The Boss and the Baby

by Leigh Michaels

  “I’ll talk to Luke about the idea,” she said.

  Warren snorted. “What’s it got to do with him? This isn’t Luke’s house, it’s still mine—and I can do what I please with it. Besides, you’re working for me, so what’s it to him where you put your desk? I’ll expect you in the morning.” He pushed himself up from the bench. “Watkins!”

  The butler appeared silently. “Yes, sir?”

  “Help me up to my room, will you? And that small bedroom next to mine—I want you to put a desk in there, and a couple of tables.”

  His voice faded as he trudged down the hallway. Molly watched as the butler opened what appeared to be a closet door and helped Warren step inside. A moment later the elevator’s whir emphasized that she’d been dismissed.

  She shook her head and turned toward the back of the house, the direction she figured Luke and Bailey and the dog had gone.

  The hallway led past a well-equipped butler’s pantry and into the kitchen where a woman with rosy, plump cheeks was cleaning vegetables.

  “Sorry to intrude,” Molly said. “But I’m looking for my little girl, and I thought perhaps...”

  “They went on out to the garden,” the cook said.

  The words echoed faintly in Molly’s mind. He went out to the garden to be by himself, Watkins had told her on that long-ago night. And today, tired and worn, Luke would probably have enjoyed the same sort of solitude. Instead, she’d unintentionally saddled him with an active three-year-old. “Thanks,” she said, and hurried to the back door.

  From the narrow porch she could hear Bailey, and she followed the sound of high-pitched giggles through the garden, where crocus and daffodils were just coming to life, and down a winding path toward the lake.

  She found Luke sitting on a wrought-iron bench at the farthest corner of the formal garden, where between the trees she could just catch the glimmer of water.

  Bailey knelt nearby, her arms around the dog’s neck. “I like the lake,” she announced as Molly came within earshot. “Can I go down by the water?”

  “Not today,” Luke said. “I might take you sometime, though.”

  “Not even if Lucky goes?”

  Luke didn’t answer. He started to rise when he saw Molly, but she shook her head and he sank onto the bench.

  The dog pulled free and edged in front of Bailey, eyes intent on Molly.

  “Lucky,” Luke warned. “You don’t need to protect the kid from her mother, so knock it off.”

  Molly sat next to him. “I see they’ve become the best of buddies.”

  Lucky settled onto her haunches, knocking Bailey off balance. The child sat down hard and rolled onto her back. “What’s that?” she asked, pointing into a big tree beyond the edge of the formal garden.

  Luke didn’t even turn his head. “A treehouse,” he said.

  Molly’s throat tightened. Despite her best intentions of ignoring the treehouse, the reminder made her look up.

  The treehouse was no rustic boys’ hideaway slapped together from odd boards. It was an actual tiny cabin, which happened to be located twenty feet above the ground in the spreading branches of an ancient maple. The dark green paint was chipping, and the windows looked as if they hadn’t been cleaned in years. But the door was solid, the shingles all in place, the glass unbroken—so she was certain the inside would still be dry. Dusty, perhaps, and cold from long disuse, and smelling a bit stale...

  Just as it had been that October night when she’d found Luke sitting there, staring at nothing.

  Bailey was still sprawled on her back staring at the tree. “Who lives up there?”

  “Nobody,” Luke said.

  “Why not?”

  “Stop pestering, Bailey. Mr. Hudson’s very tired.”

  “His name’s Luke,” Bailey informed her. “He told me so.”

  Molly asked, “You don’t mind if she calls you that?” But she forgot her question as she took her first really good look at Luke. In the shadow of the front portico, in the dimness of the house, he’d looked tired. But now, in the sunlight, she could see that his eyes were red-rimmed and his face was haggard. “This is ridiculous,” she said. “We’re going home, and you’re going to rest. In fact, come to think of it...have you bothered to eat?”

  Luke rubbed a hand over his jaw. “Not lately, that I remember.”

