The Christmas Baby Bonus

by Yvonne Lindsay

  Delia sidestepped a family loading their cooler onto a skippered sailboat as she hurried toward the dockmaster’s office for an update. Just as she got there, guests on one of the new superyachts dialed up its sound system far more than the noise regulations allowed, alerting Delia to a sunset party just getting underway.

  “Cyril?” she called into the small office, raising her voice to be heard. “Any word on Mr. McNeill’s arrival?”

  The sun-weathered dockmaster turned to her. “His seaplane just landed. The skiff picked him up a moment ago.”

  “Thank you.” She smiled quickly before turning to glare out toward the party boat, wishing the group would take their ten-decibel fun out to sea for a few hours. She wanted Jager’s arrival to be perfect. “I’ll go speak to our guest about the noise.”

  Cyril shouldered his way out of his office. He shaded his eyes to peer down the dock past the multimillion-dollar boat blasting house music, toward the open water. “Do you know why Jager wants to meet here?”

  Delia had been puzzled about that too. Why would their boss want to step off a plane and go straight to work after being away from home for over six months?

  The McNeill family had been through a harrowing year. The three brothers, Jager, Damon and Gabriel, had all relocated to Los Altos Hills, California, a year ago to establish their tech company in the heart of Silicon Valley. The software start-up had been Damon’s brainchild, but both Jager and Gabriel played roles in managing the business as it grew. Shortly afterward, Damon had married. He planned to stay out West once the company took root, and Gabe and Jager would return to Martinique, where the family had a small hotel resort and the marina, in addition to the main house they sometimes rented out for upscale corporate retreats.

  But then their lives had been turned upside down when Damon’s new bride was kidnapped and held for ransom. All of Damon’s focus had turned to getting his wife back, leaving Jager and Gabe to run the fledgling business. Eight months after the kidnapping—even after ransom had been paid—Caroline McNeill had not been returned. Damon’s father-in-law insisted the ransom note had been a hoax and that Caroline had left of her own volition. Damon refused to accept that story even though police refused to investigate. Damon had left the country and hadn’t been heard from since. To save his brother’s company before the value dropped with rumors of instability in the leadership, Jager had quietly shopped the software start-up to potential buyers. He hoped to sell the business as soon as possible.

  “I’m not sure why he wants to visit the marina first,” Delia answered Cyril, her gaze trained on the water for signs of Jager’s arrival. “Maybe after the year his family has had, work is the only thing getting them through the days.”

  Someone had threatened her family once and Delia had never forgotten the bite of betrayal. She couldn’t imagine the pain the McNeills had been through.

  “I just hope he doesn’t decide to sell the marina too,” Cyril admitted before he retreated into the dockside office, leaving Delia with a new worry to add to her list.

  It was bad enough she needed to ask for a raise. What would she do if Jager unloaded his Martinique assets?

  Delia felt the thrum of bass in the repetitive techno-crap blaring from the deck speakers as she rushed up the long wooden dock as fast as her wedge-heeled sandals would allow. The superyacht had only been docked at Le François for three days and Cyril had already talked to them once about the noise and the parties.

  “Excuse me!” Delia called up to the bow, which was at least ten feet above her head. She waved her arms to try to catch someone’s attention. A handful of swimsuit-clad couples lounged on big built-in sofas or milled around the bar. A few kids ran around the deck, squealing and chasing each other. “Hello!”

  Delia backed up a step to make herself visible to the group. She could hardly hear herself shout; they were completely oblivious. She glanced behind her to make sure she had more clearance, well aware that the docks were narrow at the far end where the larger watercraft tied off.

  She peered back up at the party boat just in time to see one of the kids—a girl in a fluttery white bathing suit cover-up—lose her balance near the rail. Her scream pierced the air right before she pitched headlong into the water with a splash.

  Terrified and not sure if anyone else even saw the child go in, Delia scrambled to the edge of the dock. She toed off her shoes and tugged her phone out of the pocket of her simple sundress, never taking her eyes off the ring of rippling water where the girl had landed. Jumping in feetfirst to avoid hitting her head on any hidden debris, Delia rotated her arms to pull herself deeper.

  Salt water stung her eyes when she tried to open them. Her hair tangled in her face as she whipped her head from side to side. Scanning. Searching.

  Fear robbed her of breath too fast. Her lungs burned as she grew light-headed. Had anyone else even seen the girl fall? What if Delia was the only one looking for her, and what would happen now that even she’d lost sight of her?

  Breaking the surface, she hauled in a giant gulp of air, then forced herself to dive deeper. Legs kicking fast, she felt something tickle her outstretched hand. Forcing her body deeper, she couldn’t quite catch the blur of white she spotted in the water through burning eyes.

  And then another swimmer streaked past her as if powered by scuba fins. There was a rush of water as strong limbs sluiced by. Though her vision was distorted by the sting of salt, she could tell the new arrival was on target for the flash of white she’d spotted. Even as her chest threatened to explode from lack of air, she remained underwater long enough to be sure the diver retrieved the child.

