Baby for the Billionaire

by Maxine Sullivan

  He was a complicated man. She decided to humor him, make him laugh. She shifted her chair back a little. “Come on, how complicated can it be? You’re a male, men are supposed to be easy.”

  “I am definitely easy,” he deadpanned.

  Victoria rolled her eyes. “You’re not getting out of this conversation by relying on sexual innuendo.”

  “I wanted to see you blush so deliciously again.”

  “I don’t blush.” She felt the rush of color even as he quirked a dark brow at her.

  “That was so much easier than I thought,” he murmured, his eyes full of lazy humor.

  “Oh, stop it!” She didn’t know where to look. He was altogether overwhelming in this mood. “Tell me the other reason you disliked me.”

  “You reminded me of Dana.”

  Her breath caught. Ouch. All relaxation and lazy desire fled. “I would never do what she did to you.”

  She turned as Brett and Anne came up the grassy back toward them, Dylan happily squealing in Brett’s arms. “Don’t confuse me with Dana, Connor—I’m nothing like her.”

  “Sure,” said Connor from behind her.

  But he sounded far from convinced.

  Silence fell over the house.

  Victoria had discarded the pale-ivory suit she’d worn for the wedding, and showered. Anne had long since left for home, and Brett had taken off to meet the old friends he was staying with. Victoria set the empty baby bottle on a table beside her, Dylan having been lulled to sleep by Connor’s reading. She looked over the baby’s sleeping head to where Connor lay sprawled on the dark-blue carpet at the foot of the rocker, his head propped up on his elbow … watching her.

  She shifted, and the nursing chair rocked in a gentle motion.

  “Is the baby getting heavy?”

  “A little,” Victoria prevaricated, taking the easy excuse he offered for her sudden restlessness.

  Connor pushed himself to his feet in one lithe movement. “I’ll put him to bed.” His eyes sought hers. “Then we can go downstairs and share a toast to our marriage.”

  Butterflies fluttered in her stomach at the thought of being alone with Connor. “Oh, he’s fine—”

  But it was too late. Connor had already swept Dylan up.

  For an instant the emptiness in her arms roused an ache of separation and she felt a flare of anxiety that she might never hold Dylan again.

  She shook off the foolish fancy.

  There would be lots of time to spend with her baby. She would be here for every day of his life—she could watch him grow, reach out to the world, become a real, rounded person.

  Marriage to Connor had ensured that.

  And, in spite of their differences in the past, both of them were committed to making this unlikely marriage work.

  It had to.

  Not only for Dylan, but for them, too.

  Pulling her dressing gown more tightly around her, Victoria crossed the room to the oak crib where Connor stood, his broad shoulders accentuated by the white dress shirt, his hips lean in dark pants. She leaned forward as he tucked Dylan in.

  “He’s getting big. Must be devouring rubber bands.” Maternal pride filled her as she studied the length of the oblivious baby. “He’s going to be tall one day.”

  Connor pulled up the patchwork Peter Rabbit quilt. “He’s still just a baby. So many hopes and dreams tied up in one little person.”

  The words moved her. “You feel that way, too?”

  He turned his head, and in the dim glow of the nursery lamp part of his face remained in shadow. “I love him.”

  She hadn’t imagined Connor capable of love. He’d always seemed too remote, too self-sufficient. Yet clearly he loved Brett, and now he was telling her that he loved Dylan, too. The tender expression he wore as he glanced down at Dylan made Victoria feel all soft and molten inside.

  Connor doesn’t talk much about himself, Brett had said earlier. Well, she’d just have to learn how to draw him out, Victoria decided. The man she’d just glimpsed would be worth finding.

  Downstairs the overhead lights in the living room blazed, illuminating the sculpted lines of the wide deck outside and reflecting off the glistening surface of the swimming pool under the night sky beyond.

  “What about a glass of champagne?” Connor offered, and Victoria nodded.

  He pushed some buttons in a wall panel and the brightness in the room dimmed, immediately transforming the mood from stark sophistication to shadowed intimacy. Victoria came to a dead standstill in the middle of an exquisite kelim and cast him a wary glance.

