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

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СКАЧАТЬ a flash of panic Carly detected in his eyes? Of course not. Who would be scared of an adorable child? She must have mistaken annoyance for fear.

      Rhett grasped two chubby fists in the immaculate fabric of Mitch’s trousers and bounced, demanding, “Up. Up. Pig me up.”

      Step one in getting these two to know each other: Mitch might as well learn from the get-go that once Rhett started that song and dance, it wouldn’t end until he got what he wanted.

      “My minivan’s loaded. I wanted to get Rhett settled before I started schlepping our luggage.”

      “Ingrid,” Mitch spoke over his shoulder. “Take the boy to the nursery while I show Ms. Corbin to her suite.”

      A stacked and stunning blonde in snug hipster jeans and an even tighter, belly-showing T-shirt appeared behind him. The hand she placed on Mitch’s lean waist as she ducked around him in the wide doorway was far too familiar for an employee, and her long acrylic nails were likely to put someone’s eye out. “Come on, little Brett.”

      “Rhett,” Carly corrected automatically and stepped between the woman and Rhett at the same time Mitch shifted.

      Carly and Mitch collided. Her hip ended up aligned with his rock-hard thigh and her shoulder pressed the equally firm wall of his chest. She inhaled sharply, and Mitch’s cologne filled her nose. A flood of warmth and awareness swept through her. She stomped on the unwanted response and focused on the problem. The other problem. “Who are you?”

      The blonde tossed her long hair over her shoulder and smiled intimately at Mitch before replying, “I’m Rhett’s nanny.”

      With a face and body like that, I’ll just bet you are.

      Carly glared at Mitch, then bent to pry Rhett’s stubby fingers from the lord of the manor’s pants. Mitch’s muscles contracted beneath her touch as she maneuvered. She could feel body heat radiating through the summer-weight fabric, and it almost scorched her. And being at eye level with his crotch was…distracting to say the least.

      She finally freed her wiggly nephew and scooped him up. “I told you Rhett didn’t need a nanny.”

      “Who will watch him while you’re working? Or do you intend to quit your job and live off my largesse?” The superior way he intoned the words and looked down at her, as if he expected her to freeload off him, set her teeth on edge.

      “I’m not quitting my job. I’ll watch Rhett when I’m here, and when I’m at work Lucy, his regular day-care provider, will watch him.”

      “And when you go out in the evening?”

      Carly blinked. “You mean on a date?”

      He lowered that square chin a fraction of an inch.

      “I don’t date.”

      Mitch’s eyes narrowed. “You mean you’re not seeing anyone at the moment. But that will change.”

      She hadn’t dated since Marlene died and she had no inclination to wade back into the muddy dating waters again anytime soon. But she wasn’t admitting that to Mitch and his playmate.

      “If I want to go out, I’ll hire a babysitter.”

      “Unnecessary. Ingrid will take over.”

      “Don’t be ridiculous. Even if I went out every night of the week—which I won’t—that wouldn’t justify a full-time nanny’s salary.” She turned to the bottled, navel-ringed blonde. “Sorry, Ingrid. Nothing personal. But Rhett just lost his mother, and he’s moving into a strange house. That’s enough changes for one little guy to make right now.”

      “He’ll adapt,” Mitch snarled quietly.

      Carly tipped her head back and held his gaze without blinking. “The way I see it, Kincaid, I hold all the cards. I have nothing to gain by moving in here and you have everything to lose if we don’t.”

      Of course, Rhett would lose, too. But his safety was her primary concern. Not even a billion-plus bucks would make her overlook his well-being. She wasn’t going to leave him in the care of Mitch’s horny, dragon-clawed girlfriend.

      She felt a bit unfair for judging the woman by her looks, but after interviewing dozens of day-care providers with Marlene, Carly had learned to tell almost instantly which ones had a rapport with children. Ingrid did not. She was almost as cold and detached as her boss—until she looked at Mitch. Then she looked ready to get XXX-rated hot.

      Mitch’s nostrils flared and his lips flatlined. He looked angry enough to bend horseshoes with his bare hands or maybe his clenched teeth. “Ingrid, please wait for me in the living room. I’ll join you after Ms. Corbin and I have discussed your qualifications.”

      38-24-34. Oh yeah, those were serious qualifications.

      But not for child care.

      “I’ll show you to your room.” Mitch turned and stalked across an Italian marble foyer almost as large as the entire first floor of Carly’s house.

      He hadn’t agreed to her terms, but Carly, curious to see more of the mansion and where Mitch intended to put them, followed him anyway. The staircase rose from the center of the polished flagstone floor like a water fountain arching in opposite directions at the top. Carly’s gaze stuck to the flexing muscles of his butt like a fly to flypaper as he climbed.

      No way. She couldn’t find him attractive. Not after all Marlene had told her. She was merely one athlete admiring another’s well-toned physique. Right?

      Shifting her gaze from the glutei maximi ahead of her, she trailed her host. The walk through the gallery, past antique furniture and paintings that looked as if they belonged in a museum, seemed to take forever. “Good grief, how big is this place?”

      “Fifteen thousand square feet,” he replied, turning down a long hall. A set of double doors marked the end, but he stopped short of them and pushed open a door on the right.

      “Your suite.”

      Carly brushed past him. Her shoulder grazed his chest. She cursed the frisson of goose bumps the small contact caused.

      Surprised, she turned a slow circle, taking in the tasteful lavender, white and mint decor that included a curtained four-poster bed, ornate French furniture and plum-colored rugs. The room looked like a decorating magazine snapshot. Perfect down to the last detail. As much as Kincaid seemed to resent her presence, she’d expected to be stuck in a closet somewhere or maybe the servants’ quarters.

      “Me down,” Rhett demanded and squirmed in her arms.

      “Not yet, buddy.” Not until she’d moved the expensive-looking breakables out of his reach.

      She crossed to the bay window and knelt on its cushioned window seat to look into the backyard. Her mouth dropped open. People actually lived like this?

      The formal gardens between her window and the opposite side of the U-shaped house looked elaborate enough for a government monument or a movie set, and whoever had designed them had been fond of rulers. All straight lines. Not one single curve. The roses probably even grew square petals.

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