting him was beyond stupid.

  Once she’d finished the mug, she finally answered him. “Good morning.”

  “Not a morning person, huh? You always seem so personable in the office.”

  “Well, it certainly isn’t gentlemanly of you to point it out. You’re right, though. No talkie before the coffee.” She smirked at her own joke and poured herself a second cup. At least he’d managed to get good coffee. She could live without a lot of things—sex, sanity, reasonable separation of work and home life—but she couldn’t abide living without good coffee.

  “When has anyone accused me of being a gentleman?” he asked with a devious grin.

  She was saved from having to answer by Waverley joining them. Her red waves bounced around her grinning face as she plopped down at one of the hewn-log chairs. “Good morning, morning glory, and how are you today?” she chirped.

  “It’s such a pretty morning, it’s time for us to sa-a-ay…” Chelsea replied. It would help if his kid was less awesome. A rock hound and she remembered Chelsea’s dad’s song? Yeah, the kid was too much.

  “Good morning, morning glory, and how are you today!” Waverley finished. “Can we go see the canyon today?”

  “I made pancakes,” Aiden said, placing a plate loaded with more pancakes and bacon than any kid could eat in front of her. “Eat up.”

  “You didn’t answer me. Are we going?” The child’s smile dried up, and a frown furrowed her pretty little brow.

  “Not today,” Aiden began, holding up a hand to ask Waverley to let him finish his sentence.

  Although that particular hand had and could halt just about any adult Chelsea ever met, Waverley was apparently made of sterner stuff. “The only reason I agreed to this trip with you was to see the Grand Canyon. And you brought me all this way, and you’re not going to take me? I’m going to call my mom.”

  Her words made Chelsea frown. Emotional blackmail, apparently, was a skill kids learned early these days.

  “You can call her if you want; however, I’m your father, and I said we aren’t going today.” Aiden glanced at Chelsea as if to see if she disapproved or not, but she decided to let them work it out. She simply sipped her coffee and waited. “We’ve been on the road for a couple days, and I don’t know about you, but I have no desire to get back in a car today. I know we’re in the Canyon and it is close, but there is a pool out back and lots of rocks around the cabin. I vote we stay here for the day.”

  Waverley shrugged, not looking happy about it, but she tucked into the pancakes before saying anything more. When she finally did speak after the first bite, she squinted at her dad. “We’re just going to hang out in a cabin all day? Sounds boring. Also, how come you can cook, but my mom can’t?”

  Aiden choked a little, possibly trying and failing to hide a laugh. “I don’t know why your mom can’t cook, but your grandmother taught me. You’ll like her. She’s also a bit stubborn. And I don’t see how it can be boring. We hung out in a car and had fun, didn’t we?”

  If she wasn’t holding a mug, Chelsea might have applauded him. In her opinion, he’d handled the whole exchange wonderfully. Maybe she’d underestimated him.

  …

  Aiden

  He had no idea what he was doing. Something about having a daughter made him think back to how his parents raised him, but he felt like he was sloshing around in a storm-tossed sea, guessing what might be the right way to handle things without a hope of making the right choices.

  The one thing he knew for sure was that he didn’t want to fail her. He had years to make up for and not a lot of time to do it. It would help if he felt more connected to the kid, but he just didn’t, which made him feel worse.

  He’d barely slept the night before, Googling articles about adopting kids—since he got his partially grown, and he hoped to read about how to make himself feel attached. Most of the things he read talked about how they felt something right away, some mag
ical familial bond that he lacked.

  But she didn’t feel like his. It felt like he was spending time with someone else’s child. He guessed most parents wouldn’t have his particular problem, but most parents had some warning, time to adjust to the idea of becoming a parent. He’d literally had the idea thrust upon him in his office without a moment of warning.

  Finally, at somewhere around three in the morning, he’d found an article that suggested what he was going through might not be entirely unique to him. Supposedly, he could just fake it until he felt the fatherly vibes or whatever. So he tried to do just that. He made pancakes. He laid down the law.

