Baby for the Billionaire

by Maxine Sullivan

  “I can’t fault that reasoning.”

  His hands tightened on her waist. “Speaking of giving, you give so much of yourself, trying to balance it all so that no one will get hurt. Your parents don’t deserve you. I almost didn’t.”

  “Nick, I should have told you as soon as I could, but I was torn. How could I be responsible for sending my father to jail?”

  “You weren’t responsible for anything.”

  “I was responsible to you as your wife. I should have made him tell you in the first place.”

  His mouth tightened. “Your father is the one who should have been responsible.”

  She winced, then, “You know, I’m glad it’s over now. It would have always been between us because I would have known.”

  “I can guarantee it won’t be between us now.”

  Her heart rolled over as she looked up at him.

  “Oh, Nick.”

  “Call me darling.”

  “Darling,” she murmured. Then she remembered something else. “What about your family?”

  “They’ll know the truth by now. They won’t hold anything against you.”

  “But Cesare—”

  “Loves you like a daughter. It’s the reason he was so hurt. He will apologize and no more will be said about it.”

  His words gave her joy. “I love your family, Nick.”

  “As long as you love me more.”

  “Oh, yes! Far, far more.”

  He glanced at the bed. “Seeing that you’ve already paid for the room …”

  She arched one of her eyebrows. “Are you suggesting I go to bed with you, Nick Valente?”

  “Do you have a better suggestion, my darling?”

  “Not a one.”

  With their hearts finally open to each other, he drew her down on the bed beside him and at that moment she finally acknowledged something to herself. Loving Nick was no longer the worst thing that could happen in her life.

  Loving Nick was the strongest part of her life.

  Epilogue

  Nick watched his very beautiful wife come toward him in the church and his heart swelled with love. He’d ruined Sasha’s dreams seven years ago, and then almost ruined them again more recently. This time he was going to make sure her dream came true.

  A lump formed in his throat when he saw her blinking back tears during the service. He never knew life could bring such happiness as he’d had the last few weeks with Sasha.

  “Darling, thank you,” she murmured after they walked back down the aisle past the Valente family, who were their only guests. “The church is so beautiful.”

  He’d searched high and low to find the perfect church for her and finally found it up in the mountains. The historic church had stained glass windows that looked out over the valley to the ocean where the heart of Sydney could be seen many, many miles away.

  Outside the church his family … no, make that their family … gathered round to congratulate them and have their picture taken for posterity.

  “There’s one more thing I want to do,” he whispered in her ear.

  “What’s that?”

  “I’ll show you later, my love.”

  And he did.

  That night the moonlight shone over the silhouette of a couple kissing in the gazebo. And this time when Nick left to go back to the house, he wasn’t alone.

  He had Sasha by his side.

  As it always would be.

  Inherited: One Child

  Day

  Leclaire

  About the Author

  USA TODAY bestselling author DAY LECLAIRE is a three-time winner of both the Colorado Award of Excellence and the Golden Quill Award. She’s won RT Book Reviews magazine’s Career Achievement and Love and Laughter awards, the Holt Medallion, a Booksellers Best Award, and has received an impressive ten nominations for the prestigious Romance Writers of America RITA® Award. Day’s romances touch the heart and make you care about her characters as much as she does. In Day’s own words, ‘I adore writing romances and can’t think of a better way to spend each day.’ For more information, visit Day on her website, www.dayleclaire.com.

  To the four-legged wonders who share our lives and give us such unstinting love and devotion. To those who have come and gone … Yoson and Brutus, Little John and Thursday, and Annie.

  And those who give us daily joy … Yoda and Ruggy, Athena and Guinness.

  Prologue

  “You have no choice, Jack. If you want to keep custody of Isabella, you’re going to have to marry.”

  Jack Mason glared at his lawyer. “You know I swore I never would.”

  Derek dismissed that with a wave of his hand. “So you’ve said. Ad nauseam, I might add.”

  “Then let’s move on, shall we? What’s my next option?”

  “Jack, I’m telling you flat out. There is no other choice.” Derek leaned a hip against his desk while Jack prowled the length of the office. “Look, we’ve been friends since our college days. You may not have told me all that went on between your parents, but having met your father, I can guess. That doesn’t change the facts. CPS is very concerned about your niece, thanks to that psychologist’s report.”

  “I wish I could call the man a liar.” Jack thrust a hand through his hair and blew out his breath in a long sigh. “But he was simply stating the facts. It’s been three months since the plane crash and Isabella isn’t adjusting at all. Her tantrums have escalated. And she’s still not speaking.”

  Sympathy lined Derek’s dark face. “Providing your niece with a stable home life and continuing with therapy will go a long way toward changing that.”

  “I’ve hired nannies for her.” Jack could hear the defensive edge in his voice and fought to eradicate it. Getting ticked off at the one person squarely on his side wasn’t his best strategy. “I have a business empire to run, Derek. Isabella is only five. I can’t be her caretaker 24/7.”

  “Child Protective Services is well aware that you’ve had an endless stream of nannies since March. According to the letter I’ve received, they’re not happy about it. And frankly, Jack, it’s not helping with Isabella’s recovery.” Derek hesitated. “There is another alternative.”

