The Millionaire's Baby

The thought of him walking in on her was terrifying. He was potent stuff and if she’d learned anything in the few hours she’d been here it was that she was no more immune to him than the rest of womankind.

She remembered the way she’d felt when he’d touched her hands, standing so close she would have melted into him had she swayed on her feet by the smallest fraction. The brush of his skin against hers had made her want to do just that, as if something deep inside her was answering a call as old as time.

But—and it was a very big but—she knew exactly what an unprincipled womaniser he was. She wasn’t about to walk into the jaws of a smiling tiger. She might be as crazy as Mary had said, but she wasn’t that crazy!

And he wouldn’t walk in on her while she was in the shower, she rationalised. It would be classified as sexual harassment and she could get him blacklisted by all the agencies around.

Heartened by the resurgence of her fighting spirit, she stripped off and turned on the shower head. It wasn’t like her to throw in the towel.

When she recalled how her eyes had filled with stupid tears because of the kindness of his smile, the gentle warmth of the suggestion that she go and freshen up while he saw to Sophie, along with her own unusual and abhorrent feelings of ineptitude, she could scarcely believe she was capable of such weakness. How could she have been such a wimp?

No, the plan was still on, all systems go. She’d muddle through as best she could until she decided what form her retribution would take, or her name wasn’t Caroline Farr!

Twenty minutes later, dressed now in a white T-shirt and black cotton trousers, her hair freshly blow-dried, she walked out of the bathroom, feeling brisk.

He could accuse her of not knowing much but he couldn’t prove she wasn’t a bona fide nanny.

She found Finn in the main sitting room, sprawled out on one of the sofas watching the news on TV, his mother-naked baby sitting right beside him, all big brown eyes, bouncy curls and seraphic smile.

‘We used my bathroom for her ablutions.’ His drawl was laid-back, lazy. ‘It’s bedtime, but we didn’t want to invade your privacy.’

She supposed she should be a good little hireling and thank him nicely for his thoughtfulness. But didn’t. And couldn’t help noting the way he and his daughter were always a definite ‘we’, as if the baby had as much say in what went on as he did.

Before that could soften the way she regarded him, she responded coolly, ‘Very well, Mr Helliar. I’ll get her ready.’ She scooped the baby up and hoped to heaven the child wouldn’t volubly object because she wouldn’t know what to do if she did.

Panic subsided as a chubby pair of arms went around her neck, the baby’s head snuggling comfortably beneath her chin. Caro walked to the set of rooms she shared with Sophie, her back straight and her head held high with the pride of achievement, as if she’d worked a minor miracle, no problem.

Further miracles became manifest. One, she managed to put the nappy on properly. Two, she also slid the seemingly boneless little body snugly into the cotton sleeper she’d found stashed in one of the drawers without any hassle worth the name. And three, the baby’s eyes were already drooping as she laid her in her cot.

Such was the power of positive thinking, she told herself. Then peace blew up in her face as Finn murmured from behind her, ‘Shall I sing her to sleep, or would you rather do it?’

Her breath froze in her lungs with shock. Why did he have to creep up on her like that, making her jump out of her skin? He seemed to find it impossible to leave her alone with his daughter for more than a few minutes at a time. Tension bunched up her shoulder muscles until they hurt. And why did he have to stand so close?

‘She’ll want her daddy.’ She had her voice back, but only just. ‘I’m still a virtual stranger.’ She walked out of the room then, quickly, softly, and stood in front of the now blank TV screen, staring at it, wondering how Fleur could leave her gorgeous little daughter for as much as a minute.

‘She went out like a light.’

He was doing it again, creeping up behind her, his voice too darn soft, too warm and honeyed.

‘Good.’ What else could she say? She moved a few paces away from him and her heartbeats slowed a little. Then everything inside her dropped—heart, lungs, lights and liver—right down to the soles of her feet; it was a miracle that she stayed upright at all, she marvelled as she wallowed in the agitated aftermath of his simple words:

‘We’ll eat dinner here. Room Service will deliver any time now.’

‘You’re going out,’ she managed at last. She wanted him out. She needed time on her own to plot and scheme, didn’t she? She couldn’t think straight when he was around. He muddled her and she was totally unused to being muddled. She couldn’t bear it!

‘News to me.’ He flipped through the television listings then tossed the magazine back on a low coffee table. He didn’t look like a man who would contentedly spend a night in flicking through the channels to find something he wanted to watch then going to bed early with a good book when he couldn’t.

From what she’d heard of him he would want to be out and about, seeing friends. Female friends. Hadn’t Sandra opined that he could now get himself a life? And the way she’d looked at him when she’d said it meant she would willingly be in on the action.

