by Joss Wood
Darby slid down in her seat, only just resisting the urge to cover her face with her hands. Even if she found the guts to proposition him—a very big if—sleeping with Judah Huntley wasn’t an option. Especially since she was now embarrassed beyond all belief.
Darby kept her eyes on the speaker while she fought the urge to look back and take just one more peek. Yeah, good plan, just embarrass yourself further, Brogan, add some fuel to the fire.
It took all her willpower to keep her eyes forward and when the presentation finally ended—the longest ten minutes in the world—Darby stood up and oh-so casually looked across the room.
Judah Huntley was gone.
Six weeks later
Judah Huntley took a sip of overly sweet champagne from the glass in his hand and tried not to wince. God, he hated these functions. He strongly believed in the power of an old-fashioned email, quietly stating whether he’d been awarded the commission or not. Putting on a suit and noose and making small talk was his level of hell.
But Jonathan, his business manager, had RSVP’d on Judah’s behalf, saying that he’d be glad to attend the foundation’s cocktail party. He’d also promised that if Huntley and Associates was commissioned to design the new art museum, Judah would hire a local architect to be the firm’s local liaison.
It made sense to hire someone local to do the grunt work of visiting the planning offices, research, smoothing the way. The Boston-based architect wouldn’t do any drafting or design work; Judah had an experienced team back in New York to implement his ideas. They were the best and brightest of the bunch and routinely met his high standards.
As a winner of two of the world’s most prestigious architecture awards, Judah knew his interest in designing the art museum was unexpected. It wasn’t a big project or even a lucrative one. Since the project was being funded by a nonprofit, his design fees would be laughable. But thanks to international businessmen with very deep pockets who wanted his name attached to their buildings, Judah had a fat bank account and could afford to take on a project at cost.
He had buildings all over the world but had yet to design one in Boston, his hometown. He wanted to create something that was beautiful and functional, something Bostonians would enjoy. He was renowned for his innovative corporate buildings and envelope-pushing mansions but there was something special, something intoxicating, about designing a building to hold art and treasures. The box had to be as exciting, as electrifying as the contents...
And that was why he was standing in a stuffy ballroom waiting for someone to announce what everyone already knew: Judah would be awarded the project.
Upsides to being in Boston were a gorgeous site and an interesting project. Downside? Being in Boston. The smells, the air, the buildings all made him remember how his life used to be. Stifling. Demanding. Claustrophobic. Long on responsibility and short on fun.
Judah was grateful for the feminine hand on his arm that jerked him back to the present. An attractive woman stood in front of him, blond hair, red lips, bold eyes. He chatted with her politely, but she wasn’t the woman who’d first come to mind.
The last time he’d stood in this room, he’d locked eyes with a younger, sexier blonde who’d made his stomach bungee jump. Initially, she’d reminded him of a storybook Cinderella, all flashing eyes and tiny frame, but then he’d caught the look in her eyes, on her face, and decided that she was more a duchess than a princess, more sophisticated than simple.
He wondered if she was here again tonight.
But, if she was, what did it matter? Though he’d been rocked by their instinctual attraction—when last had he felt such an instant physical reaction to anyone?—the thought of making small talk, doing the dating dance, felt like too much effort.
Chatting up a woman, taking her back to his hotel room and having sex was the mental equivalent of riding an immensely popular roller coaster. Patience was required to get on the ride, there was the brief sensation of pleasure, then the inevitable anticlimax when the cart rolled to a stop.
After Carla, he’d ridden as many roller coasters as he could. A year and too many women later, he’d realized that mindless sex with mindless women wasn’t working for him and he went cold turkey. In the past eighteen months, he’d gone from being monogamous to being a player to being a monk.
Judah sighed. While no guy rapidly approaching his forties preferred having solo sex, he did like having a life that was drama-free.
