A Daddy For Christmas: Yuletide Baby Surprise / Maybe This Christmas...? / The Sheriff's Doorstep Baby

She stared back at him so long he was sure she would laugh at him for suggesting such a thing, especially out in public. Not that the public problem bothered the honeymooners at the next table. Just when Rowan was certain she would tell him to go to hell—

Mari kissed him. She closed those last two inches between them and pressed her lips to his. Closemouthed but steady. He felt drunk even though he hadn’t had anything but coffee and fruit juice all evening. The same drinks he tasted on Mari’s lips. Her hands, soft and smooth, covered his on the table. Need, hard and insistent, coursed through his body over an essentially simple kiss with a table between them.

And just that fast, she let go, pushing on his chest and dropping back into her chair.

A flush spread from her face down the vee of her blouse. “That was not... I didn’t mean...”

“Shhh.” He pressed a finger to her lips, confidence singing through him along with the hammering pulse of desire. “Some things don’t need to be analyzed. Some things simply are. Let’s finish supper so we can turn in early.”

“Are you propositioning me?” Her lips moved under his finger.

Deliberately seductive? Either way, an extra jolt of want shot through him, a want he saw echoed in her eyes.

He spread his arms wide. “Why would you think that?” he asked with a hint of the devil in his voice. “I want to turn in early. It’s your night with the baby.”

The tension eased from her shoulders and she smiled back, an ease settling between them as they bantered. God, she was incredible, smart and lithe, earnest and exotic all at once. He covered her hand with his—

A squeal from the next table split the air. “Oh, my God, it’s her.” The honeymooner at the next table tapped her husband’s arm insistently. “That princess...Mariama! I want a picture with her. Get me a photo, pretty please, pookie.”

Apparently the mama-flage had stopped working. They didn’t have until the morning for Mari to become comfortable with the renewed public attention. The story about them taking care of a baby—together—was about to leak.

Big-time.

* * *

Two hours later, Mari patted Issa’s back in the bassinet to be sure she was deeply asleep then flopped onto the bed in the hotel suite she shared with Rowan.

Alone in her bedroom.

Once that woman shouted to the whole restaurant that a princess sat at the next table, the camera phones started snapping before her head could stop reeling from that impulsive kiss. A kiss that still tingled all the way to the roots of her hair.

Rowan had handled the curious masses with a simple explanation that they were watching a baby in foster care. More information would be forthcoming at a morning press conference. Easy as pie.

Although she was still curious as to where all the bodyguards had come from. She intended to confront her father about that later and find out why he’d decided to disregard her wishes now of all times.

Granted, she could see the wisdom in a bit more protection for Issa’s sake and she liked to think she would have arranged for something tomorrow...on a smaller scale. The guards had discreetly escorted her from the restaurant, along with Rowan and the baby, and all the way back to the hotel. No ducking into bathrooms or racing down hallways. Just a wall of protection around her as Rowan continued to repeat with a smile and a firm tone, “No further comment tonight.”

Without question, the papers would be buzzing by morning. That press conference would be packed. Her father’s promo guru couldn’t have planned it better.... Had Rowan known that when they kissed? Did he have an agenda? She couldn’t help but wonder since most people in her life had their own agendas—with extras to spare.

This was not the first time the thought had come to her. By the time she’d exited the elevator, she was already second-guessing the kiss, the flirting, the whole crazy plan. She knew that Rowan wanted her. She just couldn’t figure out why.

Until she had more answers, she couldn’t even consider taking things further.

She sat up again, swinging her legs off the side of the bed. Besides, she had a baby to take care of and a phone call to make. Since Issa still slept blissfully in the lacy bassinet after her bottle, Mari could get to that other pressing concern.

Her father.

She swiped her cell phone off the teak end table and thumbed auto-dial...two rings later, a familiar voice answered and Mari blurted out, “Papa, we need to talk....”

Her father’s booming laugh filled the earpiece. “About the boyfriend and the baby you’ve been hiding from me?”

