Bound by the Kincaid Baby / The Millionaire's Miracle: Bound by the Kincaid Baby / The Millionaire's Miracle

A snuffle from the crib penetrated her sensual high and shocked her back to awareness of where she was and with whom.

She ripped herself out of Mitch’s arms. Gasping for air, she backed away, righted her clothing and cinched her robe around her waist like a tourniquet.

How could she be turned on by Mitch Kincaid? She knew too much about him. None of it good.

She swiped the back of her hand across her damp and still tingling lips. “That shouldn’t have happened.”

Mitch’s nostrils flared on a sharply indrawn breath. The passion in his eyes turned to frost and his mouth twisted in derision. “Oh, c’mon, Carly. Don’t act like it wasn’t your plan to soften me with dinner and a sexy sundress. Screwing me is only the next step on your agenda.”

“What agenda?” She had one. But it had nothing to do with sex.

“Did you and your sister have a contest going to see who could land the richest sugar daddy?”

Shock and fury and grief ripped through Carly like an explosion. She dug her nails into her palms to keep from slapping his face. “I was engaged, you moron, to an intern with student loans to rival the national debt. Not a sugar daddy. And don’t blame that kiss on me. I’ve done nothing to attract your attention.”

“Haven’t you? What would you call the curve-hugging clothes, the braless sundress and the hypnotic walk?”

She had a hypnotic walk? “I don’t dress suggestively.”

“Give me a break. You have a damned good body and you display it like a trophy. Men probably fall at your feet.”

Flattering, in an insulting kind of way. But wrong. “Are you deluded?”

“Not deluded enough to fall into your trap. Cast your line somewhere else. Because you’re not landing this Kincaid.” He stalked toward the stairs.

“If I landed you, Kincaid, I’d throw you back or use you for shark bait. Go to hell, you conceited jerk.”

“I’ve already been there,” Mitch growled to the empty foyer. “And you’re not taking me back.”

He strode down the hall, heading straight to the book-lined study—formerly his father’s, but now Mitch’s domain. He dragged his father’s old Rolodex out of the drawer and flipped through the cards until he found the one he needed. The cool leather chair against his back did nothing to soothe his overheated skin as he punched out the cell phone number.

“Lewis Investigations,” a man’s voice answered on the second ring despite the late hour.

“Frank, this is Mitch Kincaid.”

“Sorry to hear about your father, Mitch. Everett and I went way back.”

“That’s why I know I can trust you with this job.” He briefly summarized the situation, and then said, “I need you to dig up dirt on Carly Corbin. I want anything that could discredit her or prove her an unfit guardian. And I need it yesterday.”

The P.I. laughed. “You’re definitely Everett’s son. I’ll get right on it. Any chance you can get me a set of fingerprints?”

He remembered the dinner dishes. “I’ll get them tonight and have them couriered to you first thing tomorrow. While you’re checking into Carly I want you to look into her sister, too.”

“Anything in particular I’m looking for?”

“I want to know what Marlene Corbin did with the hundred grand we paid her. And I want you to see what you can find out about the hit-and-run that killed her three months ago. The police have moved the investigation to the back burner.”

Mitch’s fingers tightened around the receiver. He had to know the truth, and his father had sworn Frank Lewis was the soul of discretion.

“I need to know if my father was involved in her death.”

Four

The rat bastard could kiss.

Carly did not want to know that.

She increased her speed, trying to outrun her disturbing thoughts and banish the grogginess left over from a restless night. Rhett cackled in his stroller ahead of her, loving the faster pace and the wind in his face. He pounded the squeaky horn on his toy steering wheel, shattering the stillness of the morning.

Rebound romance.

That’s the only way she could explain her reaction to Kincaid’s kisses. It had been three months since Sam had dumped her. When he’d learned Carly had been appointed as Rhett’s guardian, her fiancé had claimed he wasn’t ready for an instant family, and he’d added that he didn’t want to raise someone else’s brat anyway. Sam had given Carly an ultimatum, him or Rhett.

After the brat comment Carly hadn’t had a choice. She couldn’t love a man who refused to even try to bond with a child simply because he hadn’t genetically contributed to its DNA or one who’d ask her to make that kind of sacrifice a second time. Although to his credit, Sam hadn’t known about the daughter she’d given up for adoption at sixteen. She hadn’t told him for fear he’d find that decision as unforgivable as her college boyfriend had.