  Which resulted in a staring contest with his stubborn child. “Seriously, the outdoors won’t bite. You can come off the porch.”

  She crossed her arms, not amused by him in the slightest. “I can do lots of things. The question is, do I want to do them? Right now, I want to stand here. If there are interesting rocks out here, find me one.”

  He glanced around. Seeing a stone on the ground which looked promising, he picked it up and offered it to the bundle of red hair and joy. “Here, this one looks cool.”

  “That isn’t even a rock. That’s a piece of broken concrete or something.”

  He sighed. Fake it, he reminded himself. “Okay, you might be right. But can we ask ourselves why there might be a fragment of concrete next to a log cabin?”

  “Building the cabin. Next question?” She smirked at him, the little brat.

  “You’re not making this easy on me,” he began.

  “Father’s Day at school hasn’t been easy for me.”

  Dammit, the kid had a point. He breathed out deeply, wondering where in the hell his assistant was. Didn’t he bring her along specifically to make this whole transition easier?

  Then again, that did seem a heavy weight to lie on her already overburdened shoulders. Her lovely shoulders.

  It would help if he could stop thinking about kissing his assistant. He scrubbed a hand across his face, wishing the answers would somehow magically appear for him.

  “Hey, what’s that?” his daughter asked. She was practically running off the porch, headed right into the trees where he’d wanted her. Outside, to enjoy the beautiful day and…

  Once he saw her destination, he yelped in panic. “Don’t touch it! It might have rabies or fleas or…”

  It was too late. She was touching it. In fact, she’d scooped it up and was hugging it to her chest. “I always wanted a pet!” Waverley enthused.

  “I’m not even sure what that thing is. Probably you shouldn’t touch it. Put it back in its natural environment. Yeah, I’m sure that is what you should do. You’re disturbing the ecosystem.” He took a step back when she got closer to him with the thing.

  “It’s a cat, Dad, not a part of the natural ecosystem. Geez.” She rushed past him, leaving him standing in shock.

  It wasn’t the cat-like creature that froze him in his tracks. No, she was probably right, although she might get scratched by the beast and need medical care.

  It was that one word. She’d called him Dad. For some reason, it shook him to his core and made him finally feel something.

  Something good. Something warm. Something warm and fuzzy, even.

  Shaking off his shock, he rushed toward the house. She’d carried the bag of fleas and disease with claws into the cabin, and he needed to make sure she was safe. He didn’t want that thing to hurt his Waverley.

  His. He had a daughter. And she’d called him Dad.

  Chapter Nine

  Chelsea

  “It’s a cat,” Chelsea said, staring down at the creature in question. Apparently a very docile one, based on the way that Waverley hugged it. The creature didn’t seem to mind it, butting its big head against the little girl’s chin.

  “Yes, I’m going to name him Hematite. Like the black rock? Because he’s my little gemstone, aren’t you, baby?” The cat responded with a louder purr that seemed to rattle the child’s jaw.

  “He’s kind of dirty,” Chelsea said. “And if you’re going to keep him, we need some supplies. One sec.”

  Without hesitation, she pulled her phone out of her back pocket and messaged the head of the security team. She wasn’t sure if Chris Ralph was in the team who traveled with them—since the team had remained surprisingly unobtrusive, no doubt out of concern for their young charge—or still back at the office, but she knew he’d be able to coordinate regardless of his position.

  He answered her fast, so she asked if he could send a member of the on-site team out for some basic cat supplies—litter pan, cat litter, cat food, maybe a toy or two, and…flea medicine, just in case. He responded back with no problem, adding that he felt the team there was likely not doing much anyway. They said they’re mostly playing cards, he said with a smiley emoticon.

  Aiden entered the room from the porch door, and she glanced up and saw that he looked shell-shocked. “You okay, boss man?” she asked.

  He shook his head, so she left the child with the cat for a moment to get closer to Aiden. “What happened?” she whispered.

  “She called me Dad,” he answered. “Chels, she called me Dad.”

  Impulsively, she reached out to squeeze his hand. “That’s good. I mean, since you are.”

