A Daddy For Christmas

Hopefully that call had included a sitter since he was dressed for work as well, in a black Savile Row suit with a Christmas-red tie. God, he was handsome, with his blond hair damp and combed back, his broad hand patting the baby’s back. His face wore a perpetual five-o’clock shadow, just enough to be nighttime sexy without sliding over into scruffy.

He filled out the expensive suit with ease. Was there any realm that made this man uncomfortable? He’d taken care of the baby through the night and still looked totally put together.

His eyes searched hers and she shivered, wondering what he saw as he stood there holding Issa so easily. The man was a multitasker. He was also someone with an uncanny knack for getting into a person’s mind. He’d found her vulnerable spot in one evening. After all of her tense and bicontinental Christmases, she simply couldn’t bear for this child to spend the holidays confused and scared while the system figured out what to do with her—and the other thousands of orphans in their care.

She couldn’t replace the child’s mother, but she could make sure the child was held, cared for, secure. To do that, she needed to keep her mind off the charismatic man a few feet away.

He looked over at her as if he’d known she was there the whole time. “Good morning. Coffee’s ready along with a tray of pastries.”

And some sweet, sticky bouili dipping sauce.

Her mouth watered for the food almost as much as for the man. She walked to the granite countertop and poured herself a mug of coffee from the silver carafe. She inhaled the rich java fragrance steaming up from the dark roast with hints of fruity overtones. “Did she sleep well?”

“Well enough, just as I would expect from a baby who’s experienced so much change,” he said, tucking the baby into a swing with expert hands. “The hotel’s sending up a sitter for the day. I verified her references and qualifications. They seem solid, so we should be covered through our lecture presentations. Tonight we can take Issa out for dinner and a stroll incognito, kill time while we let the cops finish their initial investigation. If they haven’t found out anything by tomorrow, we can go public.”

Dinner out? Revealing their plan to the world? Her heart pounded with nerves, but it was too late to go back now. The world would already be buzzing with leaked news. Best to make things official on their own terms.

If Issa’s family wasn’t found by tomorrow, she would have to call her parents and let them know about her strange partnership with Rowan. First, she had to decide how she wanted to spin it so her parents didn’t jump to the wrong conclusions—or try to interfere. This needed to be a good thing for the baby, not just about positive press. She would play it by ear today and call them tonight once she had a firmer idea of what she’d gotten herself into.

Maybe Issa would be back with relatives before supper. A good thing, right?

Rowan started the baby swing in motion. The click-click-click mingled with a low nursery tune.

Mari cleared her throat. “I’ll check on Issa during lunch and make sure all’s going well with the sitter.”

“That’s a good idea. Thank you.” He cradled a cup in strong hands that could so easily crush the fine china.

She shrugged dismissively. It was no hardship to skip the luncheon. She disliked the idle table chitchat at these sorts of functions anyway. “No big sacrifice. Nobody likes conference lunch food.”

Laughing softly, he eyed her over his cup of coffee. “I appreciate your working with me on this.”

“You didn’t leave me much choice, Dr. Guilt Trip.”

His smile creased dimples into his face. “Who’d have thought you’d have a sense of humor?”

“That’s not nice.” She traced the rim of her cup.

“Neither is saying I coerced you.” He tapped the tip of her scrunched nose. “People always have a choice.”

Of course he was right. She could always walk, but thinking overlong about her compulsion to stay made her edgy. She sat at the table, the morning sun glistening off the ocean waters outside. “Of course I’m doing this of my own free will, for Issa’s sake. It has absolutely nothing to do with you.”

“Hello? I thought we weren’t going to play games.”

She avoided his eyes and sipped her steaming java. “What do you mean, games?”

“Fine. I’ll spell it out.” He set down his cup on the table and sat beside her, their knees almost touching. “You have made it your life’s mission to tear down my research and to keep me at arm’s length. Yet you chose to stay here, for the baby, but you and I both know there’s more to it than that. There’s a chemistry between us, sparks.”

“Those sparks—” she proceeded warily “—are just a part of our disagreements.”

“Disagreements? You’ve publically denounced my work. That’s a little more than a disagreement.”