She’d chosen her nephew over fiancé and that had been the end of her engagement. And her sex life.

Okay, so chalk up last night’s fiasco to neglected hormones. But still…it was one thing to acknowledge Mitch Kincaid was good-looking and sexy. It was another to have locked lips with him and thought even for one second about jumping his bones.

But she had.

And that’s why she’d taken the coward’s way out this morning and gone for an early run rather than face the rat ba—Mitch—over breakfast. She couldn’t look in his eyes and know he’d made her as antsy as a dog in heat. Not until she had her hormones locked back in their kennel.

Maybe she should go out on one of those dates Mitch had mentioned. She weighed the idea and discarded it. Sex with some guy she picked up in a bar or with one of the blind dates her coworker seemed determined to arrange for her just didn’t appeal. She preferred a steady, monogamous relationship with her sex. And love. Or at least exceptionally strong and optimistic like.

The distant scruff of footsteps behind her pulled her out of her funk. Safety wasn’t an issue here since the gated community had only one entrance, but company on her run would be surprising. She glanced over her shoulder, but a curve in the road and a lush oleander hedge blocked her view. Funny how many of the mansions were surrounded by the toxic plant. She made a point to keep Rhett’s curious fingers out of reach.

If there was one thing she could count on in this very exclusive section of Miami, it was the solitude she needed to get her head together. Rich folks, she’d learned since moving into Kincaid Manor, stayed behind their tall fences. They didn’t jog or stroll through the meandering, tree-and shrub-lined streets. The pricey peninsula couldn’t be more different from her friendly neighborhood of culs-de-sac and block parties. She knew all of her neighbors.

She jogged in place at a hand-carved wooden Stop sign and waited for a banana-yellow Lamborghini to pass. She waved a greeting, but couldn’t see through the darkly tinted windows whether or not the occupant waved back.

The nearing footsteps told her the other runner was gaining on her. She glanced back again. Mitch. A nearly naked Mitch. Her heart rate shot up.

He wore skimpy running shorts and shoes. Nothing else. And the view of his torso in the bright sunlight was a hundred times better than it had been in Rhett’s shadowy room last night. A fitness model would envy that body, those legs, those abs, and oh, mama, those mile-wide shoulders. There wasn’t an ounce of surplus fat on him. Corded muscles wrapped in tight, tanned, glistening skin, bunched and flexed with each long stride and pump of his arms as he closed the distance between them and drew up alongside her.

If not for her tight grip on the stroller handle, Carly would have fallen flat on her face—after tripping over her tongue.

“Good morning, Carly.” Like her, he jogged in place. Unlike her, he wasn’t winded. Or drooling. His gaze raked over her, lingering on her breasts encased in a sports bra tank before traveling to her shorts and her legs.

So much for avoiding him for a few days. She hoped he’d attribute the heat in her face to exertion and not lust—which had hit her like a hurricane the second she spotted him. His kisses had been that good.

“Morning, Mitch.” Carly snapped her attention back to the road and resumed her run. He kept pace beside her.

“Don’t let us keep you.” Not exactly subtle, Carly.

“I’ve decided to join you and the kid when you run.”

Why did she doubt it was for the pleasure of their company? “His name is Rhett.”

“Bubba, bubba, bubba,” Rhett singsonged.

Mitch shot ahead and turned. Jogging backward, he said, “Mitch. Not bubba. Mitch.”

“Mitt. Mitt. Mitt.”

“Close enough.” Mitch nodded and fell back in line beside her.

They covered a block in silence broken only by the slap of their shoes and the bleats of Rhett’s horn. “Did your sister leave a will?”

Carly’s steps faltered. “Yes. Why?”

“I’d like to see it.”

“I repeat, why?”

“Because anything that concerns Rhett concerns me. I am, after all, his brother. You’re only his aunt.”

Worry twisted her stomach. The attorney had promised the hastily scribbled will was valid. But he was a small-time attorney and not one of the high-profile types the Kincaids probably kept on retainer. “Half brother. Marlene’s will was handwritten, but notarized and completely legal.”

“Then you have no reason not to share it.”

