Billionaire's Jet-Set Babies

He needed more time with her.

His mind filled with a vision of Alexa chasing his kids around, all wet from the tub. Warm memories pulled him in with a reminder of the family life he should be having right now and wasn’t because of his workload. Having Alexa here felt so right.

It was right.

And so he wasn’t sending her home in the morning. He not only needed her help with the children, he wanted her to stay for personal reasons. The explosive chemistry they’d just discovered didn’t come around often. Hell, he couldn’t remember when he’d ever burned to have a particular woman this much. So much the craving filled his mind as well as his body.

The extension of their trip presented the perfect opportunity to follow that attraction to its ultimate destination.

Landing her directly into his bed.

Dear Reader,

As an avid reader myself, I adore connected stories! When I’m intrigued by a secondary character in a novel, I’m ecstatic when that character gets his or her own happily-ever-after. It’s especially a thrill when readers write to me, asking about a potential book for one of my characters.

In this case, readers have been asking for Seth Jansen’s story since his extended family first appeared in one of my novels, Explosive Alliance, and then again in my early Desire novels Baby, I’m Yours and Under the Millionaire’s Influence. This book—Billionaire’s Jet Set Babies—can be read as a stand-alone. However, if you would like to find those earlier reads about Seth and his family, they have all been reissued in ebook form.

Thanks again to all of you who sent shout-outs for Seth Jansen’s story. I had a blast penning the long-awaited happily-ever-after for this jet-setting hero!

Cheers,

Catherine Mann

www.CatherineMann.com

About the Author

USA TODAY bestselling author CATHERINE MANN is living out her own fairy-tale ending on a sunny Florida beach with her Prince Charming husband and their four children. With more than thirty-five books in print in more than twenty countries, she has also celebrated wins for both a RITA® Award and a Booksellers’ Best Award. Catherine enjoys chatting with readers online—thanks to the wonders of the wireless internet, which allows her to network with her laptop by the water! To learn more about her work, visit her website, www.catherinemann.com, or reach her by snail mail at PO Box 6065, Navarre, FL 32566, USA.

Billionaire’s

Jet-Set Babies

Catherine Mann

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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friend. Thank you for all you’ve done to help spread

the word about my stories. You’re awesome!

One

Alexa Randall had accumulated an eclectic boxful of lost and found items since opening her own cleaning company for charter jets. There were the standard smart phones, portfolios, tablets, even a Patek Philippe watch. She’d returned each to its owner.

Then there were the stray panties and men’s boxers, even the occasional sex toys from Mile High Club members. All of those items, she’d picked up with latex gloves and tossed in the trash.

But today marked a first find ever in the history of A-1 Aircraft Cleaning Services. Never before had she found a baby left on board—actually, two babies.

Her bucket of supplies dropped to the industrial blue carpet with a heavy thud that startled the sleeping pair. Yep, two infants, apparently twins with similar blond curly hair and cherub cheeks. About one year old, perhaps? A boy and a girl, it seemed, gauging from their pink and blue smocked outfits and gender-matched car seats.

Tasked to clean the jet alone, Alexa had no one to share her shock with. She flipped on another table lamp in the main compartment of the sleek private jet, the lighting in the hangar sketchy at best even at three in the afternoon.

Both kids were strapped into car seats resting on the leather sofa along the side of the plane, which was Seth Jansen’s personal aircraft. As in the Seth Jansen of Jansen Jets. The self-made billionaire who’d raked in a fortune inventing some must-have security device for airports to help combat possible terrorist attacks on planes during takeoffs and landings. She admired the man’s entrepreneurial spirit.

Landing his account would be her company’s big break. She needed this first cleaning of his aircraft to go off without a hitch.

Tiny fists waved for a second, slowing, lowering, until both babies began to settle back to sleep. Another huffy sigh shuddered through the girl before her breaths evened out. Her little arm landed on a piece of paper safety-pinned to the girl’s hem.