Of course he wouldn’t forget that. “See, sparks. Just like I said.”

His eyes narrowed. If only he could understand her point. She only wanted to get past his impulsive, pigheaded mindset and improve his programs.

“Mari, you’re damn good at diverting from the topic.”

“I’m right on point,” she said primly. “This is about our work and you refused to consider that I see things from another angle. You’ve made it your life’s mission to ignore any pertinent input I might have for your technological inventions. I am a scientist.”

He scraped a hand over his drying hair. “Then why are you so against my computer program?”

“I thought we were talking about what’s best for Issa.” She glanced at the baby girl still snoozing in the swing with the lullaby playing.

“Princess, you are making my head spin.” He sagged back. “We’re here for Issa, but that doesn’t mean we can’t talk about other things, so quit changing the subject every three seconds. In the interest of getting along better during these next couple of weeks, let’s discuss your public disdain for my life’s work.”

Was he serious? Did he really want to hash that out now? He certainly looked serious, drinking his coffee and downing bites of breakfast. Maybe he was one of those people who wanted to make peace at the holidays in spite of bickering all year round. She knew plenty about that. Which should have taught her well. Problems couldn’t be avoided or the resolutions delayed. Best to confront them when given the opening.

“Your program is just too much of a snapshot of a diagnosis, too much of a quick fix. It’s like fast-food medicine. It doesn’t take into account enough variables.” Now she waited for the explosion.

He inhaled a deep breath and tipped back in his chair before answering. “I can see your point. To a degree, I agree. I would welcome the chance to give every patient the hands-on medical treatment of the best clinic in the world. But I’m treating the masses with a skeleton team of medical professionals. That computer program helps us triage in half the time.”

“What about people who use your program to cut corners?”

Rowan frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You can’t truly believe the world is as altruistic as you? What about the clinics using that program to funnel more patients through just to make more money?”

His chair legs hit the floor, his jaw tightening. “I can’t be the conscience for the world,” he said in an even tone although a tic had started in the corner of his azure-blue eye. “I can only deal with the problems in front of me. I’m working my tail off to come up with help. Would I prefer more doctors and nurses, PAs and midwives, human hands? Hell, yes. But I make do with what I have and I do what I can so those of us who are here can be as efficient as possible under conditions they didn’t come close to teaching us about during my residency.”

“So you admit the program isn’t optimal?” She couldn’t believe he’d admitted to the program’s shortcomings.

“Really?” He threw up his hands. “That’s your takeaway from my whole rambling speech? I’m being practical, and you’re being idealistic in your ivory tower of research. I’m sorry if that makes you angry to hear.”

“I’m not the volatile sort.” She pursed her lips tightly to resist the temptation to snap at him for devaluing her work.

Slowly, he grinned, leaning closer. “That’s too bad.”

“Pardon me?” she asked, not following his logic at all.

“Because when you get all flustered, you’re really hot.”

Her eyes shot open wide, surprise skittering through her, followed by skepticism. “Does that line really work for you?”

“I’ve never tried it before.” He angled closer until his mouth almost brushed hers. “You’ll have to let me know.”

Before she could gasp in half a breath of air, he brushed his mouth over hers. Shock quickly turned to something else entirely as delicious tingles shimmered through her. Her body warmed to the feel of him, the newness of his kiss, their first kiss, a moment already burning itself into her memory, searing through her with liquid heat.

Her hand fluttered to his chest, flattening, feeling the steady, strong beat of his heart under her palm matching the thrumming heartbeat in her ears. His kiss was nothing like she would have imagined. She’d expected him to be out of control, wild. Instead, he held her like spun glass. He touched her with deft, sensitive hands, surgeon’s hands that knew just the right places to graze, stroke, tease for maximum payoff. Her body thrilled at the caress down her spine that cupped her bottom, bringing her closer.

Already she could feel herself sinking into a spiral of lush sensation. Her limbs went languid with desire. She wanted more of this, more of him, but they were a heartbeat away from tossing away their clothes and inhibitions. Too risky for a multitude of reasons, not the least of which was the possibility of someone discovering them.

