A Daddy For Christmas: Yuletide Baby Surprise / Maybe This Christmas...? / The Sheriff's Doorstep Baby

Her eyes took on a faraway look that made him burn to reel her back into the moment, to finish the thought out loud so he could keep learning more about what made this woman tick. But she’d already distanced herself from him, deep in thought, looking off down the road at the musicians.

He needed those insights if he expected to get a second kiss—and more from her. But he was beginning to realize that if he wanted more, he was going to have to pony up some confidences of his own. An uncomfortable prospect.

As he looked at Mari swaying absently in time with the music, her lithe body at ease and graceful, he knew having her would be well worth any cost.

Five

Mari soaked in the sound of street music mellowing the warm evening air. The steady beat of the bougarabou drum with the players’ jangling bracelets enriching the percussion reminded her of childhood days. Back when her parents were still together and she lived in Africa full-time, other than visits to the States to see her maternal grandparents.

Those first seven years of her life had been idyllic—or so she’d thought. She hadn’t known anything about the painful undercurrents already rippling through her parents’ marriage. She hadn’t sensed the tension in their voices over royal pressures and her mother’s homesickness.

For a genius, she’d missed all the obvious signs. But then, she’d never had the same skill reading people that she had for reading data. She’d barely registered that her mother was traveling to Atlanta more and more frequently. Her first clue had come near the end when she’d overheard her mom talking about buying a home in the States during their Christmas vacation. They wouldn’t be staying with her grandparents any longer during U.S. visits. They would have their own place, not a room with family. Her parents had officially split up and filed for divorce over the holidays.

Christmas music never sounded quite the same to her again, on either continent.

The sway melted away from her shoulders and Mari stilled in her wrought-iron seat. The wind still wound around her as they sat at the patio dining area, but her senses moved on from the music to the air of roasting meat from the kitchen and the sound of laughing children. All of it was almost strong enough to distract her from the weight of Rowan’s gaze.

Almost.

She glanced over at him self-consciously. “Why are you staring at me? I must be a mess.” She touched her hair, tucking a stray strand back into the twist, then smoothed her rumpled suit shirt and adjusted the silver scarf draped around her neck. “It’s been a long day and the breeze is strong tonight.”

Since when had she cared about her appearance for more than the sake of photos? She forced her hands back to her lap.

Rowan’s tanned face creased with his confident grin. “Your smile is radiant.” He waved a broad hand to encompass the festivities playing out around them. “The way you’re taking in everything, appreciating the joy of the smallest details, your pleasure in it all is...mesmerizing.”

His blue eyes downright twinkled like the stars in the night sky.

Was he flirting with her? She studied him suspiciously. The restaurant window behind him filled with the movement of diners and waiters, the edges blurred by the spray of fake snow. She’d always been entranced by those pretend snowy displays in the middle of a warm island Christmas.

“Joy? It’s December, Rowan. The Christmas season of joy. Of course I’m happy.” She thought fast, desperate to defer conversation about her. Talking about Rowan’s past felt a lot more comfortable than worrying about tucking in her shirt, for God’s sake. “What kind of traditions did you enjoy with your family growing up?”

He leaned back in his chair, his gaze still homed in solely on Mari in spite of the festivities going on around them. “We did the regular holiday stuff like a tree, carols, lots of food.”

“What kind of food?” she asked just as Issa squirmed in the stroller.

He shrugged, adjusting the baby’s pacifier until the infant settled back to sleep. “Regular Christmas stuff.”

His ease with the baby was admirable—and heart-tugging. “Come on,” Mari persisted, “fill in the blanks for me. There are lots of ways to celebrate Christmas and regular food here isn’t the same as regular food somewhere else. Besides, I grew up with chefs. Cooking is still a fascinating mystery to me.”

He forked up a bite of swordfish. “It’s just like following the steps in a chemistry experiment.”

“Maybe in theory.” She sipped her fruit juice, the blend bursting along her taste buds with a hint of coconut, her senses hyperaware since Rowan kissed her. “Suffice it to say I’m a better scientist than a cook. But back to you. What was your favorite Christmas treat?”

