The Billionaire Daddy

Only now, with the baby, had he seen her smile. The sunny expression turned her cheeks a fetching pink and brought a radiance to her eyes that gave them a whole other dimension. A mossy green, soft and lush. The combination of her no-nonsense demeanor, plus her visible softness where Tina was concerned, pleased him, even if she did ignore him with what seemed like a very real desire to have him disappear.

He grinned to himself at the ridiculous thought. This was a well-paying job, and cushy as jobs went. She had no reason to dislike him. He decided to give up on subtle, and take the direct approach. “Miss Quinn?” He paused, with no intention of going on until she acknowledged him.

She didn’t make a single move to let him know she’d heard. He pursed his lips with annoyance.

“Miss Quinn, do you have a hearing problem?” he asked, more loudly.

Her glance flicked his way, though she didn’t quite meet his eyes, more like his cheek. “Oh, uh, no. I can hear.”

He crossed his arms before him. “Don’t you think, when your employer speaks to you, it would be polite to answer?”

Her no-nonsense face paled, and her brows quirked downward. “I didn’t—I mean…” When she met his gaze, tiny lightning bolts of unease flickered in her eyes. “Yes, sir.” She inclined her head, and Dade thought she was going to look at the baby. Instead, she watched him from beneath her lashes, like a feral cat peering out from the underbrush.

Lord, what was that look? Fear? Hate? He couldn’t tell if she was about to faint or attack. Attack? He grinned wryly at the crazy notion, concluding he knew what was wrong. He’d been a brute when she arrived, and she was afraid of him. He damned himself for his churlishness. She probably thought he was an ogre to be avoided at all costs.

In an effort to make amends, he decided light conversation was in order. After all, they would be living together. He didn’t want her to pass out every time he spoke to her. “What’s your first name, Miss Quinn?” he asked.

A flash of discomfort skidded over her features, and Dade wondered why the question might cause her trouble. He’d taken care to use his most diplomatic tone.

“I—” She swallowed and lifted her chin a notch. “I prefer Miss Quinn, sir. Or just Quinn.”

Her cool reply surprised him. He observed her silently for a moment, experiencing a mixture of amusement and exasperation. With a quirk of his lips, he nodded. “Okay, Just Quinn. Call me Dade.”

She didn’t smile, merely lowered her gaze to the baby. “No, thank you, sir.”

No, thank you, sir?

With a quizzical lift of a brow, he watched her features change from frosty to sweet as she gazed at the baby.

He didn’t recall a time when he’d felt so thoroughly dismissed. It appeared that the truly proficient nannies of the world felt superior, a bit arrogant, being in such demand. Not particularly familiar with nannies himself, their pecking order was new to him. Even if the agency hadn’t faxed him her résumé, Miss Quinn’s haughtiness alone had to mean she was one hell of a nanny.

Or maybe she simply hid her anxiety better than most. Some people defended themselves with belligerence. He decided to try again to develop a rapport. Perhaps a compliment. “You don’t look thirty-seven, Quinn,” he said. “I wouldn’t have guessed you are even thirty.”

She flicked him a wary glance. The smile he offered her was so courteous he could have been poster boy for the Kindly Scouts of America.

“I consider flattery a brother to sexual harassment, sir. How old I look is irrelevant to my position as nanny.”

He was caught off guard by her prickly rejoinder, his only response the astonished lift of one eyebrow. She had spunk. He had to give her that. But if she thought her lame threat would fly in his town, she was a little naive for thirty-seven.

Not one to give up easily, he decided to try again. “Tina’s a very good baby, Miss Quinn. My other nanny said so a thousand times.”

She cast him an oddly petulant look but didn’t reply. “I haven’t had much spare time to be with Tina, myself.” He paused, deciding she didn’t need to know he’d been busy trying to reorient his life to accommodate a child he’d neither expected nor wanted. Now that he’d finally worked out the necessary business adjustments, this month in the Hamptons would be the second, most difficult phase. Learning how to be a “father.”

“Will you be wanting weekly reports on her status, sir?” she asked, breaking through his thoughts. “Or bimonthly?”

“What?” He had no idea what reports she could mean. “I don’t—” His cell phone rang. With a halting lift of his hand, he excused himself, fishing the phone from his trouser pocket.

