Bound by the Kincaid Baby / The Millionaire's Miracle: Bound by the Kincaid Baby / The Millionaire's Miracle

She sighed and wiped her mouth. “Give it up, Mitch. That’s not going to happen.”

“It could. Say the word and you’re a free woman.”

She’d been footloose and fancy-free before and she hadn’t liked it. How could anyone expect her to go back to normal knowing she’d given up something precious? Twice.

“You act as if caring for Rhett is a burden. It isn’t.”

“You say that now, but give it time.”

“I’ll say the same thing next week, next year and ten years from now.”

He snorted a sound of disbelief, but she decided not to waste her breath arguing. Talk was cheap. He’d soon see by her actions that she meant what she said.

“You’re only twenty-eight. Aren’t your parents too young to retire?”

“Mom was forty and Dad forty-five when they adopted Marlene and me.” And because Carly had been adopted, she knew exactly what kinds of questions her baby girl would be asking.

Silence returned, broken only by Rhett’s babble and the chink of silverware.

“Does Mrs. Duncan need more than one day?”

Surprised, Carly searched Mitch’s face. Good to know the rat bastard had a human side after all. “It would be nice if you’d call and offer it. I have her sister’s phone number.”

“I’ll get someone from the temp agency in to cook our meals and oversee the remaining staff if Mrs. Duncan needs more time.”

“Oh please. We’re adults. We can feed ourselves. I know my way around the kitchen if you don’t. And I think your staff can muddle through pushing a vacuum and making beds for a couple of days.” His eyes narrowed to slits, pinning her like a butterfly on a collector’s board. “What?”

“You intend to work all day and then come home and cook for me. Why?” Suspicion laced his voice.

“For us. And don’t take it personally. I’m not after your heart via your stomach. Rhett and I have to eat, too. And I like to cook. I used to prepare all the meals for Marlene and me.”

He looked ready to argue, but instead consumed the last bites of his swordfish. He sat back, still wearing the skeptical, guarded expression. “That was good.”

“Thank you. And it’s healthier than your usual dinners.”

His eyebrows slammed down. So much for the truce. “Don’t try to change me, Carly. Don’t interfere in my life.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she denied and knew she fibbed. By the end of the year she’d have his bachelor lifestyle turned upside down. Priorities changed when a child entered the picture. He’d discover that sooner or later.

He studied her as if she were a puzzle he couldn’t figure out—and one he didn’t trust.

“Down. Ball,” Rhett demanded.

Mitch stood. “I’ll clear the table. You get the boy.”

Carly blinked. A man in Hugo Boss who wasn’t afraid to do dishes? Nice. Too bad she wasn’t looking. “Thanks, but he’d rather play with you.”

“No.” Swift. Harsh. Unequivocal. Mitch stacked their plates and strode into the house.

Carly stared after him. Mitch Kincaid was going to be a tough nut to crack—even harder than her most difficult client.

But just like she did with her more pigheaded patients, she would find a way to motivate him.

Carly Corbin was a sneaky, devious woman.

Mitch opened the tap in the sink to drown out the squeals of laughter penetrating the kitchen windows. Turning his back on the woman and child racing through the gardens, he bent to load the dishwasher.

Carly was determined to drag him somewhere he would never go again with her home-cooked meals and let’s-play-family games. He still had the scars from his last round of playing house. He wouldn’t give his heart to a child only to have it ripped out when the mother—or in this case, the guardian—had a change of heart. Once he could guarantee Rhett wouldn’t be leaving would be soon enough for Mitch to befriend him. Until then, he’d keep his distance.

Carly had clearly given the idea of moving across the country to be closer to her parents careful consideration. Unless she left the boy behind, that put the terms of the will and everything Mitch held dear in jeopardy.

He had to get custody of his father’s little bastard.

Soon.

He closed the dishwasher and straightened. The stillness of the backyard grabbed his attention. He scanned the garden and spotted a splash of peach and Carly’s bare legs sprawled on the lawn between the fountain and the koi pond.

Alarm flooded his veins with adrenaline. Had the boy fallen in? Dammit, he’d ordered the gardener to fence the shallow pond and pool, but the custom-made materials hadn’t arrived yet.

Or had Carly hurt herself dashing across the grass with her hair and her dress streaming behind her.

Mitch slammed through the back door, leaped from the porch and sprinted past Poseidon and across the grass. He rounded the roses and jerked to a halt.

Rhett lay stretched out on his belly beside Carly with his dark head near hers. Her bare arm encircled the boy’s waist.

“Orange. That one’s orange,” Carly said, pointing at the water.

“Orange. Big,” the boy warbled.

“Yes, the orange fish is big. The white one is small.”

Mitch’s heart jackhammered against his ribs and his lungs burned. Relief over finding them safe segued into awareness of Carly’s long legs. Runner’s legs. Lean, but muscled. Smooth and tanned. A charge of sexual awareness flooded him and that pissed him off. “What are you doing?”

The duo startled at his harsh tone. Keeping one hand on Rhett’s waistband, Carly rolled to her side. “Looking at the fish.”

Barefooted and bare-legged, with apparently no concern for the grass clippings clinging to her dress, calves and feet, Carly attracted him far more than was safe. Despite her denials, he knew damned well she was out to hook him. The way her sister had his father. The way countless other women had tried to work their way into the Kincaid beds and coffers.

Sure, Carly was more subtle and she brought a unique angle to the table. She might deny the attraction, but he’d seen the interest in her eyes when she looked at him. Like now. With her sun-streaked hair pooling like silk on the grass, her chin tilted up to expose the long line of her neck and her gaze slowly climbing his body.

Oh yeah, she wanted him.

But even without her mercenary genetics, he couldn’t get involved with her. He’d learned the hard way through both his and his father’s affairs that running a business the size of KCL left no room for anything more than temporary liaisons. He’d forget to call, or miss a date, and then there would be hell to pay from the neglected woman. Too much hassle.

He’d stick with women like him who were too committed to their careers to want more than physical satisfaction now and then. The women he called didn’t expect romance. They expected hot, sweaty sex. And nothing more. But even that wasn’t safe with Carly Corbin.

She rolled to her feet as graceful as a cat and brushed the grass fragments from her clothing. She missed the blade stuck in her hair. Mitch fisted his hands against the urge to reach for it. For her.

“Up. Up. Pig me up,” Rhett demanded. Mitch ignored him.