Narrowing her eyes, Alexa leaned forward and read:

Seth,

You always say you want more time with the twins, so here’s your chance. Sorry for the short notice, but a friend surprised me with a two-week spa retreat. Enjoy your “daddy time” with Olivia and Owen!

XOXO,

Pippa

Pippa?

Alexa straightened again, horrified. Really? Really!

Pippa Jansen, as in the ex-Mrs. Jansen, had dumped off her infants on their father’s jet. Unreal. Alexa stuffed her fists into the pockets of her navy chinos, standard uniform for A-1 cleaning staff along with a blue polo shirt bearing the company’s logo.

And who signed a note to their obviously estranged baby daddy with kisses and hugs? Alexa sank down into a fat chair across from the pint-size passengers. Bigger question of the day, who left babies unattended on an airplane?

A crappy parent, that’s who.

The rich and spoiled rotten, who played by their own rules, a sad reality she knew only too well from growing up in that world. People had told her how lucky she was as a kid—lucky to have a dedicated nanny that she spent more time with than she did with either of her parents.

The best thing that had ever happened to her? Her father bankrupted the family’s sportswear chain—once worth billions, now worth zip. That left Alexa the recipient of a trust fund from Grandma containing a couple of thousand dollars.

She’d used the money to buy a partnership in a cleaning service about to go under because the aging owner could no longer carry the workload on her own. Bethany—her new partner—had been grateful for Alexa’s energy and the second chance for A-1 Aircraft Cleaning Services to stay afloat. Using Alexa’s contacts from her family’s world of luxury and extravagance she had revitalized the struggling business. Alexa’s ex-husband, Travis, had been appalled by her new occupation and offered to help out financially so she wouldn’t have to work.

She would rather scrub toilets.

And the toilet on this particular Gulfstream III jet was very important to her. She had to land the Jansen Jet contract and hopefully this one-time stint would impress him enough to cinch the deal. Her business needed this account to survive, especially in today’s tough economy. If she failed, she could lose everything and A-1 might well face Chapter 11 bankruptcy. She’d hardly believed her luck when she’d been asked by another cleaning company to subcontract out on one of the Jansen Jets—this jet.

Now that she’d found these two babies, she was screwed. She swept particles of sand from the seat into her hand, eyed the fingerprints on the windows, could almost feel the grit rising from the carpet fiber. But she couldn’t just clean up, restock the Evian water and pretend these kids weren’t here. She needed to contact airport security, which was going to land Jansen’s ex-wife in hot water, possibly him as well. That would piss off Jansen. And the jet still wouldn’t be serviced. And then he would never consider her for the contract.

Frustration and a hefty dose of anger stung stronger than a bucket full of ammonia. Scratch cleaning detail for now, scratch cinching this deal that would finally take her company out of the red. She had to locate the twins’ father ASAP.

Alexa unclipped the cell phone from her waist and thumbed her directory to find the number for Jansen Jets, which she happened to have since she’d been trying to get through to the guy for a month. She’d never made it further than his secretary, who’d agreed to pass along Alexa’s business prospectus.

She eyed the sleeping babies. Maybe some good could come from this mess after all.

Today, she would finally have the chance to talk to the boss, just not how she’d planned and not in a way that would put him in a receptive mood …

The phone stopped ringing as someone picked up.

“Jansen Jets, please hold.” As quickly as the thick female Southern drawl answered, the line clicked and Muzak filled the air waves with soulless contemporary tunes.

A squawk from one of the car seats drew her attention. She looked up fast to see Olivia wriggling in her seat, kicking free a Winnie the Pooh blanket. The little girl spit out her Piglet pacifier and whimpered, getting louder until her brother scrunched up his face, blinking awake and none too happy. His Eeyore pacifier dangled from a clip attached to his blue sailor outfit.

Two pairs of periwinkle-blue eyes stared at her, button noses crinkled. Owen’s eyes filled with tears. Olivia’s bottom lip thrust outward again.

Tucking the Muzak-humming phone under her chin, Alexa hefted the iconic Burberry plaid diaper bag off the floor.