Lauren cringed at the memory of Mr. Delacourte’s shocked expression when she’d made her “sexual harassment” remark. He’d been taken by surprise. Clearly the last thing on his mind was flattery. He was making conversation, his motives not even vaguely sinful. Why that realization disconcerted her, she had no idea. She was not there to be flattered by the man, she was there to show him up for the irresponsible impregnator of women he was.

Troubled, she surveyed the posh interior of the limousine. It wasn’t huge, like those stretch limo’s she’d seen in movies. It was only slightly bigger than a regular luxury car. The major difference she could see was that the white leather seats faced each other. This arrangement unsettled her, since she would have preferred not to see him every time she looked up.

Tina had fallen asleep, so Lauren continued to scan the interior, trying to concentrate on anything other than the annoying man with his long legs casually stretched out before her. She hadn’t been able to help notice how the cotton trousers showed off nice thighs and well-developed calves. Nice thighs and well-developed—

She wasn’t doing a very good job of shifting her thoughts. She groaned. She sensed he heard and shot an apprehensive glance in his direction. He peered at her and covered the receiver. “Something wrong?”

She shook her head, compelling her glance to the hand-rubbed teak consoles, the CD and videocassette player. Even a color TV! She sighed. Lolling her head against the soft leather, she looked heavenward. Bright sky through the moon roof pierced her eyes and made her wince. Emotions frayed to the breaking point, she squeezed her eyes shut.

With a calming inhale, she recalled the man who’d assisted her into the car. In his late fifties, he’d impressed her as being kind. That surprised her. She’d assumed a man like Dade Delacourte would have a driver who looked more sinister. Of course, looks could be deceiving. She’d only seen the driver for a moment as he’d opened the door for her. He’d been as courtly as a footman helping a princess into her carriage.

A glass partition behind her separated them from the man. She thought about turning to check out the front seat of the car, but she didn’t shift around. She didn’t dare appear too much like a gawking hayseed. Surely Miss Quinn had been in limousines before and took them for granted.

She recrossed her legs, catching a glimpse of the luxury carpet. It was pristine white, as though it had never had a foot set on it until today. Regrettably, also residing on that snow-white carpet—much too close—was a pair of size twelve tan suede bucks attached to well-developed calves and…

This time she managed to stifle her groan. So he was good-looking! So what! What had she expected? The man was a seduction machine! She knew that already, so why was she surprised to find out that a seduction machine would most likely be seductive! Even when he wasn’t trying.

Rich laughter drew her gaze to his face and she made an involuntary examination of his features. The car’s halo lighting reflected in his gray eyes, kindling them with dazzling beauty. His straight forehead and aquiline nose were the sort of features women would stand in line for days to behold, not to mention that chin, square and slashed with a sexy cleft. She grew peevish and unhappy with herself for finding anything about him appealing. He was a lecherous weasel.

She threw him a withering glare, but he was too preoccupied with his conversation to notice.

She hoped, in the next few days, she could catch him knee deep in debauchery. Spending too much time around Mr. Dade Delacourte-of-the-pretty-boy-charm-and-complete-lack-of-scruples was a dangerous idea—and not just for the baby.

CHAPTER TWO

LAUREN didn’t know what she expected to see when they arrived at Dade Delacourte’s seaside home. The Hampton’s palatial estates were referred to ironically as “cottages,” though they bore as much resemblance to a cottage as a pencil resembled a computer.

Lauren supposed she expected a billionaire playboy to vacation in ostentatious, even tacky, luxury. She wouldn’t be surprised if the River Styx flowed right outside a twenty-foot, flaming gate. With this inflammatory vision in her head, Lauren was startled when Goodberry turned the limo onto a narrow, wooded lane marked by nothing more than a small metal sign reading Private Property. Perhaps the infamous river hid somewhere within the deceptively inviting forest of weathered pine and oak trees.

She frowned, staring out the window, trying to catch any glimpse. They emerged from the peaceful woodland, and Lauren was taken aback. She witnessed no fiery gateway. The pine-scented air held no hint of brimstone. Instead Lauren saw a wonderful house, more the image of a picturesque Vermont barn than a palatial mansion. Constructed of antique barn siding and stone, the home sprawled within an unpretentious, natural setting. Even from where Lauren sat, the bluff commanded a panoramic view of the Atlantic.