  The invitation had been for a toast, she’d thought—not a seduction.

  He extracted a bottle of champagne from a fridge concealed in a mahogany wall unit and two long-stemmed glasses from a cubbyhole above, and came toward Victoria where she stood dithering. Giving her a glass, he took her free hand.

  Immediately, conflicting sensations rushed through Victoria. Trepidation. Nerves. And something far too close to desire for her comfort. But instead of fighting to free her hand she let him lead her to the black leather couch, her heartbeat loud in her ears.

  “I prefer to sit on the deck outside at night, but it’s a little fresh out there tonight.” Connor increased her confusion by sinking down beside her instead of choosing the matching couch on the other side of the Murano-glass coffee table. After he’d filled both glasses, he said, “We’re paying the price for those open blue skies earlier.”

  Determined to keep the conversation neutral, she said, “I’m not surprised you spend a lot of time on the deck—the view of the bay is simply stunning.”

  It had been one of the first things about the house to capture her attention—right then she’d seen what Connor had meant. With its hardwood floors, big spaces, wide lawns and sparkling pool, this was the ideal place for a boy to grow up.

  “And we were fortunate with the glorious weather today,” she added when he made no move to touch her. Get a grip, she told herself. They had a deal. She relaxed enough to take a sip of her bubbly wine.

  “To my bride.”

  Victoria couldn’t read his expression. The subtle tension notched upward. She decided to take the toast at face value and raised her glass in return. “My groom.”

  He scooted closer and clinked his glass to hers. A sharp ting rang out. They sipped … and over the rims of the glasses their eyes held.

  A bolt of electricity sizzled between them.

  Victoria tore her gaze from his.

  His hand came up and wrenched the black bow tie from his throat, peeled open the top button of his shirt. Victoria’s breath caught as her attention honed in on the ripple of a pulse under the swarthy skin. She didn’t dare raise her eyes lest she meet his and be scorched by more shudders of desire.

  He shifted beside her. Aware of every inch of his long body, of the coiling muscle of his thighs under his dark, formal pants, Victoria stayed absolutely immobile. He leaned closer, and her breath dried up.

  God.

  “I should—”

  “I think I should—”

  They both stopped. Victoria gave an awkward laugh, and fluttered a quick sideways glance at him. “I was going to say I should go to bed … it’s been a long day.”

  “And I was going to say I should kiss my bride,” said Connor with wry humor.

  “Oh.”

  She knew he’d seen her alarm because one side of his mouth kicked up.

  “I still think I should.” He leaned nearer and, when she did nothing, he pressed his lips to hers.

  For a long moment there was no sound.

  Then he lifted his head. “Not so scary, was it?”

  “I wasn’t scared,” she objected, all too conscious of the hard-edged features and his unblinking silver-gray gaze.

  His hand reached out and his fingertips traced her brow bone. “Then why the wide eyes?”

  Okay, so maybe she had been scared. Not of him, but of responding too enthusiastically to anything he might try,
taking the kiss far beyond the kind of intimacy he intended. Like she did every time he kissed her.

  Connor had a knack of making her want … more.

  “We agreed no sex. You took me by surprise,” she sputtered.

  He laughed. “A kiss is a long way from sex.”

  Now he thought she was prissy. Damn. But she wasn’t going to let him roll her over. “It’s a darn good start along the road. Our bargain was that I marry you to give Dylan a stable home. No sex involved.”

  “The billion-dollar baby bargain,” he said sardonically, his fingers sliding along her jawline.

  “Hey—” the implication annoyed her, and his caress was unsettling “—I’m not doing this for money, you know that. I wouldn’t take a cent from you.”

  But despite her heated words her bones were turning to fluid under his tantalizing touch. The citrus and male scent of him surrounded her. And the assault on her senses conspired to make her give a little shiver.

  His fingertips came to rest under her chin. “Perhaps I should’ve offered you a million dollars to walk away from your custody and guardian responsibilities?”