“Hey there, little ones,” she said in what she hoped was a conciliatory tone. She’d spent so little time around babies she could only hope she pegged it right. “I know, I know, sweetie, I’m a stranger, but I’m all you’ve got right now.”

And how crummy was that? She stifled another spurt of anger at the faceless Pippa who’d dropped her children off like luggage. When had the spa-hopping mama expected their father to locate them?

“I’m assuming you’re Olivia.” Alexa tickled the bare foot of the girl wearing a pink smocked dress.

Olivia giggled, and Alexa pulled the pink lace bootie from the baby’s mouth. Olivia thrust out her bottom lip—until Alexa unhooked a teething ring from the diaper bag and passed it over to the chubby-cheeked girl.

“And you must be Owen.” She tweaked his blue tennis shoe—still on his foot as opposed to his sister who was ditching her other booty across the aisle with the arm of a major league pitcher. “Any idea where your daddy is? Or how much longer he’ll be?”

She’d been told by security she had about a half hour to service the inside of the jet in order to be out before Mr. Jansen arrived. As much as she would have liked to meet him, it was considered poor form for the cleaning staff to still be on hand. She’d expected her work and a business card left on the silver drink tray to speak for itself.

So much for her well laid plans.

She scooped up a baby blanket from the floor, folded it neatly and placed it on the couch. She smoothed back Owen’s sweaty curls. Going quiet, he stared back at her just as the on hold Muzak cued up “Sweet Caroline”—the fourth song so far. Apparently she’d been relegated to call waiting purgatory.

How long until the kids got hungry? She peeked into the diaper bag for supplies. Maybe she would luck out and find more contact info along the way. Sippy cups of juice, powdered formula, jars of food and diapers, diapers, diapers …

The clank of feet on the stairway outside yanked her upright. She dropped the diaper bag and spun around fast, just as a man filled the open hatch. A tall and broad-shouldered man.

He stood with the sun backlighting him, casting his face in mysterious shadows.

Alexa stepped in front of the babies instinctively, protectively. “Good afternoon. What can I do for you?”

Silently he stepped deeper into the craft until overhead lights splashed over his face and she recognized him from her internet searches. Seth Jansen, founder and CEO of Jansen Jets.

Relief made her knees wobbly. She’d been saved from a tough decision by Jansen’s early arrival. And, wow, did the guy ever know how to make an entrance.

From press shots she’d seen he was good-looking, with a kind of matured Abercrombie & Fitch beach hunk appeal. But no amount of Google Images could capture the impact of this tremendously attractive self-made billionaire in person.

Six foot three or four, he filled the charter jet with raw muscled man. He wasn’t some pale pencil pusher. He was more the size of a keen-eyed lumberjack, in a suit. An expensive, tailored suit.

The previously spacious cabin now felt tight. Intimate.

His sandy-colored hair—thick without being shaggy—sported sun-kissed streaks of lighter blond, the kind that came naturally from being outside rather than sitting in a salon chair. His tan and toned body gave further testimony to that. No raccoon rings around the eyes from tanning bed glasses. The scent of crisp air clung to him, so different from the boardroom aftershaves of her father and her ex. She scrunched her nose at even the memory of cloying cologne and cigars.

Even his eyes spoke of the outdoors. They were the same vibrant green she’d once seen in the waters off the Caribbean coast of St. Maarten, the sort of sparkling green that made you want to dive right into their cool depths. She turned shivery all over just thinking about taking a swim in those pristine waters.

She seriously needed to lighten up on the cleaning supply fumes. How unprofessional to stand here and gawk like a sex-starved divorcée—which she was.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Jansen. I’m Alexa Randall with A-1 Aircraft Cleaning Services.”

He shrugged out of his suit jacket, gray pinstripe and almost certainly an Ermenegildo Zegna, a brand known for its no-nonsense look. Expensive. Not surprising.

His open shirt collar, with his burgundy tie loosened did surprise her, however. Overall, she got the impression of an Olympic swimmer confined in an Italian suit.