Those sorts of exposé photos she absolutely did not want circulating on the internet or anywhere else.

Then, too soon he pulled away. How embarrassing that he was the one to stop since she already knew the kiss had to end. Never had she lost control this quickly.

Cool air and embarrassment washed over her as she sat stunned in her chair. He’d completely knocked the world out from under her with one simple kiss. Had he even been half as affected as she was by the moment? She looked quickly at him, but his back was to her already and she realized he was walking toward the door.

“Rowan?”

He glanced over his shoulder. “The buzzer—” Was that a hint of hoarseness in his voice? “The baby sitter has arrived.”

Mari pressed her fingers to her still tingling lips, wondering if a day apart would be enough time to shore up her defenses again before their evening out.

* * *

That evening, Rowan pushed the baby stroller along the marketplace road. Vendors lined the street, and he eyed the place for potential trouble spots. Even with bodyguards trailing them, he kept watch. The baby in the stroller depended on him.

And so did the woman beside him. Mari wore her business suit, without the jacket, just the skirt and blouse, a scarf wrapped over her head and large sunglasses on for disguise, looking like a leggy 1940s movie star.

She strolled beside him, her hand trailing along stalls that overflowed with handwoven cloths and colorful beads. Bins of fresh fruits and vegetables sat out, the scent of roasting turkey and goat carrying on the salty beach breeze. Waves crashed in the distance, adding to the rhythmic percussion of a local band playing Christmas tunes while children danced. Locals and tourists angled past in a crush, multiple languages coming at him in stereo—Cape Verdean Creole, Portuguese, French, English...and heaven knew how many others.

Tonight, he finally had Mari out of the work world and alone with him. Okay, alone with him, a baby, bodyguards and a crush of shoppers.

The last rays of the day bathed Mari in a crimson glow. She hadn’t referenced their kiss earlier, so he’d followed her lead on that, counting it a victory that she wasn’t running. Clearly, she’d been as turned on as he was. But still, she hadn’t run.

With the taste of her etched in his memory, there was not a chance in hell he was going anywhere. More than ever, he was determined to get closer to her, to sample a hell of a lot more than her lips.

But he was smart enough to take his time. This woman was smart—and skittish. He made his living off reading subtle signs, deciphering puzzles, but this woman? She was the most complex individual he’d ever met.

Could that be a part of her appeal? The mysterious element? The puzzle?

The “why” of it didn’t matter so much to him right now. He just wanted to make the most of this evening out and hopefully gain some traction in identifying Issa’s family. While they’d gotten a few curious looks from people and a few surreptitiously snapped photos, so far, no one had openly approached them.

He checked left and right again, reconfirming their unobtrusive security detail, ensuring the men were close enough to intervene if needed. Colonel Salvatore had been very accommodating about rounding up the best in the business ASAP, although he still had no answers on the baby’s identity. Issa’s footprints hadn’t come up in any databases, but then the child could have been a home birth, unregistered. Salvatore had insisted he hadn’t come close to exhausting all their investigative options yet.

For now, their best lead would come from controlled press exposure, getting the child seen and praying some legit relative stepped up to claim her.

Meanwhile, Rowan finally had his chance to be with Mari, to romance her, and what better place than in this country he loved, with holiday festivities lightening the air. He would have cared for the baby even if Mari had opted out, so he didn’t feel guilty about using the child to persuade Mari to stay. He was just surprised she’d agreed so easily.

That gave him pause—and encouragement.

She hesitated at a stall of clay bowls painted with scenes of everyday life. She trailed her fingers along a piece before moving on to the jewelry, where she stopped for the longest time yet. He’d found her weakness. He wouldn’t have pegged her as the type to enjoy those sorts of baubles, but her face lit up as she sifted through beads, necklaces. She seemed to lean more toward practical clothes and loose-fitting suits or dresses. Tonight she wore a long jean jumper and thick leather sandals.

Her hand lingered on the bracelets before she stepped back, the wistfulness disappearing from her golden eyes. “We should find somewhere to eat dinner. The conference food has left me starving for something substantial.”

