Baby for the Tycoon

“Don’t apologize. I’d have woken you if she’d been any trouble.”

Wendy’s eyebrows shot up. When was Peyton not trouble? She fussed a lot. Wanted to be held constantly. Screamed anytime Wendy put her down. In general, made Wendy feel like a real winner as a parent.

“We got up a couple of hours ago,” Jonathon was saying. He continued rocking as he spoke, looking down at Peyton the whole time. “She had her morning bottle. Then we made me some oatmeal. She sat on my lap while I read through some emails. She spit up a little on the office floor. Thank God for the plastic mat my chair sits on, right, Peyton?”

Oookay. Maybe that explained why his smile looked so different than his normal grin. Obviously, it was Jonathon who’d been abducted by aliens and replaced by some sort of pod person. The man before her bore no resemblance to the cold and calculating businessman she’d dealt with for the past five years.

Unfortunately, this new guy was way more appealing, which was so annoying.

Jonathon looked up at her, his expression clouding with concern. “Anything wrong?”

“No, I… Why?”

“You looked a little, faint or something.” “No. I’m… great. Fantastic. But hungry. That’s it. I must be hungry.”

“Okay.” The concern lining his brow had taken on a decidedly skeptical gleam. As though he suspected she might need to spend a little time in a padded room. “Why not get dressed and grab yourself some breakfast. Peyton and I will be fine here.”

As if to signal her assent, Peyton blinked up at him with wide blue eyes, then gave the bottle a particularly vigorous suck before sighing and allowing her eyes to drift closed. She looked for all the world like a baby completely happy and at peace.

Emotion choked Wendy’s throat, something that felt unpleasantly like envy. She’d worked her butt off for that baby over the past few weeks, turned her life upside down, prepared to battle her family to the end. And yet Peyton had never once looked up at her with dreamy contentment. Then again, Jonathon always had been quick to win over the ladies.

Wendy sighed. “I wish she was half as peaceful in my arms as she is with you.”

“Why do you say that?”

Because if growing up a Morgan had taught her anything, it was that the best way to deal with negative emotions was to voice them aloud. Get them out into the open rather than letting them simmer. Still, admitting such a feeling was unpleasant, so she softened her words with a diffident shrug. “She seems to fight me constantly. Makes me wonder if—” Wendy blew out a breath. “I don’t know, if she knows something I don’t. If she knows I don’t have what it takes to be a good mother.”

When she looked back at Jonathon, his smile was still there, but the humor in his eyes had dimmed to understanding.

“The thing about dealing with babies—” he gently pulled the bottle nipple from Peyton’s mouth, then maneuvered her so her belly rested against his shoulder “—it’s about five percent instinct and ninety-five percent experience. Plus, they’re very intuitive—that’s all they’ve got. So if you’re nervous, she’ll pick up on it and she’ll be nervous too.”

Jonathon gave Peyton’s back several thumps. After about the tenth, she burped without even opening her eyes.

“How’d you do that? I can never get her to burp.”

“Like I said. It’s experience. If she’s been a difficult baby so far, it’s not because she has you pegged as a bad parent. You just don’t know all the tricks yet. Besides, she’s been through a lot in her short life.”

Was it really that simple? Time would heal all wounds? Watching Peyton sleep on Jonathon’s shoulder, Wendy certainly hoped so. But she couldn’t help worrying if there was more to it than that. That there were deficiencies no amount of experience could compensate for. After all, she’d never be Peyton’s real mother.

Almost as if he could read her mind, Jonathon added, “Give her some time. Give yourself some time too.” Then Jonathon let out a bark of laughter. “Jeez, I sound like Dr.

Phil.”

She laughed along with him, despite the lump of sorrow burrowing into her chest. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone at work.”

“Thanks.”

A moment of silence stretched between them. She should leave. Take advantage of Peyton’s sleep to go shower or something. Yet she found her feet rooted to the ground as she watched him rocking the tiny infant.

“Why aren’t you a father?” she asked, almost before she realized she meant to say it.

He arched an eyebrow.

Heat crept into her cheeks. “I mean, clearly you’re great with kids. It seems like a no-brainer that you should have some of your own.”

