Baby Of His Revenge

“Who cares?” Mimi du Plessis, who liked to brag about how she could trace her family history back not only to the Mayflower, but to Charlemagne, now shrugged it off. “I’m fed up with aristocrats without a single dollar to their name. My last husband, the comte, bled me dry. Sure, I got his title—but after the divorce I had to get a job. Me! A job!” She shuddered at the indignity, then brightened. “But once I’m Kassius Black’s wife, I’ll never have to worry about working again. He’s the tenth-richest man in the world!”

Her friend elegantly blew out another smoke ring. “Ninth. His real estate investments have exploded.”

“Even better. I know he’ll try to kiss me at midnight. I can’t wait. You can just tell any wife of his would be well satisfied in bed...” Her sharp face narrowed when she saw Laney still hesitating unhappily by the sofa, heavy coat in her arms. “Well? What are you still doing here?”

“I’m sorry, madame, but I need your credit card.”

“Give you my card? That’s a joke. Pay for it yourself. And get us more coffee. Hurry up, you idiot!”

Beneath the weight of the white fur coat, Laney took the elevator downstairs and trudged through the lobby of the elegant Hôtel de Carillon onto the most expensive street in Monaco, filled with designer shops, overlooking the famous Casino de Monte Carlo and the Mediterranean Sea. As she walked out of the exclusive residential hotel, the doorman gave her an encouraging smile. “Ça va, Laney?”

“Ça va, Jacques,” she replied, mustering up a smile. But the heavy gray clouds seemed as leaden as her heart.

It had just stopped raining. The street was wet and so were the expensive sports cars revving by, along with the sodden-looking tourists crowded together in packs on the sidewalk. In late December, the winter afternoons were short and the nights were long. But that only added to the delight of New Year’s Eve. It was a popular time for people, especially wealthy yacht owners, to visit Monaco and enjoy exclusive parties, designer shops and world-class restaurants.

Laney comforted herself with the thought that at least the rain had stopped. Aside from her worries about the coat getting wet, she’d run out of the building too fast to grab her coat and just wore a plain white shirt, loose khakis and sensible clogs with her dark hair pulled up in a ponytail—the uniform of the servant class. But even without rain, the air was damp and chilly, and the sun was weak. Shivering, she held the fur coat tightly in her arms, both to protect it from being splashed by a passing car and to keep herself warm.

She didn’t like her boss’s fur coats much. They reminded her too much of the pets she’d loved growing up at her grandmother’s house outside New Orleans, the sweet, dopey old hound dogs and proudly independent cats. They’d comforted her through some heartbreaking days as a teenager. Thinking of them reminded Laney of everything else she missed about home. A lump rose in her throat. It had been two years since she’d last seen her family.

Don’t think about it. She took a deep breath. The fur in her arms was bulky and big, and Laney was on the petite side, so she shifted the coat over her shoulder to look down at her smartphone.

But as she scouted out the nearest fur cleaner, she was suddenly jostled by a large group of tourists stampeding by, blindly following their guide’s flag up ahead. Stumbling forward, Laney tripped off the curb and fell forward into the street. Turning with a gasp, as if in slow motion, she saw a red sports car barreling down on her!

There was a loud squeal of tires, and Laney felt a surge of regret that she was going to die, at twenty-five, far from home and everyone she loved, holding her boss’s dirty fur coat, run over by a car. She just wished she could tell her grandmother and her father one last time that she loved them...

She closed her eyes and held her breath as she felt the impact. The car knocked her over the hood and she flew, then fell hard on something soft.

The air was knocked out of her lungs, and she wheezed for breath as everything went dark.

“Damn you, what were you thinking!”

It was a man’s voice. It didn’t sound like the voice of God, either, so she couldn’t be dead. Laney’s eyes fluttered open.

A man was standing over her, looking down. His face and body were hidden in shadow, but he was tall, broad-shouldered. And, it seemed, angry.

A crowd gathered around them as the man knelt beside her.

“Why did you run out in the street like that?” The man was dark-haired, dark-eyed, handsome. “I could have killed you!”

Laney suddenly recognized him. Coughing, she sat up abruptly. A wave of dizziness went through her, and she put her hand on her head, feeling sick.

“Be careful, damn you!”

“Kassius—Black,” she croaked.

“Do I know you?” he said tersely.

Why would he? She was nobody. “No...”

“Are you injured?”

“No,” she whispered, then realized to her shock that it was true. Looking down, she saw the fur had blocked her impact against the street like a soft pillow. Incredulously, she touched the nose of the wildly sleek and expensive sports car pressing into her shoulder. He must have stopped on a dime.

“You’re in shock.” Without asking permission, he ran his hands over her. He was no doubt searching for broken bones, but having him touch her—stroking her arms, her legs, her shoulders—caused heat to flood through Laney. Her cheeks burned, and she pushed him away.

“I’m fine.”

He looked at her skeptically.

She look a shuddering breath and tried to smile. “Really.”

Of all the billionaires in Monaco—and there were tons—she’d just inconvenienced the one her boss wanted, this mysterious and dangerous man. If the comtesse found out Laney had caused him problems, on top of everything else...

Laney tried to stand up.

“Wait,” he barked. “Take a breath. This is serious.”

“Why?” She glanced back at the glossy fender of the car. “Did I hurt your Lamborghini?”

“Funny.” His voice was dry. He was looking at her narrowly. “What were you thinking, jumping in front of me?”

“I tripped.”

“You should have been more careful.”

“Thanks.” Rubbing her elbow, she winced. On the two occasions she’d seen the man before, while he was having lunch meetings with the comtesse, Laney had vaguely thought Kassius Black must be an American raised in Europe, or possibly a European raised in America. But there was a strange inflection in his voice that didn’t suit either theory. In fact, it was an accent she recognized well. But it obviously wasn’t possible. She rubbed her forehead. She must have hit it harder than she thought. “I’ll try to take your advice in the future.”

Rising to his feet, he looked around at the crowd that had formed a semicircle around them in the street. “Is there a doctor?” No one moved, even when he repeated the request in rapid succession in three other languages. He pulled his phone from his pocket. “I’m calling an ambulance.”

“Um...” She bit her lip. “That’s nice and all, but I’m afraid I don’t have time for that.”

He looked incredulous. “You don’t have time for an ambulance?”

She gave herself a quick look for gushing blood or maybe a broken leg she hadn’t noticed. But the worst that seemed to have happened was that she’d had the wind knocked out of her and had gotten a little lump on her forehead. She touched it. “I’m on an urgent errand for my boss.”

Wincing a little, she pushed herself off the street and rose to her feet. He reached out his hand to help her. When their hands touched, she felt electricity course through her body, making her shake all over. She looked up at him. He was nearly an entire foot taller than she was, handsome and powerful and sleek in his dark suit. She could only imagine what a pathetic mess she looked like right now. Talk about noblesse oblige.

She dropped his hand.

“Well, thanks for stopping your car,” she muttered. “I’d better get going...”

“Who’s your boss?”

“Mimi du Plessis, the Comtesse de Fourcil.”

“Mimi?” Abruptly, the man stepped closer, searching her face. Recognition dawned. “Wait. I know you now. The little mouse who scampers around Mimi’s flat, fetching her slippers and finding her phone.”

Laney blushed. “I’m her assistant.”