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

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СКАЧАТЬ heaven he was holding the child because he’d stunned Mari numb. She watched his hand smoothing along the baby’s back and tried to gather her thoughts. “Um, what did you say?”

      “We’re both clearly qualified and capable adults.” His voice reverberated in soothing waves. “It would be in the best interest of the child, a great Christmas message of goodwill, for us to keep her.”

      Keep her?

      Mari’s legs folded out from under her and she sank to the edge of the leather sofa. She couldn’t have heard him right. She’d let her attraction to him distract her. “What did you say?”

      He sat beside her, his thigh pressing warm and solid against hers. “We can have temporary custody of her, just for a couple of weeks to give the police a chance to find out if she has biological relatives able to care for her.”

      “Have you lost your mind?” Or maybe she had lost hers because she was actually tempted by his crazy plan.

      “Not that I know of.”

      She pressed the back of her wrist to her forehead, stunned that he was serious. Concerns cycled through her head about work and the hoopla of a media circus. “This is a big decision for both of us, something that should be thought over carefully.”

      “In medicine I have to think fast. I don’t always have the luxury of a slow and steady scientific exam,” he said, with a wry twist to his lips. “Years of going with my gut have honed my instincts, and my instincts say this is the right thing to do.”

      Her mind settled on his words and while she never would have gotten to that point on her own, the thought of this baby staying with him rather than in some institution was appealing. “So you’ll be her temporary guardian?”

      “Our case is more powerful if we offer to do this as a partnership. Both of us.” His deep bass and logic drew her in. “Think of the positive PR you’ll receive. Your father’s press corps will be all over this philanthropic act of yours, which should take some pressure off you at the holidays,” he offered, so logically she could almost believe him.

      “It isn’t as simple as that. The press can twist things, rumors will start about both of us.” What if they thought it was her baby? She squeezed her eyes closed and bolted off the sofa. “I need more time.”

      The buzzer rang at the door. Her heart went into her throat.

      She heard Rowan follow her. Felt the heat of him at her back. Felt the urgency.

      “Issa doesn’t have time, Mari. You need to decide if you’ll do this. Decide to commit now.”

      She turned sharply to find him standing so close the three of them made a little family circle. “But you could take her on your own—”

      “Maybe the authorities would accept that. But maybe not. We should lead with our strongest case. For her.” He cradled the baby’s head. “We didn’t ask for this, but we’re here.” Fine lines fanned from the corners of his eyes, attesting to years of worry and long hours in the sun. “We may disagree on a lot of things, but we’re people who help.”

      “You’re guilt-tripping me,” she accused in the small space between them, her words crackling like small snaps of electricity. And the guilt was working. Her concerns about gossip felt absolutely pathetic in light of the plight of this baby.

      As much as she gave Rowan hell about his computer inventions, she knew all about his humanitarian work at the charity clinic. He devoted his life to helping others. He had good qualities underneath that arrogant charm.

      “Well, people like us who help in high-stakes situations learn to use whatever means are at our disposal.” He half smiled, creasing the lines deeper. “Is it working?”

      Those lines from worry and work were real. She might disapprove of his methods, but she couldn’t question his motivations, his altruistic spirit. Seeing him deftly rock the baby to sleep ended any argument. For this one time at least, she was on his team.

      For Issa.

      “Open the door and you’ll find out.”

      * * *

      Three hours later, Mari watched Rowan close the hotel door after the police. Stacks of paperwork rested on the table, making it official. She and Rowan had temporary custody of the baby while the police investigated further and tried to track down the employee who’d walked away from the cart.

      Issa slept in her infant seat, secure for now.

      Mari sighed in relief, slumping in exhaustion back onto the sofa. She’d done it. She’d played the princess card and all but demanded the police obey her “request” to care for the baby until Christmas—less than two weeks away—or until more information could be found about Issa’s parents. She’d agreed to care for the child with Rowan Boothe, a doctor who’d saved countless young lives. The police had seemed relieved to have the problem resolved so easily. They’d taken photos of the baby and prints. They would look into the matter, but their faces said they didn’t hold out much hope of finding answers.

      Maybe she should hire a private detective to look deeper than the police. Except it was almost midnight now. Any other plans would have to wait until morning.

      Rowan rested a hand on Mari’s shoulder. “Would you get my medical bag so I can do a more thorough checkup? It’s in the bedroom by my shaving kit. I’d like to listen to her heart.”

      He squeezed her shoulder once, deliciously so, until her mouth dried right up from that simple touch.

      “Medical bag.” She shot to her feet. “Right, of course.”

      She was too tired and too unsettled to fight off the sensual allure of him right now. She stepped into Rowan’s bedroom, her eyes drawn to the hints of him everywhere. A suit was draped over the back of a rattan rocker by sliding doors that led out to a balcony. She didn’t consider herself a romantic by any stretch but the thought of sitting out there under the stars with someone...

      God, what was the matter with her? This man had driven her bat crazy for years. Now she was daydreaming about an under-the-stars make-out session that would lead back into the bedroom. His bedroom.

      Her eyes skated to the sprawling four-poster draped with gauzy netting, a dangerous place to look with his provocative glances still steaming up her memories. An e-reader rested on the bedside table, his computer laptop tucked underneath. Her mind filled with images of him sprawled in that massive bed—working, reading—details about a man she’d done her best to avoid. She pulled her eyes away.

      The bathroom was only a few feet away. She charged across the plush carpet, pushing the door wide. The scent of him was stronger in here, and she couldn’t resist breathing in the soapy aroma clinging to the air—patchouli, perhaps. She swallowed hard as goose bumps of awareness rose on her skin, her senses on overload.

      A whimpering baby cry from the main room reminded her of her mission here. She shook off frivolous thoughts and snagged the medical bag from the marble vanity. She wrapped her hands around the well-worn leather with his name on a scratched brass plate. The dichotomy of a man this wealthy carrying such a battered bag added layers to her previously clear-cut image of him.

      Clutching the bag СКАЧАТЬ