But that blonde he’d seen here before—tall, slim, stunningly sexy—was the first woman in six months who’d caught his interest. She’d made his core temperature rise. She had the face of a naughty pixie, the body of a lingerie model and the eyes of a water nymph. When he’d looked at her, reality faded. All he could see was her, stretched out on a rug in front of a roaring fire, naked on the white sands of Tahiti or on the cool marble of a designer kitchen. Hell, up against the fabric-covered wall of an intensely uninteresting hotel ballroom.
He’d wanted her.
And because he’d been so damned tempted to walk over, take her hand and find the closest private space where he could put his hands on that body, he’d acted like the adult he professed to be and left. He didn’t want mindless sex anymore, but the thought of anything more—becoming emotionally involved, making a connection—terrified him.
So he was in no-man’s-land, dating himself. And, man, was he so tired of that...
Half concentrating on the conversation with the woman in front of him, Judah looked up to see the director of the foundation heading to the podium. Standing at the back of the room, Judah’s height allowed him to see over the heads of most of the guests and he recognized some candidates from the meeting weeks ago.
He cursed himself when he realized he was looking for a bright blond head and exceptional legs.
“Ladies and gentlemen, on behalf of the Grantham-Ford Foundation...”
Judah pushed his hands into the pockets of his suit pants, tuned out the opening remarks of the chairman of the board and looked toward the door, his attention caught by an elder man in a suit, his tanned face scanning the crowd, obviously looking for someone. He looked vaguely familiar, like a worried version of someone from Judah’s past.
Intrigued, Judah edged his way closer to the door. The man’s dark eyes caught his movement and Judah saw relief cross his face. The man was looking for him. But why here at this hotel, in the middle of a function? Judah had an office, an assistant who managed his schedule.
Odd.
“We were all blown away by the designs submitted and it was difficult to make a choice...”
Judah ignored the droning voice and frowned as the man eased away from the doorway, gesturing for Judah to join him in the hallway. Judah tossed a look over his shoulder, guessing the director would ramble on for a few more minutes—the man seemed to like the sound of his own voice. Judah pulled the door to the room partially closed behind him. If he was needed, he had no doubt someone would find him.
“Mr. Huntley! I am so glad I managed to track you down.”
Judah’s heart sank when he heard the masculine version of Carla’s heavy Italian accent. Judah scowled. His ex, the opera-singing heiress, had hit a new low if she was sending her minions to deliver her messages. Judah had nothing to say to her face or via her employees. She’d cheated on him—he was pretty sure it hadn’t been the first time—but he’d caught her. She and her lover had been in his bed, in his apartment. Naked on his sheets.
Judah didn’t share, ever. Infidelity was his hard limit. And he was still pissed that he’d felt compelled to buy a new bed and give those expensive sheets to a charity shop. He’d thought about selling his apartment, but that was going a step too far. Carla wasn’t worth the sacrifice of his stunning views of Central Park.
Judah held up his hand. “Not interested.”
“Wait, Mr. Huntley.”
Judah lifted an e
yebrow dismissively. “You have thirty seconds and I’m only giving you that much because this evening is sadly lacking in entertainment.”
Thin shoulders pushed back and an elegant hand smoothed a lock of silver hair off the man’s forehead. “I am Maximo Rossi. I am Carla’s personal lawyer.”
Okay. And what did Carla’s personal lawyer want from Judah? Thanks to being the sole beneficiary of her father’s billions, Carla had more money than God, along with her luscious body and stunning face. She also had the voice of an angel. They hadn’t had any contact for months, so why now? Judah felt his stomach twist itself into a Gordian knot. This couldn’t be good.
He forced himself to remain calm. “Is Carla okay?”
“She’s fine...mostly.”
Oh, God. He recognized the weariness in the older man’s eyes, the frustration that dealing with Carla Barlos incurred. The man probably had a stomach ulcer and high blood pressure. Judah could sympathize. Carla was hard work.
“What does that mean?” Judah demanded, hearing the apprehension in Rossi’s voice.