  “At least we can do something about that. Don’t move, I’ll be right back. Bailey, come with me. You can charm the cook, and Mr. Hudson—Luke—doesn’t need to look after you any more.”

  Lucky protested the abrupt loss of her playmate and only settled after a stern word from Luke.

  A few minutes later, when they returned with a basket, Luke had leaned his head against the back of the bench and closed his eyes. Sound asleep, Molly thought, but it was too late to hush Bailey. She broke free and raced down the path, calling, “Treats! We brought treats!”

  Luke opened his eyes. “Judging from the size of that basket, Molly, I’d say you were right about her being able to con the cook.”

  “I said charm, not con.” Molly dug into the basket. “A cookie for Bailey—”

  Bailey grinned and tried to hold the enormous round of chocolate-chip cookie safely above the dog’s head.

  Molly added hastily, “And a rawhide chew for Lucky.” She tossed it to the dog and sat on the bench once more, the basket between her and Luke. “And the rest is for you. The cook was a bit defensive—she said she’d tried twice since you came home to feed you. So I think you’d better eat every crumb if you expect her to speak to you ever again.”

  He picked up a foil-wrapped sandwich. “You seem to always be taking care of me, Molly. Not always the same way, but—”

  Molly tried to will herself not to tense, but the effort was in vain. She stared straight ahead, but she wasn’t seeing Oakwood’s gardens but the inside of that cold, silent treehouse on a chilly night in October. The night she had asked Luke to make love to her.

  He pressed two fingers to the center of his forehead. “I’m sorry. That was...”

  She forced herself to smile. “You’re worn out.”

  “I’m a clumsy fool. But since the subject’s been raised—and since you’re all grown up now and obviously over that crush you had on me—”

  “No question about that,” Molly said crisply.

  “I might as well confess that sending you away that night was one of the tougher things I’ve ever done.”

  “Really? You sounded as if you enjoyed telling me to get lost.”

  “I had to—or I couldn’t have managed to pull it off. If you’d stayed another minute—”

  Another minute, Molly thought, and my life would be completely different today.

  His voice was little more than a whisper. “You were so very, very sweet that night....”

  She knew he’d leaned closer, but she kept her gaze fixed on Bailey, who was quietly feeding the crumbs of her cookie to the dog. His fingertips came to rest on the nape of her neck, four small spots, which functioned like electrical connections, sending jolts of current through her skin, urging her to turn her head to look at him.

  She closed her eyes and fixed her will on denying that impulse. The man was exhausted, she told herself. He hardly knew what he was saying, and as for kissing her...she knew very well they’d both regret that.

  But why? a little voice whispered deep in her mind. What’s such a big deal about a kiss of gratitude? You’re over him. You’ve been done with that stupid crush for years. He just wants to thank you....

  Luke’s lips brushed the line of her jaw, precisely on the faded spot where the bruise had been. “So sweet,” he whispered again, and raised his other hand to her chin and turned her face toward his.

  She stared into his eyes, far darker than their usual hazel tones, and tried to tell herself that there would be nothing remarkable about this kiss. It was just a different way to say thanks....

  She didn’t remember moving, but an instant later she was standing on the path
in front of the bench, holding out a hand to Bailey. “Come on, honey, and say goodbye to the dog. We need to get home.”

  “Running away?” Luke asked. His voice was low, almost husky.

  Molly didn’t look at him. “Avoiding unpleasantness.”

  But she knew she wasn’t telling the truth. She had pulled away not because she expected his kiss to be distasteful—but because she hadn’t wanted him to kiss her in gratitude.

  And she also knew that if he had, she wouldn’t have wanted him to stop.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  AS THE butler set a steaming waffle before him and refilled his coffee cup, Luke folded the newspaper and laid it aside. “Is my father awake yet, Watkins?”

  “Yes, sir. He’s having breakfast in his room, though. He said something about reserving his energy for later, when he might need it.”

  Luke frowned as he cut into the waffle. Warren was taking it easy, looking after himself—exactly as he should. So why do I have such a negative feeling about it?