He set his fork aside, his foot gently tapping the stroller back and forth. “My mom liked to decorate sugar cookies, but my brother, Dylan, and I weren’t all that into it. We ate more of the frosting than went on the cookies.”

The image wrapped around her like a comfortable blanket. “That sounds perfect. I always wanted a sibling to share moments like that with. Tell me more. Details... Trains or dump trucks? Bikes or ugly sweaters?”

“We didn’t have a lot of money, so my folks saved and tucked away gifts all year long. They always seemed a bit embarrassed that they couldn’t give us more, but we were happy. And God knows, it’s more than most of the kids I work with will ever have.”

“You sound like you had a close family. That’s a priceless gift.”

Something flickered through his eyes that she couldn’t quite identify, like gray clouds over a blue sky, but then they cleared so fast she figured she must have been mistaken. She focused on his words, more curious about this man than any she’d ever known.

“At around three-thirty on Christmas morning, Dylan and I would slip out of our bunk beds and sneak downstairs to see what Santa brought.” He shared the memory, but the gray had slipped into his tone of voice now, darkening the lightness of his story. “We would play with everything for about an hour, then put it back like we found it, even if the toy was in a box. We would tiptoe back into our room and wait for our parents to wake us up. We always pretended like we were completely surprised by the gifts.”

What was she missing here? Setting aside her napkin, she leaned closer. “Sounds like you and your brother share a special bond.”

“Shared,” he said flatly. “Dylan’s dead.”

She couldn’t hold back the gasp of shock or the empathetic stab of pain for his loss. For an awkward moment, the chorus of “Silver Bells” seemed to blare louder, the happy music at odds with this sudden revelation. “I’m so sorry, Rowan. I didn’t know that.”

“You had no reason to know. He died in a car accident when he was twenty.”

She searched for something appropriate to say. Her lack of social skills had never bothered her before now. “How old were you when he died?”

“Eighteen.” He fidgeted with her sunglasses on the table.

“That had to be so horrible for you and for your parents.”

“It was,” he said simply, still toying with her wide-rimmed shades.

An awkward silence fell, the echoes of Christmas ringing hollow now. She chewed her lip and pulled the first question from her brain that she could scavenge. “Were you still at the military reform school?”

“It was graduation week.”

Her heart squeezed tightly at the thought of him losing so much, especially at a time when he should have been celebrating completing his sentence in that school.

Without thinking or hesitating, she pushed aside her sunglasses and covered Rowan’s hand. “Rowan, I don’t even know what to say.”

“There’s nothing to say.” He flipped his hand, skimming his thumb along the inside of her wrist. “I just wanted you to know I’m trusting you with a part of my past here.”

Heat seeped through her veins at each stroke of his thumb across her pulse. “You’re telling me about yourself to...?”

His eyes were completely readable now, sensual and steaming over her. “To get closer to you. To let you know that kiss wasn’t just an accident. I’m nowhere near the saint the press likes to paint me.”

Heat warmed to full-out sparks of electricity arcing along her every nerve ending. She wasn’t imagining or exaggerating anything. Rowan Boothe wanted her.

And she wanted to sleep with him.

The inescapable truth of that rocked the ground underneath her.

* * *

The noise of a backfiring truck snapped Rowan back into the moment. Mari jolted, blinking quickly before making a huge deal out of attacking her plate of swordfish and cachupa, gulping coffee between bites.

The sputtering engine still ringing in his ears, Rowan scanned the marketplace, checking the position of their bodyguards. He took in the honeymooners settling in at the next table. The elderly couple that had photographed them earlier was paying their bill. A family of vacationers filled a long stretch of table.

The place was as safe as anywhere out in public.

He knew he couldn’t keep Mari and the baby under lock and key. He had the security detail and he hoped Mari would find peace in being out in public with the proper protection. The thought of her being chased down hallways for the rest of her life made him grind his teeth in frustration. She deserved better than to live in the shadows.

He owed little Issa a lot for how she’d brought them together. He was moved by the sensitive side of Mari he’d never known she had, the sweetly awkward humanity beneath the brilliant scientific brain and regal royal heritage.