“Point the way. Ladies choice tonight,” he said, curious to know what she would choose, what she liked, the way he’d just learned her preferences on the bracelets. Shoppers bustled past, cloth sacks bulging with purchases, everything from souvenirs to groceries.

Instinctively, she moved between the baby stroller and the hurrying masses. “How about we eat at a street-side café while we watch the performances?”

“Sounds good to me.” He could keep watch better that way, but then he always kept his guard up. His work with Interpol showed him too well that crime didn’t always lurk in the expected places.

He glanced down the street, taking in the carolers playing drums and pipes. Farther down, a group of children acted out the nativity in simple costumes. The sun hadn’t gone down yet, so there was less worry about crime.

Rowan pointed to the nearby café with blue tables and fresh fish. “What about there?”

“Perfect, I’ll be able to see royal watchers coming.”

“Although your fan club seems to have taken a break.” He wheeled the stroller toward the restaurant where the waitress instructed them to seat themselves. Issa still slept hard, sucking on a fist and looking too cute for words in a red Christmas sleeper.

Mari laughed, the scarf sliding down off her head, hanging loosely around her neck. “Funny how I couldn’t escape photo-happy sorts at the hotel—” she tugged at either end of the silky scarf “—and yet now no one seems to notice me when some notoriety could serve some good.”

“Issa’s photo has already been released to law enforcement. If nothing comes of it by tomorrow morning, the story will break about our involvement and add an extra push. For now, anyway, the baby and I make good camouflage for you to savor your dinner.”

“Mama-flage,” she said as he held out her chair for her.

“Nice! I’m enjoying your sense of humor more and more.” And he was enjoying a lot more about her as well this evening. He caught the sweet floral scent on her neck as he eased her chair into place.

His mind filled with images of her wearing only perfume and an assortment of the colorful beads from the marketplace. Damn, and now he would be awake all night thinking about the lithe figure she hid under her shapeless suits.

Mari glanced back at him, peering over her sunglasses, her amber eyes reflecting the setting sun. “Is something the matter?”

“Of course not.” He took his seat across from her, his foot firmly on the stroller even knowing there were a half-dozen highly trained bodyguards stationed anonymously around them. She might not use them, but he’d made sure to hire a crew for the safety of both Mari and Issa.

The waitress brought glasses and a pitcher of fruit juice—guava and mango—not showing the least sign of recognizing the royal customer she served. This was a good dry run for when they would announce their joint custody publicly.

“What a cute baby,” the waitress cooed without even looking at them. “I just love her little red Christmas outfit. She looks like an adorable elf.” She toyed with toes in tiny green booties.

“Thank you,” Mari said, then mouthed at Rowan, “Mama-flage.”

After they’d placed their order for swordfish with cachupa—a mixture of corn and beans—Mari leaned back in her chair, appearing far more relaxed than the woman who’d taken refuge in his suite the night before. She eased the sunglasses up to rest on top of her head.

“You look like you’ve had a couple of servings of grogue.” Grogue was a sugar cane liquor drunk with honey that flowed freely here.

“No alcohol for me tonight, thank you.” She lifted a hand. “My turn to watch the baby.”

“I don’t mind taking the night shift if you’re not comfortable.”

She raised a delicately arched dark eyebrow. “Somewhere in the world, a couple dozen new moms just swooned and they don’t know why.”

“I’m just trying to be helpful. You have the heavier presentation load.”

She stirred sugar into her coffee. “Are you trying to coerce me into kissing you again?”

“As I recall, I kissed you and you didn’t object.”

She set her spoon down with a decisive clink. “Well, you shouldn’t count on doing it again.”

“Request duly noted,” he replied, not daunted in the least. He saw the speeding of her pulse, the flush of awareness along her dusky skin.

He started to reach for her, just to brush his knuckles along that pulse under the pretense of brushing something aside—except a movement just out of the corner of his eye snagged his attention. Alert, he turned to see an older touristy-looking couple moving toward them.