“I get frustrated enough trying to get Matt to clean up his third of the office.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I. I’ve never had any desire to be a father.” His tone was harsh, leaving no room for doubt. The touchy-feely portion of their discussion was over. “She should be asleep for a couple of hours at least. You should take advantage of it and get some breakfast.”

“Thanks. I will.”

She left the room without looking back, but with his words still echoing in her mind. He’d never wanted to be a father. Yet he’d just signed up for a two-year gig. She’d assumed when he asked her to marry him that he wouldn’t be playing an active role in raising Peyton. But less than twenty-four hours in and he’d cared for Peyton more than she had.

He was going to an awful lot of trouble to keep her around. She could only hope she was half as good an assistant as he thought she was. Because she was certainly going to need to earn her keep.

Since he’d insisted repeatedly that he didn’t need her, she wandered down to the kitchen for breakfast. She’d never even stepped into his house before last night. It wasn’t quite what she’d expected. Like Matt, a few years before, Jonathon had bought one of the ridiculously expensive craftsman houses in Old Palo Alto. Though the homes were aging and modest, the neighborhood was one of the more expensive in the country. The interior of Jonathon’s house had been renovated to its early-20th-century glory with meticulous detail. The furniture was a collection of authentic Mission antiques and clean-lined Japanese pieces that complemented them. She found the kitchen surprisingly well stocked. Not in the mood to cook anything, she rummaged through his pantry until she found a box of Pop-Tarts. She eyed them warily for a second—because Jonathon so did not seem like the Frosted Strawberry Pop-Tart type—then snagged a package and headed back upstairs.

She took a leisurely shower, nibbling on the pastry as she dressed. Jonathon had never been one of those men who didn’t know how to ask for help. If he’d needed her before now, he would have woken her up. She’d gotten enough phone calls at six o’clock in the morning over the years to know that. Whatever he was doing with Peyton, he didn’t need her immediately. Confident that Peyton must still be asleep, she took the time to linger over her grooming in a way she hadn’t in the past couple of weeks. She did things like brush her hair. Floss her teeth. And put on ChapStick.

The rest had done wonders for her. Not only had she finally gotten a decent night’s sleep, but obviously Jonathon had handled Peyton with perfect competence. Just as he’d said he would. That one small thing renewed her faith in this whole endeavor.

They had a week before they left for Texas. Which was more than enough time for them to settle into enough of a routine to fool her parents and family about their relationship. Jonathon obviously knew enough about babies that he’d be able to help her over the rough spots she was sure to encounter.

They’d spend a quick weekend in Texas convincing her family that they were Peyton’s perfect guardians. Then they’d head back to Palo Alto and their lives would return to normal. Or as normal as they could be since she and Jonathon were now married and living together. All in all, life seemed damn good.

Once she’d verified that Peyton wasn’t asleep in the nursery, she headed downstairs. She was about halfway down the stairs when she heard voices. Trepidation tripped along her nerves as she paused, head tilted to better hear the conversation coming from the kitchen.

Heart pounding, she made her way there. It could be Ford or Matt. Or a neighbor. Or… Then she heard it. Just outside the swinging door leading into the kitchen. A deep Texas twang.

“We would have come earlier if you’d given us more warning that y’all were fixin’ to get married.”

She squeezed her eyes closed, fighting back a burst of panic as she blew out a long breath. Then she shoved open the door and walked into the kitchen. To face her family.

Seven

Having lived his entire life in the northern half of California, Jonathon had weathered his share of earthquakes. He’d long ago gotten over whatever fear he might have had of them. But there were plenty of other act-of-God weather systems that scared the crap out of him. Tornadoes. Hurricanes. Tsunamis.

Anything that would swoop in and level an entire coastal plain deserved a healthy dose of respectful fear.

Clearly, Wendy’s family fell into that category.

About ten minutes after Wendy had disappeared to take a shower, her family had arrived on his doorstep in a tidal wave of hearty handshakes, welcoming slaps and tearful hugs. It was a bit overwhelming, given that he’d never met any of them and would have had no idea who they were if he hadn’t recognized her uncle, Big Hank, from the news clips he’d seen of the senator. And before Jonathon knew it, Wendy’s parents, Tim and Marion, had swept into the house, followed by Big Hank, carefully lending an arm to the infamous Mema.