Leaning toward the stroller, Rowan adjusted the baby’s bib, reassured by the steady beat of her little heart. He’d given her a thorough physical and thank God she was healthy, but she was still a helpless, fragile infant. He needed to take care of her future. And he would. He felt confident he could, with the help of Salvatore either finding the baby’s family or lining up a solid adoption.

The outcome of his situation with Mari, however, was less certain. There was no mistaking the desire in her golden eyes. Desire mixed with wariness.

A tactical retreat was in order while he waited for the appropriate moment to resume his advances. He hadn’t meant to reveal Dylan’s death to her, but their talk about the past had lulled him into old memories. He wouldn’t let that happen again.

He poured coffee from the earthen pot into his mug and hers. “You must have seen some lavish Christmas celebrations with your father.”

Her eyes were shielded, but her hand trembled slightly as she reached for her mug. “My father keeps things fairly scaled back. The country’s economy is stabilizing thanks to an increase in cocoa export, but the national treasury isn’t flush with cash, by any means. I was brought up to appreciate my responsibilities to my people.”

“You don’t have a sibling to share the responsibility.”

The words fell out of his mouth before he thought them through, probably because of all those memories of his brother knocking around in his gut. All the ways he’d failed to save Dylan’s life. If only he’d made different decisions... He forced his attention back into the present, on Mari.

“Both of my parents remarried other people, divorced again, no more kids, though.” She spread her hands, sunglasses dangling from her fingers. “So I’m it. The future of my country.”

“You don’t sound enthusiastic.”

“I just think there has to be someone better equipped.” She tossed aside the glasses again and picked up her coffee. “What? Why the surprised look? You can’t think I’m the best bet for my people. I would rather lock myself in a research lab with the coffeemaker maxed out than deal with the day-to-day events of leading people.”

“I think you will succeed at anything life puts in your path.” Who had torn down this woman’s confidence? If only she saw—believed in—her magnificence. “When you walk in a room, you damn near light up the place. You own the space with your presence, lady.”

She blew into her mug of coffee, eyeing him. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. But people and all their intangibles like ‘magnificence’ are beyond me. I like concrete facts.”

“I would say some people would appreciate logic in a leader.”

She looked away quickly, busying herself with adjusting the netting around the baby’s stroller. “I wasn’t always this way.”

“What do you mean?”

“So precise.” She darted a quick glance at him out of the corner of her eye. “I was actually a very scatterbrained child. I lost my hair ribbons in hotels, left my doll or book on the airplane. I was always oversleeping or sluggish in the morning, running late for important events. The staff was given instructions to wake me up a half hour ahead of time.”

His mom had woken him and Dylan up through elementary school, then bought them an alarm clock—a really obnoxious clock that clanged like a cowbell. No one overslept. “Did this happen in your mother’s or your father’s home?”

“Both places. My internal clock just wasn’t impressed by alarms or schedules.”

She was a kid juggling a bicontinental lifestyle, the pressures of royal scrutiny along with the social awkwardness of being at least five grades ahead of her peers.

When did she ever get to relax? “Sounds to me like you traveled quite a bit in your life. I’m sure you know that losing things during travel is as common as jet lag, even for adults.”

“You’re kind to make excuses.” She brushed aside his explanation. “I just learned to make lists and structure my world more carefully.”

“Such as?” he asked, suddenly finding the need to learn more about what shaped her life every bit as important as tasting her lips again.

“Always sitting in the same seat on an airplane. Creating a routine for the transatlantic trips, traveling at the same time.” She shrugged her elegant shoulders. “The world seemed less confusing that way.”

“Confusing?” he repeated.

She chewed her bottom lip, which was still glistening from a sip of coffee. “Forget I said anything.”

“Too late. I remember everything you say.” And what a time to realize how true that was.

“Ah, you’re one of those photographic-memory sorts. I imagine that helps with your work.”

“Hmm...” Not a photographic memory, except when it came to her. But she didn’t need to know that.