Mari sat back abruptly, her hand fluttering to her throat. Rowan assessed the pair. Trouble could come in any form, at any age. The bodyguards’ attention ramped up as they stalked along the perimeter, closing the circle of protection. Mari reached for her sunglasses. Rowan didn’t see any signs of concealed weapons, but he slid his hand inside his jacket, resting his palm on his 9 mm, just in case.

The elderly husband, wearing a camera and a man-purse over his shoulder, stopped beside Mari.

“Excuse us, but would you mind answering a question?” he asked with a thick New Jersey accent.

Was their cover busted? If so, did it really matter that they went public a few hours early? Not for him or the baby, but because he didn’t want Mari upset, bolting away from the press, terrified, like the night before.

She tipped her head regally, her shoulders braced as she placed the sunglasses on the table. “Go ahead.”

The wife angled in eagerly. “Are the two of you from around here?”

Rowan’s mouth twitched. Not busted at all. “Not from the island, ma’am. We both live on the mainland.”

“Oh, all right, I see.” She furrowed her brow. “Maybe you can still help me. Where’s the Kwanzaa celebration?”

Mari’s eyes went wide with surprise, then a hint of humor glinted before her face went politely neutral. “Ma’am, that’s an American tradition.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize.” Her forehead furrowed as she adjusted her fanny pack. “I just didn’t expect so much Christmas celebration.”

Mari glanced at the children finishing up their nativity play and accepting donations for their church. “Africa has a varied cultural and religious heritage. How much of each you find depends on which portion of the continent you’re visiting. This area was settled by the Portuguese,” she explained patiently, “which accounts for the larger influence of Christian traditions than you might find in other regions.”

“Thank you for being so patient in explaining.” The wife pulled out a travel guide and passed it to her husband, her eyes staying on Mari. “You look very familiar, dear. Have I seen you somewhere before?”

Pausing for a second, Mari eyed them, then said, “People say I look like the Princess Mariama Mandara. Sometimes I even let folks believe that.”

She winked, grinning mischievously.

The older woman laughed. “What a wicked thing to do, young lady. But then I imagine people deserve what they get if they like to sneak photos for the internet.”

“Would you like a photo of me with the baby on your phone?” Mari leaned closer to the stroller, sweeping back the cover so baby Issa’s face was in clear view. “I’ll put on my best princess smile.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t even know how to work the camera on that new phone our kids gave us for our fiftieth anniversary.” She elbowed her husband. “We just use our old Polaroid, isn’t that right, Nils?”

“I’m getting it out, Meg, hold on a minute.” He fished around inside his man-purse.

Mari extended her arm. “Meg, why don’t you get in the photo, too?”

“Oh, yes, thank you. The grandkids will love it.” She fluffed her bobbed gray hair with her fingers then leaned in to smile while her husband’s old Polaroid spit out picture after picture. “Now you and your husband lean in to pose for one with your daughter.”

Daughter? Rowan jolted, the fun of the moment suddenly taking on a different spin. He liked kids and he sure as hell wanted Mari, but the notion of a pretend marriage? That threatened to give him hives. He swallowed down the bite of bile over the family he’d wrecked so many years ago and pretended for the moment life could be normal for him. He kneeled beside Mari and the baby, forcing his face into the requisite smile. He was a good actor.

He’d had lots of practice.

The couple finished their photo shoot, doling out thanks and leaving an extra Polaroid shot behind for them. The image developed in front of him, blurry shapes coming into focus, much like his thoughts, his need to have Mari.

Rowan sank back into his chair as the waitress brought their food. Once she left, he asked Mari, “Why didn’t you tell that couple the truth about us, about yourself? It was the perfect opening.”

“There were so many people around. If I had, they would have been mobbed out of the photo. When the official story about us fostering the baby hits the news in the morning, they’ll realize their photo of a princess is real and they’ll have a great story to tell their grandchildren. We still get what we want and they get their cool story.”

“That was nice of you to do for them.” He draped a napkin over his knee. “I know how much you hate the notoriety of being royalty.”

She twisted her napkin between her fingers before dropping it on her lap. “I’m not an awful person.”

Had he hurt her feelings? He’d never imagined this boldly confident woman might be insecure. “I never said you were. I think your research is admirable.”