  Could he be serious? She wasn’t sure. But she decided to rid him of that notion once and for all. “You’re insane. I would never’ve taken it. Dylan is worth more than any amount of money to me.”

  “And me, too.” He moved his thumb along her throat until it rested in the soft hollow beneath her ear. “Stalemate. So we’re stuck with each other.”

  “But we’re not going to have sex.” She sounded ridiculously breathless.

  He smiled, a slow, wolfish smile. “If you’re certain, then why is your pulse beating so fast?”

  “It’s not my pulse—it’s yours you’re feeling through your thumb,” she said in a strangled voice.

  Connor laughed. And her toes curled up at the sound.

  “We’re going to have sex,” he said. “And like I promised, it will be far from casual.”

  “You’re so arrogant,” she accused him.

  “Think so?”

  He moved and she squealed.

  “Too late.” His arms were around her shoulders. “I’m not going to let you go.”

  “But we agreed—”

  “The idea of being married and not making love is …” His voice trailed away as he placed a kiss against her neck.

  “Is what?” He’d taken her breath away again—along with her ability to think.

  “It’s stupid.” His mouth opened hungrily against her silken skin. “Whose idea was it, anyway?”

  “I don’t know.” Her voice was hoarse.

  He blew softly, and shivers broke over her skin.

  “Million-dollar question—what do you want me to do now, Victoria?”

  Was he asking permission? Did Connor really care what she wanted? Or would he just take what he wanted and tumble away, like every man she’d ever known?

  Ten

  Connor felt her stiffen.

  Not giving her time to gather her defenses, he licked the hollow at the base of her throat.

  She jumped.

  He repeated the caress. This time she groaned, and her body went soft, pliable—no sign of resistance remaining.

  Her dressing gown opened with one tug of the sash that she’d tied in a bow. Underneath she wore a white, lacy confection that was likely to drive him insane.

  Three buttons teased him.

  It took him less than thirty seconds to unfasten them all. He brushed the neckline open, exposing the sweetly scented dip between her breasts. The slopes of her breasts glowed, pale and luminescent. Like a pair of priceless pearls.

  Dana had always sported a tan. He forced his thoughts away from Dana, and stroked his hand across the rise of pale skin.

  “Beautiful.”

  He peeled the lace of the tab away, baring her breasts and covered her with his hands. “See? You fit inside my palms like you were made for them. Why would you want more?”

  He could feel himself growing hard.

  Releasing her, he unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged it off. Her hands came up and touched the bare skin of his stomach. His muscles pulled taut, and he fought back a groan of delight.

  He wanted to murmur, “Touch me, touch me”. But it was too soon.

  Instead he lowered his head and kissed the tips of her exposed breasts.

  She arched her back, coming off the couch.

  Connor opened his mouth, covering her whole nipple and used his tongue.

  Victoria moaned, her eyelashes falling against her cheeks. Her head moved restlessly from side to side.

  He moved across and sucked on the other nipple, until she shifted and moaned again.

  “Like that?”

  All he heard was a guttural sound of pure desire.

  Connor blew on both nipples, and watched as they hardened and gooseflesh rippled across her breasts and belly. The hunger that took him was raw and primal in its intensity.

  Lifting his own head, Connor slipped his hands under the hem of her skimpy nightgown, and stripped it off over her head.

  His fingers trembled with want. And his heart was racing, the beat of it pounding in his ears.

  He rose to his feet and dropped his pants and boxers.

  “Don’t stop,” she remonstrated, opening her eyes. They grew wide as they took in his nakedness, his readiness for her.

  He waited for her to back out.

  But she didn’t.

  Instead she sat up and stroked the length of his erection with her delicate fingers. Connor saw stars. He fell back against the couch and pulled her over him.

  “Now,” he whispered.

  She straddled him. Before he could shift himself nearer, she’d surrounded him with her hands and drawn him to the entrance of her body. In one swift movement she sank down on him.

  Her body was hot and wet and wild around his.