“Right.” He checked his watch—the only non-GQ item on him. He wore what appeared to be a top-of-the-line diver’s timepiece. “I’m early, I know, but I need to leave right away so if you could speed this up, I would appreciate it.”

Jansen charged by, not even hesitating as he passed the two tykes. His tykes.

She cleared her throat. “You have a welcoming crew waiting for you.”

“I’m sure you’re mistaken.” He stowed his briefcase, his words clipped. “I’m flying solo today.”

She held up Pippa’s letter. “It appears, Mr. Jansen, your flight plans have changed.”

Seth Jansen stopped dead in his tracks. He looked back over his shoulder at Alexa Randall, the owner of a new, small company that had been trying to get his attention for at least a month. Yeah, he knew who the drop-dead gorgeous blonde was. But he didn’t have time to listen to her make a pitch he already knew would be rejected.

While he appreciated persistence as a business professional himself, he did not like gimmicks. “Let’s move along to the point, please.”

He had less than twenty minutes to get his Gulfstream III into the air and on its way from Charleston, South Carolina, to St. Augustine, Florida. He had a business meeting he’d been working his ass off to land for six months—dinner with the head of security for the Medinas, a deposed royal family that lived in exile in the United States.

Big-time account.

Once in a lifetime opportunity.

And the freedom to devote more of his energies to the philanthropic branch of this company. Freedom. It had a different meaning these days than when he’d flown crop dusters to make his rent back, in North Dakota.

“This—” she waved a piece of floral paper in front of him “—is the point.”

As she passed over the slip of paper, she stepped aside and revealed—holy crap—his kids. He looked down at the letter fast.

Two lines into the note, his temple throbbed. What the hell was Pippa thinking, leaving the twins this way? How long had they been in here? And why had she left him a damn note, for Pete’s sake?

He pulled out his cell phone to call his ex. Her voice mail picked up immediately. She was avoiding him, no doubt.

A text from Pippa popped up in his in-box. He opened the message and it simply read, Want 2 make sure you know. Twins r waiting for you at plane. Sorry 4 short notice. XOXO.

“What the h—?” He stopped himself short before he cursed in front of his toddlers who were just beginning to form words. He tucked his phone away and faced Alexa Randall. “I’m sorry my ex added babysitter duties to your job today. Of course I’ll pay you extra. Did you happen to notice which way Pippa headed out?”

Because he had some choice words for her when he found her.

“Your ex-wife wasn’t here when I arrived.” Alexa held up her own cell phone, her thumb swiping away a print. “I tried to contact your office, but your assistant wouldn’t let me get a word out before shifting me over to Muzak. It’s looped twice while I waited. Much longer and I would have had to call security, which would have brought in child services—”

He held up a hand, sick to his gut already. “Thanks. I get the picture. I owe you for cleaning up after my ex-wife’s recklessness as well.”

His blood pressure spiked higher until he saw red. Pippa had left the children unattended in an airplane at his privately owned airport? What had his security people been thinking, letting Pippa just wander around the aircraft that way? These were supposed to be the days of increased precautions and safety measures, and yet they must have assumed because she was his ex-wife that garnered her a free pass around the facility. Not so.

Heads were going to roll hard and fast over this. No one put the safety of his children at risk.

No one.

He crumpled the note in his fist and pitched it aside. Forcing his face to smooth so he wouldn’t scare the babies, he unstrapped the buckle on his daughter’s car seat.

“Hey there, princess.” He held Olivia up high and thought about how she’d squealed with delight over the baby swing on the sprawling oak in his backyard. “Did you have fruit for lunch?”

She grinned, and he saw a new front tooth had come in on top. She smelled like peaches and baby shampoo and there weren’t enough hours in the day to take in all the changes happening too quickly.

He loved his kids more than anything, had since the second he’d seen their fists waving in an ultrasound. He’d been damn lucky Pippa let him be there when they were born, considering she’d already started divorce proceedings at that point. He hated not being with them every day, hated missing even one milestone. But the timing for this visit couldn’t be worse.