  And what did he mean, reserving energy in case he needed it later? It was perfectly fine to be cautious, but if Warren started treating himself like spun sugar candy...

  That, Luke thought gloomily, was just about where the trouble had started before, right after the stroke. Uncertain of what he could safely do in the present, Warren had retreated to the past. But the cure Luke thought he’d found for that particular difficulty had turned out to be almost as bad as the problem. Now he not only had his father’s frail health to be concerned about, but he was stuck with an expensive project to record the company’s history....

  Though in fact he wasn’t boxed in. He could call a halt any time, for there’d been no contract signed between Molly Matthews and Meditronics.

  Major oversight on her part, Luke thought, not to insist on one. Or perhaps it was just one more indication of how badly she’d needed this job...

  Maybe Molly would have some insights on handling Warren. He’d ask her as soon as he got to work. Not that there was any point in hurrying to the plant. He was already setting an all-time record for lateness after his first sleep in longer than he cared to think about. So he might as well enjoy his breakfast.

  Automatically, he cut another bite from his waffle.

  Molly. She’d been so gentle with Warren yesterday. Without minimizing the severity of his illness, she’d still managed to encourage him to find humor in the situation. And she’d been concerned about Luke, as well—distressed by his lack of sleep, worried about whether he ate.

  Right up to the moment when, in response to that warmth, he’d tried to kiss her. Just a simple kiss, the sort of thing every other woman he knew exchanged at the drop of a greeting—but Molly had flash frozen.

  Why hadn’t she let him kiss her? She’d wanted to—he couldn’t be wrong about that. When he’d first turned her face toward him, her eyes had been great dark pools flooded with desire. And then, within a millisecond, instead of a warm and willing woman, there’d been an iceberg in his arms. Or, rather, not in his arms. He still wasn’t quite sure how she’d slipped away. Of course, he hadn’t been holding her so tightly that she couldn’t move. That had never been Luke’s style. But his reflexes should have been fast enough to counter whatever it was that had so suddenly changed her mind and at least try to change it back.

  The part that really annoyed him, he concluded, was not knowing what had caused that sudden transformation.

  Nothing he’d done, that was sure. She hadn’t shied from his touch. She’d known perfectly well he intended to kiss her, and at first she’d been more than willing. So what might she have seen, or thought, or remembered, which had prompted her behavior?

  The fact that her daughter was there? Possible, he thought, but not very likely. The child must have seen casual kisses before—and maybe not-so-casual ones, too.

  And surely that sudden freeze hadn’t been caused by a stray feeling of loyalty to the ex-husband, either. That marriage had obviously been over with long ago, so long that there wasn’t even a hint of an indentation at the base of Molly’s finger where a wedding ring would have rested. After so much time...

  Wait a minute, he thought. If she’d been divorced long enough for all traces of a ring to vanish, who had put that bruise on her jaw just a couple of weeks ago?

  But a divorce didn’t put the ex-husband out of the running entirely, he realized. There would still have to be contact when there was a child involved. If the ex had come to see Bailey and gotten angry at her mother...

  If he ever tries it again, he thought grimly, I hope I’m there to make sure he finds out what it feels like to get a solid fist in his face.

  Whatever had happened between her parents, though, it hadn’t seemed to leave a mark on Bailey. Molly was doing a good job there. He couldn’t remember seeing a child take more pleasure in simple things than Bailey had yesterday, romping with Lucky, sharing her cookie, giggling in delight. She’d even given him an unprompted hug to say goodbye—a gesture of affection that had touched his heart—while her mother had refused even to look him in the eye because he’d tried to steal a kiss.

  Which pretty much brought him right back to where he’d started. Except that now his waffle was cold.

  He noted the sound of the doorbell, but when a moment later Watkins’s footsteps sounded on the parquet floor of the hall he dismissed it from his mind. Another delivery of flowers, no doubt—it was a bit early for any of Warren’s friends to be stopping by to visit.