  He blinked fast, and she wondered if he was holding back tears. Something about seeing the powerful man shaken like that melted some part of her she didn’t want to look at too closely.

  “Thanks,” he said simply.

  “No problem. Now, to give your daughter’s new cat a bath…”

  His expression turned steely fast. “She’s not keeping it.”

  She ignored him, figuring she was about to get clawed to pieces. Retrieving the animal from Waverley, she held it while she ran a sinkful of warm water. She figured dish soap would work okay to clean it up, since they used it on animals that were caught in oil spills. Expecting the worst, she slowly lowered Hematite into the makeshift bath.

  Much to her surprise, the cat didn’t seem to mind the water. “You’re a weird cat,” she told him as she bathed him as quickly as possible. She didn’t want to press her luck—he could decide against tolerating the bath any moment, and his claws looked daunting.

  He had a few hitchhiking seed pods stuck in his tail, so she worked those free before rinsing him carefully. She read somewhere that soap was bad for an animal’s hide, so she tried to be diligent about getting it all, while the cat still continued to purr.

  “I’ll be right back,” Waverley said, running to another room.

  “I sincerely think that thing is a hazard and we should return it to the wild.” Chelsea ignored him, much as Waverley had from what she’d seen. Just to annoy him, she leaned down to kiss the cat’s head.

  Aiden practically twitched. She toweled off the animal in question, still surprised at how easy it had been to bathe the feline. Almost as if it knew they’d rescued it, the cat tolerated the bath and now being dried without notable complaint.

  “It is a cat, not a thing. And I have no idea where you think we are, but cats aren’t wildlife in the Grand Canyon. At least not this variety. This is just a housecat.” Chelsea looked at the battered black bundle in her arms. It was a male, and his ears proved he’d probably seen some interesting things while he’d ventured outside. A regular scarred knight of a cat, the animal had the face of a hardcore old man and one fang that was too big for his mouth. It caused his mouth to gape open just enough for drool to dribble out when he purred.

  Which he’d practically done nonstop since Waverley rescued him from outside. Since he had no collar, they couldn’t tell whether he’d been abandoned a long time or was just lost, but he needed a bath either way. Chelsea planned to see if he had a microchip by visiting whatever local vet she could find online in the morning, but for the night…

  Waverley wasn’t willing to let him go. The security team returned with the requested kitty litter, a pan, and other things they might need. The little girl was ove
r the moon. She took the bag and went to set up the creature in her room while Chelsea finished up the bath.

  So it looked like they had a handsome four-legged roommate. Chelsea loved him already. Her dad never let her have a pet growing up, other than rocks, and her current apartment didn’t allow animals. She’d always wanted one, though, and this fellow had her heart squarely in his pretty black paws.

  “What if it has fleas? Disease?” Aiden asked.

  She glanced at him over her shoulder. Gone was the arrogant businessman she worked with daily. The vibrant bossiness was swept away in a tide of worried frustration. He was less intimidating like this, making it hard to remember that a suave and sharp billionaire lurked behind the worried eyes he currently focused on the feline.

  She remembered his questions and fought to find a suitable response which might comfort him about their furry companion. “I would’ve noticed if he had fleas when I bathed him. He doesn’t. As to disease, he looks pretty healthy to me.”

  “Then why are his ears dinged up?” Aiden pointed, as if she hadn’t noticed. “Healthy cats have full ears. He doesn’t.”

  “Battle scars,” she answered. “Look, do you want me to take this cat to the vet or to the local APL tonight? Because it will break your daughter’s heart, but I’m willing to do whatever you need me to do. You pay my checks, not her.”

  Chelsea would also hate to see the cat go, but probably it would be for the best. The longer they spent with him, the more attached she got. Besides, leaving for a while would be good for her sanity. Being this close to him wasn’t doing good things for her little crush. Seeing him acting like a regular guy made him far too accessible. Too normal.

  Too boink-able, if she were entirely honest with herself. Some time away might be just the ticket for reminding herself exactly who he was and why her fascination with him was ridiculous.