“I’m sure my routines sound a bit overboard to you. But my life feels crazy most of the time. I’m a princess. There’s no escaping that fact.” She set her mug down carefully. “I have to accept that no matter how many lists I make, my world will never be predictable.”

“Sometimes unpredictable has its advantages, as well.” He ached to trace the lines of her heart-shaped face and finish with a tap to her chin.

Her throat moved in a long swallow. “Is this where you surprise me with another kiss?”

He leaned in, a breath away, and said, “I was thinking this time you could surprise me.”

She stared back at him so long he was sure she would laugh at him for suggesting such a thing, especially out in public. Not that the public problem bothered the honeymooners at the next table. Just when Rowan was certain she would tell him to go to hell—

Mari kissed him. She closed those last two inches between them and pressed her lips to his. Closemouthed but steady. He felt drunk even though he hadn’t had anything but coffee and fruit juice all evening. The same drinks he tasted on Mari’s lips. Her hands, soft and smooth, covered his on the table. Need, hard and insistent, coursed through his body over an essentially simple kiss with a table between them.

And just that fast, she let go, pushing on his chest and dropping back into her chair.

A flush spread from her face down the vee of her blouse. “That was not... I didn’t mean...”

“Shhh.” He pressed a finger to her lips, confidence singing through him along with the hammering pulse of desire. “Some things don’t need to be analyzed. Some things simply are. Let’s finish supper so we can turn in early.”

“Are you propositioning me?” Her lips moved under his finger.

Deliberately seductive? Either way, an extra jolt of want shot through him, a want he saw echoed in her eyes.

He spread his arms wide. “Why would you think that?” he asked with a hint of the devil in his voice. “I want to turn in early. It’s your night with the baby.”

The tension eased from her shoulders and she smiled back, an ease settling between them as they bantered. God, she was incredible, smart and lithe, earnest and exotic all at once. He covered her hand with his—

A squeal from the next table split the air. “Oh, my God, it’s her.” The honeymooner at the next table tapped her husband’s arm insistently. “That princess...Mariama! I want a picture with her. Get me a photo, pretty please, pookie.”

Apparently the mama-flage had stopped working. They didn’t have until the morning for Mari to become comfortable with the renewed public attention. The story about them taking care of a baby—together—was about to leak.

Big-time.

* * *

Two hours later, Mari patted Issa’s back in the bassinet to be sure she was deeply asleep then flopped onto the bed in the hotel suite she shared with Rowan.

Alone in her bedroom.

Once that woman shouted to the whole restaurant that a princess sat at the next table, the camera phones started snapping before her head could stop reeling from that impulsive kiss. A kiss that still tingled all the way to the roots of her hair.

Rowan had handled the curious masses with a simple explanation that they were watching a baby in foster care. More information would be forthcoming at a morning press conference. Easy as pie.

Although she was still curious as to where all the bodyguards had come from. She intended to confront her father about that later and find out why he’d decided to disregard her wishes now of all times.

Granted, she could see the wisdom in a bit more protection for Issa’s sake and she liked to think she would have arranged for something tomorrow...on a smaller scale. The guards had discreetly escorted her from the restaurant, along with Rowan and the baby, and all the way back to the hotel. No ducking into bathrooms or racing down hallways. Just a wall of protection around her as Rowan continued to repeat with a smile and a firm tone, “No further comment tonight.”

Without question, the papers would be buzzing by morning. That press conference would be packed. Her father’s promo guru couldn’t have planned it better.... Had Rowan known that when they kissed? Did he have an agenda? She couldn’t help but wonder since most people in her life had their own agendas—with extras to spare.

This was not the first time the thought had come to her. By the time she’d exited the elevator, she was already second-guessing the kiss, the flirting, the whole crazy plan. She knew that Rowan wanted her. She just couldn’t figure out why.

Until she had more answers, she couldn’t even consider taking things further.

She sat up again, swinging her legs off the side of the bed. Besides, she had a baby to take care of and a phone call to make. Since Issa still slept blissfully in the lacy bassinet after her bottle, Mari could get to that other pressing concern.

Her father.