“Miss Quinn? Are you all right?”

Mr. Delacourte’s question yanked Lauren from her musings. She could tell he had raised his voice, so it was embarrassingly clear he’d been trying to get her attention. She glanced at him. “Yes, sir? I mean, yes, I’m fine.”

He watched her quizzically for another moment, as though it crossed his mind that she was more astonished by the house than a nanny of her qualifications and job history should be. “Quinn, if you’ll get the baby, I’ll show you to your room.”

Goodberry opened their door, and Mr. Delacourte flicked a glance at the driver. “The oceanfront guest suite has been prepared for Quinn and the child.”

“Yes, sir.” Goodberry stepped forward, offering Lauren a hand and smile. “May I help you, miss?”

The servant was so old-world gallant, Lauren couldn’t keep from smiling. “Why thank you, Goodberry.” She mused again about how sweet the driver was, and stole a quick look at her unprincipled employer.

Mr. Delacourte watched her with that same quizzical stare. Snapping her gaze away, she unbuckled Tina from her car seat and allowed Goodberry to assist them out of the limo.

Once safely out of the car, Lauren approached the stone walk meandering from the driveway of crushed seashells. There was no real lawn, just the grasses and low flowering vegetation that grew naturally in the sandy soil. Trees lined the walk and dotted the yard, enhancing the unaffected charm of the residence.

Lauren felt a hand at her elbow and jumped.

“It’s only me,” Mr. Delacourte said. “I thought it would be easier to guide you to your room. Besides, the path is a little uneven. We wouldn’t want you falling.”

She cast him a black glance. Was this a come-on, already? Did he “initiate” young, female help with a quick seduction on the first night? She jerked from his hold. She certainly had no plans to follow in her sister’s footsteps. “I don’t believe in physical contact between employer and employee, sir.” Jutting her chin, she focused on the front door, which was up several steps, across a broad, covered stone porch. “Why don’t you walk in front of me? I don’t think the baby and I will get lost.”

He cleared his throat and Lauren wondered if she heard a hint of amusement, as though he were hiding a chuckle. “Forgive me, Quinn. I’ll watch my hands very carefully in the future.” He bounded up the steps and proceeded to open the door. “Would you care to go inside, first?” He canted his head in query. “If I promise not to touch?”

His eyes sparkled, even in the shade of the porch. Lauren felt a prickle of irritation. He was laughing at her! As though it was just too funny that she thought, even for an instant, that he had anything more sexy in mind than to make sure she didn’t break an ankle and sue his pants off. Apparently that was the only way she might get Mr. Delacourte out of his pants.

So much for his seducing every female employee. She was definitely not on his I-must-have-her-tonight list. She gritted her teeth, wishing she could be sure she wasn’t blushing. The fact that her face burned was a bad sign. Scurrying inside, she concentrated on Tina and her sweet smile. The innocence of the sight helped calm her nerves.

“Please follow me, Quinn,” Mr. Delacourte said. She nodded, but refused to meet his gaze. She knew her cheeks were flushed, and she didn’t believe seeing amusement in his eyes would do anything to improve that situation.

Instead she glanced around. The great room looked as though it had been built around a real eighteenth century barn. The ceiling had to be thirty feet high, with thick beams of weathered pine supporting a steeply pitched roof. The floor was stone, the walls, old barn siding. A window-wall took up much of the ocean side of the house, with breathtaking views of surf, sand and sky.

Lauren was impressed, not so much by the fact that her boss had the wealth to own a coveted chunk of Long Island seacoast, but that his estate was more homey then she expected. Nevertheless, she counseled inwardly, Dade Delacourte doesn’t have to live in a golden villa in Sodom or Gomorrah to be a thrill-seeking-woman-chaser!

Lauren trailed a limousine’s length behind Mr. Delacourte, yet didn’t lose sight of him as he exited the great room and headed down a hallway. His soft-soled shoes made hardly a sound on the wide pine planks.

Lauren passed a kitchen brimming with sunlight, lush green plants and the delectable scents of cooking food. She got a quick glimpse of a woman bustling around amid pots and pans, but only a glimpse. It appeared Mr. Delacourte wasn’t inclined to make introductions.

“This is your room, Quinn,” he said, halting at a sunlit entrance. “It’s actually two rooms. The small one off to the left has been set up as the nursery. If there’s anything you lack, please tell Goodberry or Braga, the cook.”