She couldn’t stop him from getting a copy. Cooperating would probably be for the best. “I’ll tell my lawyer you want a copy.”

“I’d prefer to see the original.”

Her nerves snarled tighter. “Why?”

“To make sure the document is valid.”

He was going to challenge her right to Rhett. It was all she could do to keep putting one foot in front of the other. “It is.”

“Find a renter for your house yet?” he asked before she could get past her panic.

“No.”

“Are you comfortable leaving it vacant?”

If his goal was to ruin her run, he’d succeeded. “My neighbors will keep an eye on it for me.”

“You trust them that much?”

“I do.”

“You might want to consider a security system.”

“I can’t afford one.”

“You could. Just say the word.”

“If I moved back home, I wouldn’t need a security system.” Carly usually ran farther, but she couldn’t stomach more of Mitch’s company this morning. She took a sharp right at the intersection without warning and headed back toward the manor.

Mitch’s steps echoed hers, and he tracked her back toward the house. “Running from something, Carly?”

Yes. You. She glanced at him. “I need to go into work early this morning.”

A lone dark eyebrow hiked as if he recognized the lie for what it was. But she didn’t care. Mitch wasn’t interested in his half brother’s well-being. All he cared about was the billions of bucks Rhett represented.

Carly needed to call her attorney and find out if Mitch had any chance at all of stealing her precious nephew. If he did, then renting her house wasn’t going to be an issue, because she’d have to sell it and use the equity to pay the legal fees.

Mitch Kincaid seemed determined to screw up hers and Rhett’s lives. And Carly was just as determined to stop him.

No matter what the cost.

“Fax coming through,” Frank Lewis’s voice said through the cell phone line. “You’re not going to like it.”

Mitch tossed his keys into the porcelain bowl on the credenza. “Why?”

“Because Carlene Corbin is squeaky-clean.”

“Nobody’s that clean. How far back did you go?”

“Eighteen. Want me to look further? Check for a juvenile record?”

“Yes.”

“It’ll take some time to crack sealed records.”

“I’ll wait. What about the other matter?”

“I used my connections to get what the police had on the sister’s accident. Nothing of interest so far. No flags on your father.”

Mitch exhaled in relief. “Good. Keep looking.”

“Everett wasn’t Mafia, Mitch.”

Mitch entered the study and closed the door. As predicted, the fax machine spewed pages. “No, but we both know you didn’t cross him. Marlene Corbin backed Dad into a corner. He would have come out swinging. And he wouldn’t plan to lose the fight.”

“I hear you. I’m on it. Read the fax. Give me a call if anything rings your chimes.”

“Will do. Thanks, Frank.” He disconnected, retrieved the report and scanned the pages, noting Carly’s University of Florida, Gainesville, education, her steady work history and her broken engagement. Something niggled at him as he settled in his leather desk chair. He reread until he nailed the odd part.

She’d graduated from high school at nineteen when many kids did so at seventeen or eighteen. That wasn’t too unusual. Had she missed the age cutoff for entering school? Repeated a grade? He double-checked her birth date. July 9. She hadn’t missed the age cutoff. Probably nothing, but he’d get Frank on it.

She’d had a long-term relationship with one man in college, and she’d been engaged until recently to another. What had happened to the college boyfriend and the ex-fiancé?

A knock on the door yanked him away from those intriguing questions. He opened a drawer and shoved the fax inside. “Yes?”

The knob turned and the oak panel opened. Carly filled the gap. She had Rhett on her hip and judging by her purple tracksuit had just returned from work.

“Mitt,” the kid screamed and beamed and waved.

A stab of something, probably a hunger pain, jabbed Mitch in the midsection. He jerked a nod. “Hi, kid.”

Carly stepped into the study. “Della needed another day. I can have dinner ready in about an hour. Will that work for you?”

“That makes three days off.”

“Get over yourself, Kincaid. She’s trying to take care of her sister, not going out of her way to inconvenience you. And I told her to take as long as she needed.”

He gritted his teeth over Carly interfering with household matters. Keep your eye on the goal. Get the kid. Get rid of the aunt. “We’ll go out to dinner.”

Refusal tightened Carly’s features and stung Mitch’s pride. Women didn’t turn down his invitations. “I just picked up Rhett from day care. Lucy said he was teething and cranky today. I’m not going to leave him with a sitter.”