  Thank you, God.

  The fear fueling her strokes leaked away. Relief kicked in along with a wave of weariness. By the time she got to the surface, she could barely drag in air, she was so woozy and exhausted, yet she could see through painful eyes as the victim was pulled to safety on the dock.

  But now it seemed that Delia was the one in trouble. Gagging, gasping, her arms flailing, she reached blindly for the side of the boat or anything, clawing for support...

  “Whoa!” A deep, masculine voice sounded in her ear at the same moment two arms wrapped around her midsection. “I’ve got you.”

  Only then did she realize she’d somehow clawed him too. The arm that held her was bleeding from three shallow scratches. Sense slowly returned as oxygen fed her brain again.

  The house music had been silenced. The only sound now was the murmur of voices drifting from the marina. She glimpsed the drenched little girl on the dock, already surrounded by family. A woman—a local with a houseboat who happened to be a retired RN—was on her knees at the victim’s side, lifting her gently as she coughed up water. The relief in the crowd was palpable. Delia felt the same overwhelming gratitude throughout her body. Her shoulders sagged.

  Bringing her breasts into intimate contact with the arm around her. She collapsed like a wet noodle against the slick, hot body of a man built like iron. Her dress floated like seaweed around her thighs, making her suddenly aware of the way her soaked bikini panties were all that separated her from him.

  “Are you okay, Delia?” The voice in her ear was familiar; she’d heard it nearly every day for the past year, even if she hadn’t seen the man in person for weeks on end.

  Her boss. Jager McNeill.

  “Fine,” she spluttered, the word ending in a cough.

  Of course, it was foolish to be embarrassed since she had dived in the water to save a child. And yet, it still felt terribly awkward to be caught with her dress up around her waist today of all days when she’d wanted to make the perfect professional impression.

  Also, she’d scratched him.

  Coughed all over him.

  If she hadn’t had a crush on him once upon a time, maybe she wouldn’t be tingling from head to toe right now in spite of everything. But
she feared if she tried to swim away from him to escape all the feelings, she just might drown. She was surprised to notice how far she’d drifted from the dock in her search. Behind them, she noticed the transport skiff that Cyril had sent out to meet Jager’s seaplane. Jager must have been arriving at the same time she’d jumped into the water.

  “Hold onto my shoulders,” he told her, shifting their positions in the water so he faced her. “I’ll tow you to the dock.”

  Nose to nose with him, Delia stared up into his steel-blue eyes. She thought she’d gotten used to his good looks in the past two years that they’d known each other. His dark hair and sharp, shadowed jaw made for enticing contrasts to those incredibly blue eyes. His hair had grown longer in the past months, as if barber visits were the last thing on his mind. But the way the damp strands curled along the strong column of his neck only added to the appeal.

  This close, she had the benefit of sensing the wealth of muscle in his athletic body where he held her. Feeling the flush of heat course through her, she ducked deeper into the cold water to hide her reaction to him.

  “I can make it.” Shaking her head, she scattered droplets from her wet hair. “I just needed to catch my breath.”

  She attempted to paddle away, but Jager only gripped her tighter.

  Oh. My.

  Feeling the warmth of his chest through their clingy clothes roused an ache she should not be feeling for her boss. Adding to the problem, the strapless bra she’d been wearing had shifted lower on her rib cage, where it did absolutely no good.

  “Humor me,” he ordered her, his voice as controlled as his movements. “You’re exhausted and dry land is farther away than it looks.” He took one of her hands and placed it on his right shoulder. Then, turning away from her, he very deliberately set her other hand on his left shoulder.

  He began to swim toward the dock with measured strokes, towing her along behind him. Water lapped over them in light waves. She felt every ripple of his muscles under her palms as the light waves swished over them. She debated fishing one hand down her dress to haul up her bra before they reached land, but decided the potential scolding from Jager if she let go of him wasn’t worth it. So she clung to him and gritted her teeth against the friction of her pebbled breasts rubbing against his back. By now he had to be as keenly aware of her as she was of him.

  The only positive of this awkward reunion?

  Any anxiety she had about talking business with him was utterly eclipsed by physical awareness. So when they reached land, she clamped onto the dock, evenly met his blue gaze and said, “I definitely deserve a raise.”

  * * *

  Two hours later, when they were safely back at the McNeill family estate in Le François, Jager still couldn’t erase Delia Rickard from his mind. After pouring himself an aged whiskey from the cut crystal decanter on his desk and taking a sip, he stared out his office window through the slats of the open plantation shutters. His gaze kept returning to the guest cottage lit by white landscape lights. He was waiting for Delia to emerge. When he’d first asked her to manage the Martinique household for him, he’d offered her the cottage on the British Colonial style property for expediency’s sake.