“Bertolli has written a new opera, one just for her.”
Bertolli’s music sounded like screeching cats, but what did Judah know? But even he, philistine that he was, understood how a big a deal it was to have Bertolli, the most exciting composer in the world, build an opera around Carla.
“It’s a morality tale. Carla’s lead character is a crusader for moral reform.”
While Judah appreciated the irony, he didn’t understand why Rossi was here, telling him this. Why should Judah care what Carla was up to? He hadn’t seen her for more than eighteen months.
Deciding he was done here, Judah was about to excuse himself when he heard the arrival of the elevator. The doors opened and a long leg, ending in a blush-colored pump, emerged from the box. A frothy peppermint-colored dress danced around slim thighs.
She was here, she was back.
Rossi forgotten, Judah’s eyes wandered upward, taking in a thin belt around a tiny waist, skating up a narrow chest. Her breasts were fantastic, small but perky. Athletic but not overly so, fit but still oh-so feminine. And God, that face.
Judah felt his cold heart sputter as blood drained south. A wide mouth made for kissing, high cheekbones, eyes the color of zinc under arched brows. Blond hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail.
He’d last seen her across a crowded room weeks ago. He’d thought her sexy then. Now, he upgraded that assessment to heart-stoppingly hot.
He wanted her. Now, immediately, up against that wall, his hands on those tanned thighs, his tongue on her neck, her nipple, her naval. He could go back to being a monk tomorrow...
But she had yet to notice him. Her attention was taken by the other occupants of the elevator, a black-haired, dark-eyed baby held by a hard-faced, middle-aged woman. The woman held the kid like she would hold a test tube of poison, awkward and fearful. He didn’t blame her; he wasn’t a kid person either.
He used to be, but that was a long time ago. When he was young and stupid.
Rossi cleared his throat. “That is my assistant and the baby is Jacquetta Huntley. Carla needs you to take her for at least six months. She can’t be responsible for her and prepare for the biggest performance of her career.”
While Judah struggled to make sense of the man’s words, a booming voice from the front of the room rolled into the hallway.
“I am pleased and proud to announce that the architect designing the Grantham-Ford Art Museum will be Judah Huntley. Judah, please come forward and say a few words.”
Judah’s eyes darted between three faces: Rossi, the baby and the blonde.
It was official. He’d just fallen down Alice’s rabbit hole.
Two
Three things occurred to Darby at the same time.
One, Judah Huntley was more gorgeous than she remembered.
Two, he had a kid he didn’t know about.
Three, hers wasn’t the only messed-up life.
Oh, he was good. On hearing he had a child, his expression barely changed, but his ink-blue eyes held disbelief and a heavy dose of WTF. The baby, stunningly gorgeous with rosy cheeks and hair the color of bitter chocolate, looked at them from the stiff arms of the woman carrying her.
Darby knew she should move away, she should give them some privacy but...
She wasn’t that noble, and this was too good to miss. How would Judah Huntley juggle the announcement of the commission and the news that he had a child? Would he flip, freeze, flee?
Darby couldn’t wait to find out.
The baby let out a soft cry, Judah was called to the front of the room again and the weary woman took a step toward Judah, holding the baby out like a parcel. Judah threw up his hands in a hell-no gesture and the baby responded by letting out a shriller cry.
Darby forgot about the drama playing out in front of her eyes and focused on that small face scrunched up and turning red. The wails grew louder and someone she recognized as one of the foundation’s board members appeared at the door.
“Mr. Huntley, they are calling for you. You’ve been awarded the design contract.”
No surprise there. Judah was an amazing architect.
But his ability to ignore a screaming baby annoyed her. Pushing past the lawyer, she reached for the little girl, ignoring the look of relief on the older woman’s face. Tucking the baby into the crook of her arm, Darby placed her pinkie finger in the little girl’s mouth and felt the tug of tiny lips.
Darby looked at Judah. “She’s hungry.”