  Jack lifted an eyebrow. “Go on.”

  “Let her go. You can afford to find a good home for her. The best possible home. A home with two parents. Someone who has the time to commit to Isabella’s well-being.”

  “I can’t do that.” The words were ripped from him, low and guttural. “I won’t.”

  Derek didn’t bother to pull his punches. “That’s your guilt talking. Isabella survived the plane crash and your sister and brother-in-law didn’t. You also believe you should have been on that plane with them.”

  Jack couldn’t deny it, not when it was the truth. “I was supposed to be. If I had been … If I hadn’t let work delay me …”

  “You’d most likely be dead, too, and Isabella would be in the exact same position she is now,” Derek stated with brutal logic. “In need of two stable parents who can give their full attention to her needs—something you aren’t in a position to do.”

  “I won’t desert her.” Jack continued to pace the width of his office while frustration ate at him. “I just need to find the right person. It’s taking a bit longer than expected.”

  “You need a wife. The caseworker is old-school, Jack. And she’s from the north. She doesn’t care how much money you have or what your name is, or whether your ancestors were among the first residents of Charleston. Her only concern is Isabella.”

  Jack shot his friend a black look. “And mine isn’t?”

  Derek’s expression softened. “I know you care about your niece. But you’ve seen her exactly twice since Joanne adopted her, both times when she was little more than a baby. You have no blood ties. You’re a stranger to her. And ever since the psychologist released his evaluation, Mrs. Locke has made it clear that she doesn’t consider you a suitable guardian. She’s actually mentioned placing Isabella in a
treatment facility.”

  Stark fury gripped him. “Over my dead body.”

  “You won’t have any choice in the matter. They’ll simply come and take Isabella from you—by force, if necessary.” Derek took a seat behind his desk and released a sigh. “What happened, Jack? You were supposed to talk to Mrs. Locke. Sweet-talk her, to be precise.”

  Jack grimaced. “There isn’t sufficient sugar on earth to sweeten up that woman.”

  “You should have made more of an effort, instead of throwing her out of your office. Her opinion will carry a lot of weight in court, as will the psychologist’s findings.”

  “Are you saying that ticking her off wasn’t my best business decision?” Jack asked drily. When his friend maintained a diplomatic silence, he allowed the moment to stretch while he considered his options. Not that there were many. “What if I do what you suggest and marry?” The words grated like ground glass in his mouth.

  “Then you have a real shot at retaining custody, assuming the Locke woman believes the marriage is genuine. I strongly recommend you choose a bride who has experience dealing with special-needs children. A teacher or a social worker. A do-gooder type who will devote all her time to Isabella’s welfare.”

  “Just like that? Find a do-gooder and marry her.” Jack folded his arms across his chest. “And how do you propose I accomplish such an amazing feat?”

  “I recommend you find her the same way you found your nannies. You advertise.”

  Jack stared in disbelief. “You want me to advertise for a wife?”

  “No, I want you to advertise for a nanny and then marry her. You find a woman you can live with until CPS signs off on the case, and I’ll draw up an ironclad prenup.”

  Jack had never considered himself slow on the uptake. But this left him totally at sea. “How the blue blazes am I supposed to convince the woman to marry me? Lie to her? Trick her? Pretend I’m madly in love with her?”

  Derek shrugged. “If you want. Personally, I’d recommend a far simpler method.”

  “Which is?”

  “Hell, Jack. How many billions do you have moldering away in various financial institutions? Even I’ve lost track. Take a healthy chunk of it and buy the damn woman.”

  One

  Jack Mason knew he was in trouble the minute he saw her.

  He didn’t know why she snagged his attention, considering she sat in a room crowded with nanny applicants of all shapes, colors and ages, none of whom possessed a clue about his true intentions—choosing one of them for his wife. This woman dressed in a somber black pantsuit that wasn’t the least eye-catching, so perhaps his reaction had something to do with the way she sat reading a paperback novel … perfectly composed and preternaturally still, an expression of absolute patience on a face more striking than beautiful.

  Jack examined her with greater care. Interesting. Everything about her appeared quiet and understated. She’d pulled her hair into ruthless obedience, anchoring the ebony mass into a tight knot at her nape. In addition, she’d used a restrained hand with her makeup, just a hint of color on her cheeks and lips. A light brush of taupe across her eyelids drew attention to a startling pair of deep-set eyes that wavered somewhere between honey and gold and were framed by lush black lashes. She looked impossibly young, and yet one glimpse of those eyes warned of someone who’d been through the pits of hell and back again. They overflowed with ancient wisdom and intense vulnerability.

  Was that why he’d keyed in on her from all those crowding the room? And what, in particular, about her appearance aroused such intense interest? It was something subtle. Something that stirred instincts he’d honed during his years surviving in the shark-infested waters of the business world. Those instincts warned that this woman, while appearing so calm and controlled on the outside, seethed with secret passion. It was almost as though he sensed the ebb and flow of those restless seas and reacted on a visceral level to a call only he could hear.

