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

No wonder Marlene had called Everett’s son a dirty, conniving rat bastard.

“You’re out of your mind. You can’t buy and sell people.”

“A million?” He ignored her comment and extracted a checkbook and pen from the jacket draped over his arm as if writing a million-dollar check was no big deal.

She rose on shaky legs. “Rhett isn’t for sale, Mr. Kincaid. You need to leave.”

Rhett chose that moment to cackle with glee and squish bananas through his fingers. And then the little urchin clutched fistfuls of his hair, moussing the silky strands with the banana mush. “Unless you’d like to help with cleanup.”

Kincaid backed away as if a sewage spill threatened his polished shoes. He reached into his coat pocket again and this time withdrew a business card that he laid on the counter next to his unopened water. “I’ll have a copy of the will couriered over immediately. Talk to your lawyer tomorrow and call me.”

He turned on his heel. Brisk footsteps retreated, then the front door opened and closed.

Carly looked at her adorable nephew and her chest ached. “Oh, Rhett. What are we going to do? I can’t lose you.”

She dampened a washcloth and attacked his messy hands and face. “But you deserve a share of your daddy’s estate. And I’m going to see that you get it.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Marie, Mitch’s personal assistant, said from the boardroom entrance, “but there’s a Carly Corbin downstairs insisting on seeing you. She doesn’t have an appointment.”

About time.

“Show her to my office.” After Marie left, Mitch stood and looked down the table at his brother. “Three days. It took her three days to cave. The question is how much is this little bastard going to cost us? I’ll be back.”

Rand waved him on. “Take your time. I’ll handle the next applicant for Nadia’s position and then grab lunch.”

The damned will had left Mitch with an interminable number of complications. His sister had been banished to Dallas to house-sit as required by her inheritance clause. Her sudden absence only increased his workload. He had to find her temporary replacement, and he had his brother’s help whether he wanted it or not, thanks to dear ol’ dad making Rand CEO instead of Mitch. That irritated Mitch like a sliver of glass stuck in his foot.

Rand had abandoned the business. Hell, his brother hadn’t even spoken to anyone in the family in five years. Five years during which Mitch had busted his ass to prove he was worthy of taking the reins of KCL when his father retired.

But Dad had wanted Rand back and in charge.

Mitch entered his office through the connecting door to the boardroom. Before he could sit down Marie showed in his guest.

Carly barely acknowledged his presence with a brief nod before her wide brown eyes gazed past him to scan the thirty-foot wall of windows and the view of Biscayne Bay behind him.

He stiffened. Women didn’t overlook him. It wasn’t conceit to admit that his wealth wasn’t his only asset. But Carly didn’t seem interested in his face or body. Ignoring the jab to his pride, he took advantage of her inattention to assess her.

Her features weren’t classically beautiful. But close enough. Her breasts were decent. Neither too big nor too small. Probably real. She wore a bubble gum-pink tracksuit with black stripes down the length of her legs. Killer legs, he recalled from their last meeting. Too bad she’d covered them today. Getting another look would have been a nice bonus to closing the deal.

Overall, Carly was nice-looking. Not traffic-stopping. But interesting. Until she smiled. That smile of hers could melt bricks. She wasn’t smiling today.

Since she was an identical twin, he could see why his father had been attracted to her sister. But damnation, couldn’t the man have practiced safe sex after preaching about it for decades? Or had Marlene Corbin had something to do with the birth control failure? Mitch would bet money on it. His father had made a number of mistakes, but he hadn’t been stupid.

Carly’s gaze finally returned to Mitch. A weird paralysis seized his lungs. He fought it off. “Do we have a deal, Ms. Corbin?”

“Rhett can move into Kincaid Manor,” she stated matter-of-factly.

Victory surged through him. He pulled his checkbook from his interior coat pocket. “Excell—”

“But only if I come with him.”

His fingers contracted around his pen. “Excuse me?”

“You exude about as much warmth as dry ice, Kincaid. Children need more than that.”

His spine went rigid at the insult. “I know how to handle kids.”

“Really? Because I didn’t see evidence of that the other day. You didn’t even try to make a connection with your brother.”

“Half brother, as you pointed out. There wasn’t time.”

“Eye contact and a smile only take a second.”

She had him there. “And your price?”

“I don’t want your money.”

Yeah, like he believed that. What game was she playing? “What of your home? You’ll leave it vacant?”

“I can rent it for enough to cover the mortgage.”

Her plan shouldn’t have surprised him. In his experience, women were always looking for a free ride. In Carly’s case, Kincaid Manor would be like a spa vacation compared to the in-need-of-renovation structure she inhabited. “Your presence isn’t required.”

“Rhett stays with me, his guardian. And since my attorney says you only had thirty days from the reading of the will to begin fulfilling your part of your father’s demands or forfeit your inheritance, you’re going to have to come to terms with the package deal sooner rather than later.”

Nineteen of those days had passed. Days during which Mitch had employed two teams of lawyers to try to find a loophole in the will. When they’d failed, he’d spent more time hiring a nanny and trying to find out what he could about Carly Corbin. If Carly hadn’t come to him by tomorrow, he would have gone after her.

“I would imagine you have my number since you have everything else.” She backed toward the door.

“Carly, how much do you want?” He signed a blank check and then slid it and his pen across the desk. “You fill in the amount. Whatever you feel is fair.”

Without even glancing at the pen and check, she observed him as if he were three-day-old July roadkill. “You just don’t get it, do you, Kincaid?”

He linked his hands behind his back, hoping to appear casual instead of frustrated and irritated and damn near desperate. “Then perhaps you’ll enlighten me.”

“This isn’t about money. It’s about a little boy and what’s best for him. It’s always about doing what’s best for the child. Always. In this case, you’re not it.”

“The boy will lack for nothing.”

“Materially. And his name is Rhett.”

Mitch struggled to rein in his temper, but his entire head grew hot. “Rhett will have the best of care.”

Angry color stained Carly’s cheeks and sparked in her eyes, making her look even more attractive. She approached his desk, planted her hands on the polished surface and leaned toward him. “Who will hold him when he’s cranky? Who’ll kiss his boo-boos and rock him when he has a nightmare? Who will tell him about his mother? And who will make sure he knows he was loved and w-wanted?”

The slight crack in her voice nailed him in the gut. She’d just lost her sister, and even if Marlene had been a mercenary, manipulative bitch, apparently Carly had cared for her. Maybe giving up the boy wouldn’t be completely painless. But like ripping off a bandage, the discomfort wouldn’t last long.

Being the middle child meant Mitch had learned the art of negotiation in the cradle. If he didn’t compromise, he’d lose the brat. “I have employed a highly qualified nanny. I’m not trying to cut you out of his life completely. We’ll arrange visitation.”