Jonathon had barely recovered from the stinging clap on the arm from Big Hank, when he faced down Mema. After Wendy’s description, he’d half expected an old battleship of a woman. Instead, Mema was thin and stooped, fragile in appearance despite the strength of will that seemed to radiate from her.

A hush fell over the other members of the family as she shook his hand and appraised him. She had the wizened appearance of a woman who had lived hard and buried too many loved ones, but who was not yet ready to release her control over the rest of her clan.

She eyed him up and down. “Well, at least you’re real.”

“You doubted it?” he asked.

She sniffed indignantly. “I wouldn’t put it past Gwen to invent a husband just to defy me.” “I assure you, ma’am. I’m real.”

“As for what kind of father you’ll be for my great-granddaughter, that we’ll have to see about.” Then her steely gaze narrowed with sharp perception and raked over Jonathon a second time. Finally she gave a little nod. “I’ve never had much use for overly handsome men. But then, neither has my Gwen, so I suppose there must be more to you than good looks.”

He offered a wry smile. “I should hope so.”

It was almost thirty minutes later when Wendy came down. The guarded look on her face as she walked through the door told him she’d heard them before entering the kitchen.

She was greeted with hugs that lasted longer and more joyful tears than he would have expected, given the way she’d described the strained relationship she shared with her family. Throughout it all, she kept a careful eye on Peyton, who was currently being held by Wendy’s mother, as if Wendy expected that any moment the family might escape with the baby.

“What are y’all doing here?” she asked when she was finally able to get a word in edgewise.

He suppressed a smile. In five years, he’d never heard a hint of the Texas accent her family all sported. But three minutes in their company and she was slipping into y’alls.

“Oh, honey,” her mother cooed, her voice all sugary sweet. “Of course we would come for your wedding. If we’d had enough warning, we would have been here.” She shook her head, tears brimming in her eyes. “I can’t believe I missed the wedding of my only daughter.”

“I did tell you a week ago we were getting married. If you’d really wanted to come, you could have.”

“But Big Hank had the jet in D.C.,” her mother bemoaned, “and we had to wait until he could fit the trip into his schedule.”

Jonathon felt a pang of regret, but Wendy muttered, “I’m glad to know you found the idea of flying commercial more repugnant than the prospect of missing my wedding.”

Tim’s head snapped up. “Young lady, you’ll speak respectfully to your mother.”

“Or what?” Wendy asked, anger creeping into her voice. “You’ll cut off my allowance? The woman has missed almost every major event in my life since I was ten. And those that she showed up for, she criticized endlessly. I think she’ll live.”

“Gwen—” her mother started to protest.

Then Mema cleared her throat and both Wendy and her mother fell silent. Their heads swiveled to face her.

“In the wake of our Bitsy’s recent and tragic death, it is time for you to put aside your past differences.” She stared them both down. Mother and daughter both dropped their gazes. “Now, the flight from Texas was long and I’d like to clean up before resting a bit before lunch.” She turned to Jonathon. “I assume all the bedrooms are on the second floor?”

“They are,” he said, not sure what she was getting at.

“Very well, then. I noticed an office just off the foyer. I’ll sleep there. I don’t do stairs well. Big Hank, please arrange for a bed to be delivered before evening. In the meantime, I’ll rest on the sofa there.”

Jonathon watched in amazement as a senior U.S. senator practically leaped to help his mother out of the kitchen. A moment later, Wendy’s father had been sent out to the limo to instruct the driver where to bring the bags, and her mother had retreated to the nursery “to get reacquainted with her great-niece.”

The second Jonathon and Wendy were all alone, she practically threw up her hands. “Why didn’t you come get me the second they arrived?”

“You were dressing. I told them they could wait until you came down.”

She tilted her head, studying him as if he were some foreign life form she’d never seen before. “You stood up to them?”

Ah. So that’s what had her so puzzled. “Yes. I stood up to them. Do people not normally do that?”