Lauren tried to appear unmoved, as though the suite was nothing more nor less than she was accustomed to on a day-to-day basis. But, heavenly days, the place was wonderful! It had the idyllic grace of a rural cabin, but with the view of a palace. The furnishings were a mix of antique and contemporary, of warm woods and wicker and bright, sunny hues.

On one wall of coarse siding, a collection of old weather vanes gave a sense of drama and fantasy to the room. A shaker rocker sat before the French doors, giving the open space a welcoming, country porch feel. Frothy sheers puddled at the outermost reaches of the glass doors, looking as though they were there for show, never really employed to obscure visual access to the grassy dunes, beach and sparkling sea.

“Miss Quinn?”

His stern use of her name relayed, once again, that he was afraid she’d fallen into some peculiar brain fog. Which she had. Lauren blinked several times, hoping the small flutter of lashes wouldn’t alert Mr. Delacourte to the fact that she’d been deeply intent on computing the pros and cons of the place. “It seems—adequate.”

She made herself turn his way, and frowned. The intensity of his gaze had a surprising seductive quality, and she felt awkward and uncertain. “I—I’ll make a thorough survey, however—to be sure I have everything Tina and I require.” Deciding the situation was making her feel awkward and uncertain enough without staring into his watchful eyes, she dropped her gaze to Tina.

Her heart swelled, and she could hardly keep her happiness locked inside. Lauren marveled at her good fortune to have stumbled into such an extraordinary opportunity—the chance to be with her niece, and to unmask Mr. Delacourte as utterly unfit to raise an innocent little girl.

“Come.” He moved into the room, his scent pleasantly filling her nostrils as he passed her in the doorway. She noticed he took care not to touch her. “I’ll show you the baby’s room.” He glanced back, and with the quirk of a brow, added, “And none too soon. If I’m not mistaken, that expression on her face means she’s—occupied.”

Lauren didn’t understand, and glanced at the baby. Her face was screwed up as though she were having a very deep thought. Chubby cheeks were flushed red. What in the world could that possibly mean—Suddenly Lauren detected a scent much less pleasant than Dade’s aftershave. Oh!

“This is good timing,” Mr. Delacourte said. “You can show me how to change a diaper.”

Lauren heard his words, though they didn’t quite penetrate. Her brain was occupied by this new problem, one that forced her to realize she hadn’t thought her plan through. She had never changed a diaper. She took a breath, then was sorry she had. “Tina, honey,” she murmured, “for a sweet little darling, you…” Her boss’s suggestion finally penetrated, and she shot a glance toward him. “Show you how to what?” She flinched at the panicked edge to the question.

He had reached the door to the baby’s room and turned, his expression concerned. “I said you could show me how to change a diaper. Is there a problem?”

Yes, there’s a problem! I can’t change a diaper! she cried mentally, searching in her mind for what to actually say to the man. “You—you want me to show you how to change a diaper?”

He crossed his arms and lounged against the wall, eyeing her with a wrinkled brow. “If I am to raise this child, there are things I should know how to do.”

“But that’s what a nanny is for.” She didn’t want him watching her beginning, fumbling efforts at taking care of a baby. “You—you leave it to me.”

His jaw worked, and Lauren could tell he was no more happy about this than she. “No. I’ve decided I…” He halted, his nostrils flaring. “Your job description does not include an expectation that I explain my motives, Quinn.” He indicated the way with a curt nod. “If you don’t mind?”

I mind! I really, really mind! she shrieked telepathically, barely managing to keep her features unruffled. With a slow, delaying nod, she trudged toward the nursery. She tried to calm herself. How hard could it be? She’d seen babies being diapered in TV ads. You simply take one of those disposables out of the box, place the baby’s backside on it, slip the part that goes in front between her legs and fasten it with the adhesive tabs. Any idiot with the IQ of sawdust could do that!

The nursery didn’t get much notice. Lauren had the impression it was similarly rustic to her room, though the furniture was white with pink accessories and there weren’t any weather vanes on the walls.

She spied the flat surface and assumed this was where she was to change the baby, mainly because Mr. Delacourte had moved to stand beside it. She scanned the plastic covered countertop. To her horror, she spied beneath it a shelf heaped with cloth diapers, folded in squares. Cloth? She’d never seen a commercial where anybody folded a cloth diaper! She didn’t even know cloth diapers were sold anymore.