  When she started to move, he moved, too. The rhythm that built was full of passion and power. As he thrust upward, Connor felt the heat take him.

  He met her gaze, the green-gold eyes wild with emotion. He’d never seen anything … felt anything … so absolutely, perfectly exquisite.

  “I can’t hold—” He gasped.

  Then pleasure surrounded him as her orgasm hurled her over the edge and the feminine shivers trembled around him.

  Victoria awakened to the sound of clinking china. She opened her eyes to the unfamiliar surroundings of Connor’s bedroom. And the domestic picture of Connor clasping Dylan—clad in only a diaper—against his hip, while he carefully poured tea. The dark liquid spilled into two delicate, rose-patterned tea cups arranged on a tray on the chest at the bottom of the bed, much to Dylan’s wide-eyed fascination.

  Connor should’ve looked incongruous—he didn’t.

  In fact he’d never looked more gorgeous. Wearing only a pair of boxers—and an almost naked baby—he’d never appeared more male. Her gaze lingered on the broad chest on which she’d rested her head before falling asleep in the early hours of the morning.

  Images of the intimacies they’d shared last night flashed through her mind.

  It had been wonderful. And, as Connor had promised, there had been nothing casual about the experience. Victoria stretched, languorously, slowly becoming aware of all the hidden places where she ached.

  “You’re awake,” Connor greeted her as she moved.

  She gave a soft groan. He raised a dark eyebrow with interest and she felt her cheeks grow hot.

  Before he could say anything—anything at all, however innocent—she said, “Oh, I’m dying for a cup of tea.”

  At his slow grin she realized she’d given him an opening for any number of risqué comments, so she simply cooed at Dylan to break the growing hush.

  A moment later Connor asked blandly, “Do you want sugar in your tea?”

  The incongruity of it all struck her. She’d slept with a man who knew barely anything about her, who didn’t even know how she took her tea. Yet he was her husband—and n
ow he knew exactly what intimacies made her go wild with delight.

  As for herself, she suspected she was falling headlong in love with her handsome husband. The thought of being at a man’s mercy was what she’d always dreaded. But it was proving to be the most sensual, most emotional experience of her life. Nothing like what her mother had experienced.

  “One spoon, please.”

  He stirred it in. Hitching Dylan higher, he picked up the cup and saucer and came around the bed end.

  As Connor put the tea down on the bed stand, Dylan grunted in protest and wriggled in his arms, clearly intent on diving into the covers. Laughing, Victoria hoisted the baby into her arms and buried her nose in his soft neck, making snuffling sounds that caused him to wriggle more wildly. Happiness soared through her.

  Dylan grabbed at her hair.

  “Ow.” Victoria carefully freed his fingers from the silky strands. Connor stooped forward to help. Dylan, finally spying an opening, dived under Connor’s arm in search of the tea cup.

  “Hot,” Victoria said. Dylan reared away, already recognizing the warning.

  A pile of newspapers landed on the bed beside her. “Why don’t you take it easy. Drink your tea, and take the opportunity to read the paper?”

  She laughed. “Opportunity? With Dylan to help?”

  “I’d planned to take Dylan to shower with me.”

  “Ooh, he’ll love that.” And she gave Connor a glowing smile. “Thank you. I can’t remember when last I relaxed and simply lazed in bed.”

  Shadows darkened the eyes that looked down into hers. Her heart contracted. They both knew the last time for either of them to relax without a care had been before that watershed weekend when Michael and Suzy had been killed.

  Her throat tightened … her happiness, this dizzy emotional roller coaster, had followed the worst tragedy of her life. The terrible, wrenching loss that had taken Suzy from her had given her Dylan—and brought Connor into her life. He was far from being the total jerk she’d always thought he was—she’d discovered a side of him she liked … loved … that she wanted to get to know better.

  It was insane.

  Connor bent forward and kissed her forehead. “Take it easy, Tory. Dylan and I will make breakfast after our shower.” He swept the baby off the covers and jiggled Dylan up and down. “Won’t we, big guy?”