  If they’d met anywhere else, he’d have moved in on her and cut her from the crowd. He’d have found a way to break through that carefully cultivated self-control and release the inner passion. It had always been that way with him. He’d always responded to the essence of the woman swirling beneath the surface and felt the burning need to strip her down, layer by layer, to that passionate inner core.

  This woman would have many layers, fascinating layers. Layers he could explore intellectually and physically. And he wanted to develop—wanted with an intensity he hadn’t experienced in years.

  One of his prospective “wives” coughed, snapping Jack’s concentration. Awareness of time and place returned, along with an irritation that he’d allowed such pointless speculation to distract him. He forced his attention back to the business at hand—securing a woman who could act the part of both nanny and wife. On the verge of calling the next name on the list, the door to the outer office flew open and his niece burst in.

  Her short, curly hair stood out from her head in matted golden-brown spikes that had yet to see a brush that morning, and he could tell what she’d eaten for breakfast with a single look at her shirt. She’d worked a hole into each knee of her new jeans—with a pair of scissors, by the look of it. And she’d used her watercolor paints to turn her face into a startling mask of red and black swirls.

  Isabella scanned the room in frantic anger, her olive green eyes narrowed to slits. Taking a stance dead center in the room, she balled her hands into fists and then opened her mouth, letting out a scream loud and shrill enough to cause the windowpanes in his office to shiver in protest. For a split second, everyone in the outer room froze. Jack considered taking control of the situation, but then decided to wait and see how his nanny applicants reacted.

  Some of the women took decisive action. They bolted for the door. Jack sighed. Three down. Several of the others exchanged uneasy glances, clearly uncertain how to respond to the crazed child who’d erupted into their midst. One large-set, no-nonsense woman rose and approached Isabella.

  “You stop that this instant,” she demanded.

  Isabella responded by kicking the woman in the shin and increasing the volume and shrillness of her screaming, something Jack would have thought an impossibility. But somehow, his darling niece managed it. The woman exited, muttering furiously beneath her breath—four down—and Jack thanked his lucky stars. He didn’t think he could handle a wife with a moustache. Nor did he think Mrs. Locke would believe theirs was a real marriage.

  Successfully having rid herself of four of the applicants, Isabella took control of the room. She darted from person to person, giving them an exclusive, one-on-one performance. Each reacted differently. Some attempted to cajole. Others took the first woman’s approach and made demands. One actually threatened Isabella with a spanking. Several made shushing noises. Only the woman in black didn’t react. She continued to sit quietly, reading her book as though she neither saw nor heard the chaos exploding around her. Isabella took note and her jaw assumed a determined slant.

  Jack winced. Hell.

  Rushing over to stand in front of the woman, Isabella gave full throttle to her displeasure. It didn’t make a bit of difference. The only response was a leisurely turn of the page. Finally, Isabella’s voice gave out and she croaked into silence. Only then did the woman look up. For an instant the two stared at each other, a silent contest of wills.

  An odd expression burned in the woman’s eyes, something that might have been fear combined with an intense vulnerability, which didn’t bode well for her ability to control a child of Isabella’s willful nature. In the next moment, the look vanished, replaced by a gentle relentlessness, a searing look of hope combined with determination. The expression took his breath away. She’d only been in Isabella’s presence for mere moments, and yet he could practically see her weaving an emotional connection with his niece.

  She said something to Isabella in a voice so soft it didn’t carry any farther than his niece’s ears. Then she stood and walked to the door. O
pening it, she scanned the area. “Who’s in charge of this child?” Jack heard her ask.

  The temporary babysitter he’d hired, who’d no doubt been cowering in the hallway, reluctantly stepped forward. “I am.”

  Without another word, the woman ushered Isabella through the door and, before the child could react, closed it decisively in her face. Then she returned to her seat, picked up her book and resumed reading. A scattering of applause broke out around her, not that she took any notice. Even so, Jack could tell the incident had affected her. A telltale pulse throbbed at the base of her throat, betraying her agitation. It impressed the hell out of him that she could hide her reaction so well. He checked his watch and grimaced. Time to move this show along.

  He called the next name on the list. “Annalise Stefano.”

  He wasn’t the least surprised when the woman he’d been studying tucked away her book, shouldered her purse and stood. Somehow, the name fit. She walked toward him with a long, easy stride that suited her lean, coltish build. A tiny curl sprang loose from the tight control she’d attempted to impose on it and bounced against her temple in joyful exuberance. He almost smiled. Her hair was one of the layers he’d love to peel away. How would she look with all those curls tumbling down her back in total abandon?

  “I’m Annalise,” she said, and offered her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Mason.”

  He took her hand in his and felt the odd dichotomy of fine bones in opposition to a tensile strength. Did it reflect the woman? He suspected it did. He forced himself to release her, when in truth he experienced a sharp desire to tug her closer, if only to see how she’d react, to see how deep that self-control ran. Not good. Whomever he chose for this job would be his temporary wife, a woman he’d want out of his life as soon as feasible. That meant their relationship could be boiled down to two words.