“Cloth?” she asked, her voice quivering slightly.

“The environment needs all the help it can get.”

She peered at him, forcing herself not to shout, So you torture me instead! Pressing her lips between her teeth, she nodded as anger flared. He supposedly cared about the environment, but he didn’t care about the women he impregnated on his overnight dalliances! “It’s nice to know you have a conscience about some things,” she muttered.

“Excuse me?”

She cringed. Had she said that out loud? “I said—” she stalled “—it’s nice to know you have a conscience about these things.”

His low laughter was rich. “Thank you, Quinn. I’ll try not to be too wounded by your astonishment.”

With clamped jaws, she gingerly lay Tina on the changing surface. “I’m sure you’ll heal, sir.” She busied herself unsnapping Tina’s pink romper, trying to look as though she knew what she was doing. Considering the fact that she was frightened to death, she was amazed and gratified to notice her fingers hardly shook.

Tina seemed so fragile. She didn’t want to break any tiny arms or legs or fingers or toes. As she meticulously worked her way toward diaper removal, Mr. Delacourte hovered at her elbow. Though he’d vowed not to touch, as she maneuvered, she brushed his belly and chest with her arm. He didn’t shift away. She supposed he felt he needed to get a good, close look so he wouldn’t miss a thing, and her elbow would just have to deal with grazing his body.

She wished she were across the room, or even better, in another state! “Uh, did you make such a close inspection when your other nanny did this?”

“I was busy with work. You’re my teacher, Quinn.”

This was a break. At least he wouldn’t be able to tell when she fouled up royally. She prayed she had enough innate intelligence and maternal instinct so she wouldn’t harm the child in her fumbling efforts.

She grasped the baby by one foot and lifted, but that didn’t work very well. Tina tipped funny. Still, with this lopsided glimpse, Lauren knew she had a mess on her hands. Trying to hide a grimace, she made a quick survey of the tabletop and spotted some Tot-Mops. She plucked one from its pop-up box. Swallowing hard, she began to clean Tina’s tainted little backside. She worked carefully and slowly, grimly determined. When she’d seen these little damp squares of tissue used on TV, it hadn’t taken seven of them to do the job! Luckily a covered wastebasket sat nearby. She could open it with her foot, so she quickly disposed of the yucky things.

“A diaper, please?” she said through gritted teeth. The last thing she wanted was a cloth diaper.

He held one out.

“Just—put it down.”

When he obliged, she closed her eyes and counted to ten. Let me be able to do this! She released Tina to squirm on the plastic surface and eyed the diaper with hostility. The dreaded thing was more oblong than square. That was a stupid shape for a diaper! A shawl, maybe.

She sucked in a breath, then blew it out. It was now or never! She made a snap decision and folded it, creating a triangle—more or less. Mainly less. Not happy with the weird shape, she made another fold. This time, it was no less weird, but smaller. It might work, though it looked like it had been in a head-on collision with a bigger, stronger triangle.

Holding onto her bravado, she raised both of Tina’s legs in one hand and scooted the diaper under her. Quickly she lifted the middle point up between Tina’s legs and folded the other points around her middle to meet the anchoring point. There was a fairly huge overlap. A pessimistic person might even say the thing was a complete failure. However, not having the luxury of pessimism, Lauren boldly retrieved the fasteners from the place she’d pinned them on her sleeve, and affixed the ends in place. Tina’s diaper looked like it had wings.

“That’s interesting,” Mr. Delacourte murmured. “I don’t remember seeing her in anything like that before.”

Lauren’s bluster was a painfully thin subterfuge, but she had no choice but to forge on. “It’s a new fold.”

“What’s it called, the Boeing 747?”

Her lips twitched with wayward humor, but she refused to allow him to see. Instead she concentrated on getting Tina into her plastic pants and romper. “Where shall I put the soiled diaper, sir?”

“There’s a pail in the bathroom, on your right.”

She peered in that direction and nodded, then presented him with his daughter. “Please hold her for a moment, while I dispose of it and wash my hands.”

His expression was priceless, though irritating. He seemed as startled by being offered his child as he might be if she’d asked him to hold her spleen. “Haven’t you ever held her?”