She gave a bemused chuckle. “No. People don’t normally do that.” Shaking her head, she started carrying coffee cups from the kitchen table to the sink. Almost under her breath, she said, “I once dated a guy whose parents were lifelong members of Greenpeace. He’d spent every summer since he was ten on boats protesting whaling in Japan. He’d marched on Washington forty-four times before he was twenty. He’d been a vegan since he was three. Within thirty minutes of meeting my family, he was eating barbeque and smoking cigars out on the back porch with Big Hank.” Shaking her head, she started rinsing out coffee cups and loading them into the dishwasher. “Within a week, he’d accepted a job working for my dad.”

Jonathon studied the tense lines of her back. Her tone had been sad, but resigned. “The guy sounds like an idiot.”

“No. He was very smart. The last I heard, Jed was VP of marketing for Morgan Oil. And Daddy would never promote anyone that high up who wasn’t brilliant.”

Jonathon gently turned her away from the sink and tipped her chin up to look at him. “That’s not the kind of idiot I mean.”

Her gaze met his, confusion in her eyes for a minute. Then her gaze cleared as she realized his meaning. Pink tinged her cheeks and pulled away from his touch. Tucking her hair back behind her ear she swallowed. “Thank you. For standing up to them, I mean. For everything.”

“You’re welcome.”

She gave a bitter laugh. “You say that now. But you don’t actually know what you’ve gotten yourself into.” She looked pointedly at the kitchen door through which her family had left not long before. “This nonsense with them sweeping down on us unannounced? Inviting themselves to stay here? Ordering a bed for Mema to sleep on? This is all just the beginning. It’ll only get worse.”

“Of course it will,” he stated as blandly as he could. “You think I didn’t know that the second I opened the door?”

“I… I don’t know. I guess… Most people don’t see them for what they are.”

“Try to have a little faith in me,” he chided.

“I’m just warning you. My dad and Uncle Hank will woo you with their good ol’ boy charm. And just when you think that you’re their buddy and they’re nothing more than simple roughnecks, they’ll use that keen intelligence of theirs to manipulate you. And if they can’t control you, they’ll try to squash you.”

“Consider me warned.” He nodded. “Coming here was obviously a power play. They think they have the upper hand because they’ve chosen the time and location of the showdown. They’re trying to establish themselves as the decision makers in the relationship. What about your mother? She seems harmless enough.”

“Um, no.” Wendy thought about it. Of all the family members, her relationship with her mother was the most complicated. There were times when she actually liked her mother. Of course, she loved all of them, but her mother she actually liked. But she’d never understood her. And her mother had her moments of being just as vicious as Uncle Hank. “In all those scuba-diving trips you take, you ever been in the water with a jellyfish?”

“Several times. They sting like hell.”

“Exactly. They look delicate and frail, but they have more than enough defenses. That’s my mother in a nutshell. She can play the victim, but she’s as smart as—” That’s when it hit her. “Oh, crap.”

“What?”

“The bedroom!” She leaped to her feet and dashed for the stairs.

Jonathon snagged her arm on the way past. “What?”

She whispered, just in case anyone was close enough to hear, “The guest bedroom. Where I slept last night.”

He continued to stare blankly at her. Seriously? Mr. Genius couldn’t figure this out?

She lowered her voice to a hiss. “Last night. On our wedding night. I slept in the guest bedroom.” She resisted the urge to bop him on the forehead. “And now my mother is upstairs with Peyton. And if she sees the guest bedroom, she’ll realize we didn’t sleep together last night.”

This time, she didn’t wait around to see if his sluggish brain had started working at normal speed. Instead, she pulled her arm from his hand and made a break for the stairs. He was hot on her heels as she took the stairs two at a time.

She stopped at the top, breathing rapidly through her mouth and she looked around for her parents. A long gallery hall ran from the top of the stairs to the guest room at the end. They’d have to pass the nursery to get there.

Crap, crap and double crap.

This was going to be tricky. She crept down the hall, praying that Jonathon would walk as softly. Or head back downstairs if he couldn’t.

She tiptoed right up to the doorway and pressed herself against the wall, listening. She heard the faint, steady creak, creak of a rocking chair.

If her mom was sitting in the chair rocking Peyton, there was a good chance Wendy could sneak past to the guest bedroom, make the bed and sneak out with anyone being the wiser. Or more importantly, becoming suspicious.