  Not only could she keep track of the staff better on-site, but at the time, she had also been trying to put some distance between herself and her past. Her former fiancé, Brandon Nelson, was a particular kind of son of a bitch Jager had run into often in business—always looking for a way to cheat the system. In this case, the guy had attempted to scam Delia out of her rightful inheritance—a plot of land belonging to her father that was in the way of a proposed landing strip for private aircrafts serving a luxury hotel development. The investors had offered Brandon a cash payment if he could convince her to sign over the rights. He’d decided to simply marry her and obtain the rights for himself.

  Unethically.

  Jager leaned a hip on the dark hardwood desk, remembering how Delia had discovered the truth on the morning of her wedding. She’d fled the seaside venue on a Jet Ski and run it aground on a small island where Jager had been fishing. It had been the start of a friendship that had benefitted them both.

  He’d been in a relationship at the time, and Delia had been running from an awful one, so he’d tamped down the attraction for both of their sakes. Instead, he’d offered her a job. Very quickly, she’d proven an excellent assistant, invaluable in helping him repurpose a portion of the family estate for private parties and occasional corporate retreats as a way to support local businesses—in particular, his marina. After Delia trimmed the household budget the first year and made a local farm-to-table initiative on McNeill lands a success, Jager had asked her to expand her role to review the operations at the marina as well.

  Leaving things in her capable hands, he’d moved to California with his brother to take Damon’s start-up to the next level. Just thinking about the hell that move had caused for all of them made his shoulders sag with grief for Damon and the loss of his vibrant and beautiful wife.

  Now Damon had disappeared too. He’d left to travel two months ago and at the time, Jager had agreed it would be wise for him to get away. But days after his departure, Damon had shut off his phone and hadn’t been in contact since.

  To make it worse, around that time Jager had been contacted by their father, who’d barely acknowledged him as a child and whom Jager hadn’t seen in fifteen years. Now, suddenly, he was offering the help of his wealthy family.

  Too little. Too late.

  As if Jager had any desire to spend time with the dirtbag who’d walked out on their mom. Apparently Jager’s paternal grandfather—whom he’d never met—was determined to reunite all his grandsons. Bastard offspring and otherwise. Jager had told them hell no.

  He finished off the whiskey and set aside his glass.

  His world was a giant mess. The one moment of clarity in it all?

  When Delia had been in his arms in the water just two hours ago. The dark churn of thoughts that had plagued him for nearly a year suddenly quieted, burned away by an attraction grown more intense since that first day when she’d washed up on his island. Nothing prohibited them from being together now. He was so distant from the Martinique-based businesses that he could make a move without worrying about the impact on their working relationship. Or he’d simply transfer her to another part of the company where Gabe could monitor her job performance, eliminating the conflict of interest. Gabe could make the decision about that raise she wanted.

  His conscience clear, Jager watched her step from the cottage, her fair hair glowing golden under the porch light as she locked the dead bolt with a key. Now he could allow himself to think about the possibilities of being alone with her. Of forgetting the hell of the past year for a night in her arms.

  Backing away from the window, Jager watched as Delia strode toward the main house. She wore a rose-colored tank dress, with a thin white sweater thrown over her shoulders. A simple gold bangle wrapped around one wrist. She worried her lip with her teeth as she stared down at the dusky gold pavers that led to the stone steps up to the house.

  If he could have a taste of that soft pink mouth, he would indulge as often as possible. Was she nervous about spending the evening with him? Or was she looking forward to it as much as he? She had to have known she was getting to him today in the water. Soaking wet and hard as hell for her, he’d been unable to hide his fast reaction to feeling her breasts pressed to his chest. He’d felt her reaction too though. The attraction wasn’t one-sided.

  “Hello, Jager.” He couldn’t believe how long he’d allowed himself to ruminate over her body. She’d entered the house and his office while he was preoccupied.

  Of course, she had domain over the whole place while he was gone. And he’d left the double doors to his office open. He was more than ready to let her in.

  “I trust you’re feeling better afte
r the impromptu swim?” He turned to greet her but did not approach, hoping to put her at ease. She’d pinned her golden-blond hair up, leaving only a few stray pieces around her face. The rest bounced in a loose knot as she walked.

  He gestured toward the seating arrangement near the fireplace. A wrought iron candelabra with fat white pillar candles had been laid in the cold hearth at some point in his absence. A homey touch. Delia perched on the edge of a wide gray twill armchair near the rattan chest that served as a coffee table, her posture stiff even though she gave him a smile.

  “I’m almost warm again, thank you.” She tugged the shawl sweater more tightly around her while he took a seat on the couch adjacent to her chair. “Tourists may swim in November, but I don’t usually go in the water this time of year.”

  “Yet you didn’t even hesitate.” He’d been watching her from the deck of the skiff carrying him from the seaplane to the marina. “I saw how fast you jumped in after Emily fell.” He’d spoken to the girl’s family briefly after reaching the dock, to make sure she was going to be fine and that they would focus more on parenting and less on partying.

  “You were in the water almost as quickly as me.” She shook her head and briefly closed her hazel eyes as a delicate shudder passed through her. “I don’t even want to think about what might have happened if you hadn’t arrived when you did. I was never so panicked as those few seconds when I couldn’t find her.”