Seth tucked Olivia against his chest and reached to ruffle his son’s hair. “Hey, buddy. Missed you this week.”

Owen stuck out his tongue and offered up his best raspberry.

The petite blonde dressed in trim, pressed chinos popped a pacifier into Owen’s mouth then knelt to pick up the crumpled note and pitch it into her cleaning bucket. “I assume today isn’t your scheduled visitation.”

She would be right on that. Although why the disdain in her voice? Nobody—single parent or not—would appreciate having their kids dumped off in their workplace. Not to mention he was mad as hell at Pippa for just dropping them off unannounced.

What if someone else had boarded this plane?

Thank God, this woman—Alexa—had been the one to find them. He knew who she was, but Pippa hadn’t known jack when she’d unloaded his children.

Of all the reckless, irresponsible …

Deep breath. He unbuckled Owen as well and scooped him up, too, with an ease he’d learned from walking the floors with them when they were infants. Just as he’d needed calm then, he forced it through his veins now.

Getting pissed off wouldn’t accomplish anything. He had to figure out what to do with his children when he was scheduled to fly out for a meeting with multimillion dollar possibilities.

When he’d first moved to South Carolina, he’d been a dumb ass, led by glitz. That’s how he’d ended up married to his ex. He’d grown up with more spartan, farm values that he’d somehow lost in his quest for beaches and billions.

Now, he itched inside his high-priced starched shirt and longed for the solitude of those flights. But he had long ago learned if he wanted to do business with certain people, he had to dress the part and endure the stuffy business meetings. And he very much wanted to do business with the Medina family based out of Florida. He glanced at his watch and flinched. Damn it. He needed to be in the air already, on his way to St. Augustine. At the moment, he didn’t have time for a sandwich, much less to find a qualified babysitter.

He would just have to make time. “Could you hold Owen for a second while I make some calls?”

“Sure, no problem.” Alexa stopped straightening his jacket on the hanger and extended her arms.

As he passed his son over, Seth’s hand grazed her breast. Her very soft, tempting breast. Just that fast touch pumped pure lust through his overworked body. It was more than just “nice, a female” kind of notice. His body was going on alert, saying “I will make it my mission in life to undress you.”

She gasped lightly, not in outrage but more like someone who’d been zapped with some static. For him, it was more like a jolt from a light socket.

Olivia rested her head on his shoulder with a sleepy sigh, bringing him back to reality. He was a father with responsibilities.

Still, he was a man. Why hadn’t he noticed the power of the pull to this woman when he’d walked onto the plane? Had he grown so accustomed to wealth that he’d stopped noticing “the help”? That notion didn’t sit well with him at all.

But it also didn’t keep him from looking at Alexa more closely.

Her pale blond hair was pulled back in a simple silver clasp. Navy chino pants and a light blue shirt—the company uniform—matched her eyes. It also fit her loosely, but not so much that it hid her curves.

Before the kids, before Pippa, he would have asked Alexa for her number, made plans to take her out on a riverboat dinner cruise where he would kiss her senseless under a starry sky. But these days he didn’t have time for dating. He worked and when he wasn’t on the job he saw his kids.

With a stab of regret, his gaze raked back over her T-shirt with the A-1 Aircraft Cleaning logo. He’d seen that same emblem in the cover letter she’d sent with her prospectus.

He also recalled why he hadn’t gotten any further than the cover letter and the fledgling business’s flyer—where he’d seen her headshot.

Following his eyes, she looked down at her shirt and met his gaze dead-on. “Yes, I have a proposal on your desk.” Alexa cocked one eyebrow. “I assume that’s why you were looking at my shirt?”

“Of course, why else?” he answered dryly. “You should have received an answer from my secretary.”

“I did, and when you’re not in a hurry—” she smoothed back her already immaculate hair “—I would appreciate the opportunity to explore your reasons for rejecting my initial bid.”