  It was only when he heard the muted sound of a feminine voice in the hall that he paid attention. At first he thought it was Megan Bannister, but Megan’s husky tones were the product of years of practice. This voice was softer and even more sultry—and he’d bet his next set of stock options that its owner had no idea how sexy it was. But what was Molly doing here in the middle of the morning?

  He didn’t make a conscious decision to push his plate aside and investigate. He was in the hallway before he realized he’d moved.

  She was just inside the front door, handing a brown suede jacket to Watkins. She certainly didn’t dress like a woman in need of a job, Luke thought. No jeans to-day—which was something of a pity, actually. When a woman had legs as long and slim as Molly’s were... Of course, she looked good in that narrow silky skirt, too, even though it covered up more than he’d like.

  She stooped to retrieve her briefcase and spoke to the butler. “There are some boxes in my car. I’d appreciate it if someone could bring them in.”

  Luke stepped forward. “Thank you, Watkins. That’s all.”

  He saw the instant flare of fear in Molly’s eyes, and annoyance washed over him. What was the matter with the woman? It had only been a kiss, and he could take a hint. After the message he’d gotten yesterday, he was hardly likely to throw her on the floor and...what was that wonderful Victorian phrase? Oh, yes, have his way with her.

  Even if the idea did sound inviting.

  The door of the butler’s pantry shut behind Watkins, and Luke said, “Boxes? What are you doing, moving in?”

  “Didn’t your father tell you?”

  No wonder, he thought, that Warren was still in bed this morning, reserving his strength! “There wasn’t much time,” he admitted. “We were both pretty busy sleeping last night.”

  “I’m sorry, because I meant to tell you yesterday. What Warren and I talked about, I mean.”

  “I can’t imagine,” he drawled, “what would have made you forget.”

  She turned a delicious shade of pink. At least, Luke thought, fear wasn’t the only emotion in her mind when she recalled that aborted kiss. He remembered the instant yesterday when she’d been looking forward to his caress, and he wondered how difficult it would be to make her look at him that way again.

  “I’ve been to the plant this morning,” she said, “and I brought a couple of boxes over to work on here.”

  “Determined, aren’t you?”

  “To keep my word, yes. Look, it wasn’t my idea
to move my office over here, but what difference does it make where I work?”

  “Oh, it’s just the office you’re moving,” he murmured.

  “You can’t honestly think Warren suggested I live here?”

  “The place does have its advantages. Tennis court, swimming pool, full-time staff ..”

  “Well, he didn’t. And since I intended in the first place to do the bulk of my work at home, what’s the big deal about bringing it here? That way Warren can be as involved as he wants, do what he’s able to and still get all the rest he needs.”

  Despite the way she’d raised her chin the fraction of an inch, Luke thought he could hear the slightest trace of a quaver in her voice. “I’m not going to argue with you about it, Molly.” He took a step closer and realized that her lower lip was trembling slightly.

  “Does that mean you’ve already made up your mind? Even with this setback, Warren hasn’t given up. Why should you be in a hurry to sacrifice the whole idea?”

  “Who said I was giving up?”

  She hesitated. “Then I still have a job?”

  Luke nodded. He watched the sleek line of her throat and saw the convulsive ripple of muscles as she swallowed hard.

  And he wondered if that meant she was relieved, or if she understood he hadn’t just been talking about her job.

  Now that it was far too late, Molly knew she should have just let him kiss her in the garden yesterday, because that would have been the end of it. One quick, simple kiss. But no—she’d had to make a challenge out of it, and now his interest was piqued. Or at least he wanted her to think it was, just for the fun of keeping her off balance. Either way, she’d have to watch her step more closely than before.

  She watched as he strolled across the hallway and went out the front door without a backward glance, and she released a tiny sigh of relief as the latch clicked. With any luck, she wouldn’t catch another glimpse of him all day.

  She looked up the long staircase with a frown. She could hardly start by wandering around upstairs looking from room to room for an office that might not even be set up yet.