So why wasn’t he taking the opportunity? Because he wasn’t as black as her second-hand knowledge had painted him or because—and this seemed far more likely—he didn’t want to leave her alone with his baby daughter?

That was logical. She was comfortable with logic. For all he was a callous, heartless brute where women were concerned, no one could deny he adored his child. And the new nanny had been here for less than twenty-four hours and had shown herself to be largely incompetent.

She gave him a good attempt at a reassuring smile and said calmly, ‘Sophie will be fine with me, if that’s what’s troubling you. I’m perfectly capable of attending to her should she wake. Didn’t your secretary—’ she invested that word with heavy emphasis, quite deliberately ‘—say you could now get yourself a life? So why don’t you? I’m sure she’d be more than happy to help you get back in the swing of things.’

Gross impertinence, given her subordinate position; she knew that and didn’t give a fig. She wanted to draw him out, hear him add to the list of his sins with his own far too sexy mouth.

And he did. In a way he did. He said, looking at her with enigmatic silver eyes, ‘Oh, yes, I’m quite sure she would. But not tonight.’

Tonight he had plans. Tonight he meant to delve and dig and discover why she was here. He found he had a sudden urgency to get to know her a great deal better, find out what made this woman tick. This oddly prickly, supremely lovely, breath-catchingly graceful woman.

Then, as a discreet tap on the door heralded the arrival of the room-service waiter with his trolley, he added, ‘Neither am I troubled. Once she’s asleep Sophie never wakes. But as we’re going to be practically living in each other’s pockets for the next few months I thought we should spend an hour or so getting to know each other better. Hitting the town can wait.’

Caro, watching the waiter set out the covers on the table in the window, felt her stomach lurch, twist and contract. He meant to quiz her about her credentials; a little late in the day of course, but doubtless brought on by her obvious and total lack of experience.

She’d fudge her way through that somehow; she could have done without it but the prospect didn’t bother her too much. What was really churning her up was the way he’d as good as admitted he had something going with that secretary of his.

‘Not tonight’, he’d said, implying that there were plenty of other nights when he’d take the opportunity to play away from home. What kind of normal married man would have made such an admission to the newly hired nanny?

But he wasn’t a normal married man. He’d made his wedding vows but he didn’t mean to keep them. The type of man who could treat Katie the way he had was capable of anything.

‘Shall we eat?’ His warm, dark voice made her spine prickle in none too subtle warning. Inadvertently, she glanced up and met his eyes. If his mouth was sexy, his eyes were more so. They pulled her into the softly gleaming silver depths with an invitation that was hard to resist.

‘I’m not really hungry.’ She found her voice; it was strangely husky. That intimate, come-to-bed look was carefully cultivated, part of his stock-in-trade, guaranteed to set female hearts fluttering.

But not this female’s heart. Sweet, naive Katie with her fragile self-esteem had been a pushover. Two years ago, at barely eighteen, her little sister had met this man and been blown away like a leaf in a hurricane, had believed every rotten lie he’d told her and suffered the shattering consequences.

‘It’s the heat,’ he sympathised. ‘But you must try to eat something.’

His words penetrated the dark fog of her rage, pushed her into getting a grip on herself.

‘I’ll do my best.’ Her voice was empty, her movements brisk and businesslike as she walked to the table, seated herself and glanced at what was on offer.

Cold poached salmon, slices of chicken breast in a lemon sauce, a multiplicity of salads. She barely listened to his idle comments about the heatwave, the noise and air pollution of the never-sleeping capital, the undesirability of bringing up a child in a city. She kept her eyes on her plate or on the tree-lined street beyond the window, the dusty leaves at eye-level.

Only when he put in, ‘How’s the agency doing? From what I was told, Grandes Families was an overnight success,’ did she allow herself to look at him.

There was a subtle challenge there somewhere. He didn’t strike her as the type of man who would be interested in idle gossip and she knew that his father had helped her gran set up those convoluted trust funds after her grandpa had died.

Would he be aware that capital from one of the funds had been used by the agency? Hardly likely. Such small beer would be beneath the notice of the powerful chief executive; the release would have been dealt with at a much lower level.

And he wouldn’t connect her surname with the name of the barely ex-schoolgirl he had seduced and abandoned two years ago. Farr was a fairly common name. He probably couldn’t remember Katie’s name in any case.

In any case, had he leaped to the conclusion that because her surname was Farr she had to be connected to Katie, then surely he would have mentioned it by now? She was, she assured herself staunchly, getting away with it!

So it was just idle conversation and her cover wasn’t blown. She picked up her as yet untouched glass of wine and twirled it slowly round by the stern.

‘How should I know? It gets a good press. I only signed on with them recently.’ It was a blessing she wasn’t Pinocchio or by now her nose would have reached right over the table, probably poking holes in the crisp white shirt that covered those mightily impressive shoulders.