She swiped her cell phone off the teak end table and thumbed auto-dial...two rings later, a familiar voice answered and Mari blurted out, “Papa, we need to talk....”

Her father’s booming laugh filled the earpiece. “About the boyfriend and the baby you’ve been hiding from me?”

Mari squeezed her eyes shut, envisioning her lanky father sprawled in his favorite leather chair on the lanai, where he preferred to work. He vowed he felt closer to nature out there, closer to his country, even though three barriers of walls and guards protected him.

Sighing, she pressed two fingers to her head and massaged her temples. “How did you hear about Rowan and Issa? Have you had spies watching me? And why did you assign bodyguards without consulting me?”

“One question at a time, daughter dear. First, I heard about your affiliation with Dr. Boothe and the baby on the internet. Second, I do not spy on my family—not often, anyway. And third, whatever bodyguards you’re referring to, they’re not mine. I assume they’re on your boyfriend’s payroll.”

Her head throbbed over Rowan hiring bodyguards without consulting her. Her life was snowballing out of control.

“He’s not my boyfriend—” even though they’d kissed and she’d enjoyed the hell out of it “—and Issa is not our baby. She’s a foster child, just like Rowan said at the restaurant.”

Even though her heart was already moved beyond measure by the chubby bundle sleeping in the frilly bassinet next to her bed.

“I know the baby’s not yours, Mariama.”

“The internet strikes again?” She flopped back, rolling to her side and holding a pillow to her stomach as she monitored the steady rise and fall of Issa’s chest as she slept.

“I keep tabs on you, daughter dear. You haven’t been pregnant and you’ve never been a fan of Rowan Boothe.”

An image flashed in her mind of Rowan pacing the sitting room with Issa in his arms. “The baby was abandoned in Dr. Boothe’s hotel room and we are both watching over her while the authorities try to find her relatives. You know how overburdened Africa is with orphans. We just couldn’t let her go into the system when we had the power to help her.”

“Hmm...” The sound of him clicking computer keys filtered through the phone line—her father never rested, always worked. He took his position as leader seriously, no puppet leadership role for him. “And why are you working with a man you can’t stand to help a child you’ve never met? He could have taken care of this on his own.”

“I’m a philanthropist?”

“True,” her dad conceded. “But you’re also a poor liar. How did the child become your responsibility?”

She’d never been able to get anything past her wily father. “I was trying to get away from a group of tourists trying to steal a photo of me at the end of a very long day. I grabbed a room-service tray and delivered it.” The whole crazy night rolled through her mind again and she wondered what had possessed her to act so rashly. Never, though, could she have foreseen how it would end. “Turns out it was for Rowan Boothe and there was an abandoned baby inside. There’s nothing going on between us.”

A squawk from Issa sent her jolting upright again to pat the baby’s back. An instant later, a tap sounded on the door from the suite beyond. She covered the mouthpiece on the phone. “We’re okay.”

Still, the bedroom door opened, a quizzical look on Rowan’s face. “Everything all right?”

“I’ve got it.” She uncovered the phone. “Dad, I need to go.”

Rowan lounged against the doorjamb, his eyes questioning. Pressing the phone against her shoulder to hold it to her ear, she tugged her skirt over her knees, curling her bare toes.

“Mari, dear,” her father said, “I do believe you have gotten better at lying after all. Seems like there’s a lot going on in your life I don’t know about.”

Her pulse sped up, affirming her father was indeed right. This wasn’t just about Issa. She was lying to herself in thinking there was nothing more going on with Rowan. His eyes enticed her from across the room, like a blue-hot flame drawing a moth.

But her father waited on the other end of the line. Best to deflect the conversation, especially while the object of her current hormonal turmoil stood a few feet away. “You should be thrilled about this whole setup. It will make for great publicity, a wonderful story for your press people to spin over the holidays. Papa, for once I’m not a disappointment.”

Rowan scowled and Mari wished she could call back the words that had somehow slipped free. But she felt the weight of the knowledge all the same. The frustration of never measuring up to her parents’ expectations.

“Mari, dear,” her father said, his voice hoarse, “you have never been a disappointment.”