Mari squeezed her eyes shut, envisioning her lanky father sprawled in his favorite leather chair on the lanai, where he preferred to work. He vowed he felt closer to nature out there, closer to his country, even though three barriers of walls and guards protected him.

Sighing, she pressed two fingers to her head and massaged her temples. “How did you hear about Rowan and Issa? Have you had spies watching me? And why did you assign bodyguards without consulting me?”

“One question at a time, daughter dear. First, I heard about your affiliation with Dr. Boothe and the baby on the internet. Second, I do not spy on my family—not often, anyway. And third, whatever bodyguards you’re referring to, they’re not mine. I assume they’re on your boyfriend’s payroll.”

Her head throbbed over Rowan hiring bodyguards without consulting her. Her life was snowballing out of control.

“He’s not my boyfriend—” even though they’d kissed and she’d enjoyed the hell out of it “—and Issa is not our baby. She’s a foster child, just like Rowan said at the restaurant.”

Even though her heart was already moved beyond measure by the chubby bundle sleeping in the frilly bassinet next to her bed.

“I know the baby’s not yours, Mariama.”

“The internet strikes again?” She flopped back, rolling to her side and holding a pillow to her stomach as she monitored the steady rise and fall of Issa’s chest as she slept.

“I keep tabs on you, daughter dear. You haven’t been pregnant and you’ve never been a fan of Rowan Boothe.”

An image flashed in her mind of Rowan pacing the sitting room with Issa in his arms. “The baby was abandoned in Dr. Boothe’s hotel room and we are both watching over her while the authorities try to find her relatives. You know how overburdened Africa is with orphans. We just couldn’t let her go into the system when we had the power to help her.”

“Hmm...” The sound of him clicking computer keys filtered through the phone line—her father never rested, always worked. He took his position as leader seriously, no puppet leadership role for him. “And why are you working with a man you can’t stand to help a child you’ve never met? He could have taken care of this on his own.”

“I’m a philanthropist?”

“True,” her dad conceded. “But you’re also a poor liar. How did the child become your responsibility?”

She’d never been able to get anything past her wily father. “I was trying to get away from a group of tourists trying to steal a photo of me at the end of a very long day. I grabbed a room-service tray and delivered it.” The whole crazy night rolled through her mind again and she wondered what had possessed her to act so rashly. Never, though, could she have foreseen how it would end. “Turns out it was for Rowan Boothe and there was an abandoned baby inside. There’s nothing going on between us.”

A squawk from Issa sent her jolting upright again to pat the baby’s back. An instant later, a tap sounded on the door from the suite beyond. She covered the mouthpiece on the phone. “We’re okay.”

Still, the bedroom door opened, a quizzical look on Rowan’s face. “Everything all right?”

“I’ve got it.” She uncovered the phone. “Dad, I need to go.”

Rowan lounged against the doorjamb, his eyes questioning. Pressing the phone against her shoulder to hold it to her ear, she tugged her skirt over her knees, curling her bare toes.

“Mari, dear,” her father said, “I do believe you have gotten better at lying after all. Seems like there’s a lot going on in your life I don’t know about.”

Her pulse sped up, affirming her father was indeed right. This wasn’t just about Issa. She was lying to herself in thinking there was nothing more going on with Rowan. His eyes enticed her from across the room, like a blue-hot flame drawing a moth.

But her father waited on the other end of the line. Best to deflect the conversation, especially while the object of her current hormonal turmoil stood a few feet away. “You should be thrilled about this whole setup. It will make for great publicity, a wonderful story for your press people to spin over the holidays. Papa, for once I’m not a disappointment.”

Rowan scowled and Mari wished she could call back the words that had somehow slipped free. But she felt the weight of the knowledge all the same. The frustration of never measuring up to her parents’ expectations.

“Mari, dear,” her father said, his voice hoarse, “you have never been a disappointment.”

A bittersweet smile welled from the inside out. “You’re worse at lying than I am. But I love you anyway. Good night, Papa.”