Slinking past the door, she heard two things that would have stopped her in her tracks if she hadn’t been in such a desperate hurry. The first was Jonathon’s heavy footfall behind her. The next was her father’s voice from within the nursery.

She glanced through the open door, but saw no one. Maybe they’d make it. But when she heard the rocking chair still, she grabbed Jonathon’s hand and made a dash for it.

If her parents heard them and followed, she and Jonathon would never have time to actually make the bed. Certainly not neatly enough to put her father off the scent.

And this wasn’t the day to leave up to fate.

Pulling Jonathon into the room after her, turning him so his back was to the door, she flashed him a wry smile. “Sorry about this.”

“About what?”

She only had an instant to appreciate how charming he looked with that bemused expression on his face before she launched herself at him. They both tumbled backward onto the bed in a tangle of arms and legs. He might have gasped with surprise. She didn’t have a chance to notice, as she pressed her mouth to his and kissed him.

The second Jonathon felt Wendy’s mouth on his, he gave up trying to figure out what she was doing. She’d been babbling about the bedroom one minute and kissing him like a woman overwhelmed by desire the next. A smart man knew when to hold his questions for later.

Instead, he wrapped his hand around the back of her head and deepened the kiss. Her lips moved over his in sensual abandon, her tongue stroking against his in the kind of soul-deep kiss that made a man forget everything except the burning need to possess.

Desire pounded through him, heating his blood and tightening his groin. He fought against the desperate need to strip her naked and plow into her. A need that had been building within him for what seemed like years. Hell, probably had been years. As desperately as he wanted her, he didn’t want this. This frantic, rapid rush of sex without fulfillment.

He wanted more. He wanted all of her.

Rolling her over onto her back, he took control of the kiss. Her hand had started pulling his shirt out from his waistband. If her hot little hand so much as touched his bare chest, he’d lose the last shreds of his control. So he grabbed both her hands in his and pulled them over her head, pinning them there. She let out a low groan, arching her back off the bed.

Yes. This was what he wanted: her, on the brink. As desperate and needy as he felt.

He slowed the kiss down, exploring every sweet corner of her mouth. Loving her sleepy flavor, the faint hint of coffee. The smooth heat of her tongue against his. Her hips bucked against his as she ground the vee between her legs against the length of his erection. Even through the multiple layers of her clothes, he could feel the heat of her.

But it wasn’t enough. Merely kissing her would never be enough. Not when there was so much of her body left to explore. That silken shoulder that had been tempting him for so long. That tender swath of skin along her collarbone. The hollow at the base of her throat. The glimpse of her belly he sometimes saw when she rose up on her toes to get a fresh ream of printer paper.

His hand sought the hem of her shirt. He slipped his hand up to her rib cage, relishing how incredibly soft her skin was. He felt the edge of her bra and hesitated. He’d waited years to touch her naked skin. His hand damn near trembled at the prospect.

But was this really what he wanted? A quick grope in the guest bedroom when her family was just down the hall?

No, he wanted her naked. Laid out before him like a feast. He wanted hours. Days.

He wanted—

Jonathon’s head jerked up as he pulled back from Wendy and sent her a piercing look.

Her family was just down the hall. What the hell had she been—

A sound came from the doorway. A man clearing his voice.

Jonathon whipped his head around and saw Wendy’s parents standing in the doorway. Her mom, a perfect, older version of Wendy, stood with her hands propped on her hips, but the teasing smile on her lips softened any reproach in her gaze. Wendy’s father, on the other hand, looked ready to throttle him.

With good reason.

The man had just caught him groping his daughter like a desperate teenager.

Wendy’s dad growled—actually growled—with displeasure and took a step toward him. Wendy’s mother grabbed her husband by the arm. Though the petite woman couldn’t possibly have had the strength to stop the man in his tracks, her touch still gave him pause.

“Wendy, your father and I will be waiting for you in the hall. Why don’t you come out in a minute when you’ve had a chance to get yourselves… under control.”

A moment later the guest bedroom door closed.

Jonathon rolled off Wendy, planted his feet firmly on the ground and dropped his head into his waiting hands.