He threw his hands up in the air and shook his head. “Not my problem.”
“Apparently it is,” Darby responded tartly.
“Um... Mr. Huntley. Really, you need to come back inside.” The man tugged the sleeve of Judah’s jacket.
Darby noticed, again, that the jacket covered a set of rather big arms and broad shoulders. Judah’s easy dismissal of this beautiful baby was irritating, but her hormones had yet to receive the message that she shouldn’t be imagining what Huntley’s body looked like under that expensive suit.
Judah pushed his hand through his thick, expertly cut hair and she heard the barely audible swear he dropped. Yeah, Huntley wasn’t having a good day.
He gripped the bridge of his nose. After a brief pause, he lifted his head and Darby saw the determination on his face, the assertiveness in his eyes. There was something superhot about an alpha male doing his thing...
Judah nodded to the closed door of the ballroom.
“I’m going to go back in there to accept this damn commission. Rossi, you are going to take the baby with you and you will call me and we will arrange a suitable time to meet and discuss Carla’s insanity. Do not ambush me again.” That dark blue gaze scraped over her and he shook his head. “You, I have no idea who you are but if you’d kindly give the kid back, we can all go on with our lives.”
His tone suggested that he wasn’t interested in hearing any arguments and when no one spoke, he turned around and walked back into the ballroom, the board member following closely behind. Darby heard the audience’s roar of applause and looked down at the little girl in her arms.
She had Judah’s nose and the shape of his eyes and Darby could see the hint of Judah’s shallow dimple in the baby’s left cheek. Like his, the baby’s hair was dark, her sweet brows strong. She was utterly perfect and those deep dark eyes—brown, not blue—looked up at Darby’s, content to suckle on her pinkie.
She was, possibly, the most beautiful baby Darby had ever seen and as she’d been obsessed by babies for longer than was healthy, she’d seen more than a lot. This little girl looked like what she was, the offspring of two boundlessly beautiful people.
Before his death, Darby’s father had been a well-known Boston businessman and her parents had been, at one time, the heart of Boston society, so she’d had a tast
e of fame. But Huntley and his ex-girlfriend were famous on an entirely different level. Carla, an exciting, lushly beautiful, stunningly wealthy opera-singing heiress, had millions of social media followers and was tabloid gold. Thanks to his talent, his stupidly sexy body, and his penchant for dating models and actresses, Judah was also a media golden boy.
They might be famous, but Darby wasn’t impressed by either of the little girl’s parents right now.
How could Carla just shove her child out of her life, pass her on like she was an unwanted package? And why hadn’t Judah stepped up? Didn’t they realize that a child was a gift, indescribably precious? What was wrong with these people?
Had the world gone mad?
The baby burped and then her face scrunched up, her eyes closing. Darby had enough experience to know that the little girl was about to fill her diaper. The telltale smell wafted up and Darby half smiled. Yep, there it was.
Darby looked up and saw the two lawyers grimace in immediate expressions of distaste.
“She needs changing,” Darby stated just in case they hadn’t made the connection between the smell and the problem.
Identical looks of horror and two steps back. “No! No, no, no!”
The baby squirmed in Darby’s arms and let out a wail loud enough to be heard in Fenway Park. Okay, time to go.
The baby was stunningly cute and too adorable for words, but Darby had come here to work. It wasn’t a surprise that Huntley had been awarded the project, but Darby knew there were lots of well-heeled socialites in that room with money to burn. Some of them might want a summer place designed or a house renovated.
Business had been a bit slow lately and she needed a new, lucrative project. She also needed to finish the renovations to two small apartment buildings she owned in Back Bay and get them on the market, but she knew it might take some time to sell them at the price she wanted.
Thank God she was due her quarterly dividend check from Winston and Brogan tomorrow; that was the money she’d allocated to her IVF fund. With that money and any she managed to save over the next four months, she could have the procedure in five months’ time. At the thought, her stomach churned, then burned.