“We’ll take him with us.”

Carly’s brown eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You want to eat out with Mr. Messy even knowing he’s likely to be fussy?”

He’d rather have a vasectomy without anesthetic. “We have to eat, Carly. And you’ve worked all day. You shouldn’t have to cook.”

Most women would fall all over themselves to be accommodating. Carly deliberated for nearly sixty seconds, and the lack of enthusiasm on her face wasn’t flattering.

“Give me ten minutes. And don’t make reservations for some swanky place. Make sure it’s family-friendly. Rhett will need a high chair.” She left, closing the door behind her.

Mitch steepled his fingers and tapped his chin. Earlier today his lawyer had informed him Marlene’s will was airtight. Not only had the document been written in her handwriting, the writing of the one-line testament had been witnessed by two bank employees who knew her well.

I leave everything I hold dear, my possessions, my assets and my beloved son, Rhett, to my sister, Carlene Leah Corbin, because she’ll be a better mother to my son than even I could be.

In an overkill move, Marlene had had the thing notarized. Had she taken such drastic moves because she’d feared Everett’s rage?

Mitch had never seen his father as livid as he’d been that day in late January when Marlene Corbin had brought her eight-month-old son to the house to meet his daddy. Everett’s fury hadn’t abated during the month of February while they’d awaited the DNA test results. And then on the first of March Marlene was dead. His father’s only comment, “Good riddance,” had been heartfelt.

Had his father stooped to murder? Mitch shrugged to ease the knot of tension cramping between his shoulder blades. He’d know soon enough. And then he’d deal with it.

But for now, contesting Marlene’s will was out.

He retrieved the fax and resumed reading, but found nothing else of value. True to her word, Carly returned ten minutes later. She’d changed into a short white denim skirt that displayed the length of her legs and a sleeveless wraparound red knit top that clung to her breasts and narrow waist.

She looked good. Good enough to momentarily distract him from his plan. Forcing his head back into the game, Mitch rose and escorted her outside. She headed for her car, he for his.

She stopped in the driveway. “The car seat’s in my car.”

He eyed the minivan without anticipation and held out his hand for her keys. “I’ll drive.”

“My car? I don’t think so.” She turned away and leaned into the backseat to strap the boy in.

Mitch’s eyes zeroed in on the curve of her butt, and he almost said to hell with dinner. He didn’t like being attracted to his unwanted houseguest. But eating alone wouldn’t get him anywhere. After the way she’d kissed him two nights ago, he needed to get her out of the picture. Fast. Or he’d end up no better than his father. Hooked by a Corbin.

Biting back his objections, he pried his gaze from her rear end, rounded the hood and climbed into the front passenger seat. It had been seven days since she’d moved in. He’d expected to see some sign of discontent by now. When would the craving for her single lifestyle kick in? When would she start feeling tied down by her sister’s kid?

Waiting for Carly to grow tired of caring for the boy was moving too slowly. He needed faster results.

She settled in the driver’s seat, buckled up and turned the key. Mitch checked her ring finger and noted a faint pale indentation he hadn’t noticed before. He waited until she’d cleared the guardhouse before asking, “What happened to your engagement?”

Carly braked a little too hard at the stoplight, jolting him forward. He braced a hand on the dash. “It ended. Where are we going?”

“Head toward the bay side of South Beach. Why did your engagement end?”

She shot him a guarded glance. “Sam wasn’t ready for a family.”

And she came with one. Unless she dumped the kid. “That’s a circumstance easily remedied, Carly.”

Her fingers strangled the steering wheel and her glare made it clear she’d rather wrap them around his neck. The light turned green and she punched the gas. “Oh for pity’s sake. Would you get off that horse? I’m not giving up Rhett.”

“You must have loved Sam. You were engaged for two years.”

Her throat worked as she swallowed. She kept her eyes straight ahead. “I’m not going to ask how you know that. But, yes, I did. I stopped the day he asked me to walk away from Rhett.”

Mitch bit back a curse as another avenue closed. But when faced with a roadblock, he’d learned to search for an alternate route.

If Carly was as squeaky-clean as the P.I. reported, then he’d have to find another way to get custody of the boy. But how could he win her over? How could he gain her trust?

Seduction? The idea shot across his mind like a comet.

He weighed the possibility, and his pulse quickened and his palms tingled the way they did whenever he had a winning plan.

Could he deliberately seduce Carly and win her trust, then stab her in the back by taking the kid?

Guilt punched him a time or two, but he ignored it. It would be nothing more than doing to Carly what her sister had done to his father. Marlene had set up his father, then taken something from him.

Mitch had to carry out his father’s last wishes or lose his and his siblings’ inheritance. If that meant he had to blur the lines of decency, then so be it. The boy would be well cared for, and no one would be hurt in the long run.

The kiss had proved he and Carly were physically compatible. He studied the curve of her breasts, her narrow waist and the length of her toned legs, and arousal buzzed through his veins.

Sharing her bed wouldn’t be a hardship. But how far would he have to go?

As far as it takes.

He’d even marry her if he had to and adopt the child. When the marriage ended, he’d have custody of the kid and Carly would have a healthy bank account.

A win-win situation.

* * *

“He looks just like you, Mitch, except he has Carly’s eyes.”

Carly opened her mouth to correct the woman Mitch had introduced as a member of his yacht club, but Mitch cut her off.

“Rhett definitely has his mother’s eyes.”

“Don’t tell me Miami’s most eligible bachelor is finally going to settle down?” the anorexic, overly tanned, forty-something blonde asked.

Mitch gave her an enigmatic smile and a slight shrug.

Carly wanted to kick him under the table. What was he trying to pull?

To Carly she said, “Kudos, my dear. You have accomplished a miracle.”

Carly stiffened at the implication that she’d landed Mitch. Or that she’d even want to. “I—”

“Thanks for stopping by, Sandra,” Mitch interrupted. “Tell William I said hello.”

“I will. And again, I am sorry about Everett. It’s great seeing you, Mitch, and meeting you and your adorable little one, Carly. Ta ta.” The skinny body slinked away.

Ta ta? Who said ta ta these days? But Carly had bigger fish to fry. “What on earth were you thinking? You let her believe Rhett was yours. And mine.”

The idea of having Mitch’s baby made her stomach churn.

Mitch glanced at Rhett, who had almost finished smearing and eating his dinner. “You said the kid had a short attention span. Do you really want to waste time explaining this convoluted mess my father and your sister left behind when we could be finishing our meal before he has the meltdown you predicted?”

“No. But—”

“Forget it, Carly. Sandra isn’t worth the worry.”

“But you lied.”

“Replay every word I said. I never lied. She assumed. I didn’t correct her, nor did I confirm her speculations. Give it a rest. The media frenzy my father’s death created is just beginning to die down. I’d rather not jump-start it with the kind of scandal his illegitimate child will create. That’ll happen soon enough.”

Media frenzy. She suppressed a shudder.

She hated that Mitch was right almost as much as she hated that he’d chosen the perfect restaurant and been completely charming and polite throughout the meal. He’d even smiled at Rhett a couple of times.

But he’d been nothing but distrustful and acerbic before tonight, and that made her wary. “Why the chameleon act?”

A dark eyebrow lifted. “I beg your pardon?”

“Why are you being nice?”

“You’ve stated your case. You’re not going to give up the bo—Rhett. That means we will be sharing a roof for the next fifty-plus weeks. No reason why we can’t do so amicably.”

“I stated my case the day we met. Nothing’s changed.”

“I thought you’d change your mind. Now I realize you won’t. We’ll make the best of our alliance.” He wiped his mouth and laid his napkin beside his plate. “Would you care for dessert?”

She blinked at the sudden switch in topic. An inkling of suspicion wiggled like an earthworm inside her. Leopards didn’t change their spots. Or so the cliché said. And clichés were clichés for a reason. They were usually true.

Mitch had to be up to something. The question was what?

But even more worrisome, Carly had actually enjoyed Mitch’s company tonight. She’d better watch herself, because he was still the same rat bastard who’d hurt her sister and had recently threatened Carly’s custody of Rhett.

Letting her guard down around Mitch Kincaid wouldn’t be a smart move.

Five

Wooing a woman he didn’t like but wanted to sleep with was a unique experience for Mitch.