Baby for the Tycoon. Emily McKay

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      He cleared his throat to let her know he was there.

      Her head bobbed up. “Oh,” she said, wiggling in the chair to reposition Peyton in her arms without waking her. “How long have you been there?”

      “I just walked up.”

      She glanced down at the baby in her arms as Peyton stirred but didn’t wake. “I suppose I should put her down,” she whispered. “But I hate to do it. If she wakes up again…”

      If the smudges of exhaustion under her eyes were any indication, Peyton wasn’t the easiest of babies. No wonder given the upheaval in her young life.

      “If she wakes back up,” he found himself saying, “then I’ll take over and you can get some sleep. You should go eat.”

      Wendy shook her head. “I can’t ask you to do that. That’s not why we got married.”

      There was almost a hint of accusation in her voice.

      “Maybe not,” he hedged. “But we are married now. And you obviously could use the sleep. At this point, I’m more rested than you are. A sleepless night won’t hurt me, but a good night’s sleep could do you a world of good.”

      “If she needs a bottle in the night—”

      “Then I’ll give it to her.”

      Wendy looked skeptical. “The bottles are downstairs. You just—”

      “I saw you mixing the formula. I’ve got it.”

      “But—”

      “Wendy, I’m one of five kids. I had a niece and two nephews before I graduated from high school. Peyton won’t be the first baby I’ve ever fed.”

      “Oh.” After a moment of hesitation, she stood and crossed to the crib.

      As he’d told her, he knew his way around an infant. It was so obvious to him that she did not. There was a sort of fearful hesitancy to the way she moved. As if she were afraid of breaking Peyton.

      She lowered the baby into the crib then stood there for a long moment, her hand resting on Peyton before she moved back a step. She cringed as she raised the side of the bed and the hardware clattered. But Peyton slept on and Wendy slowly backed away.

      She paused as she closed the door to unclip the baby monitor from her hip and turn it on, as if Peyton might start crying any second and Wendy would miss it now that she was out of sight. He couldn’t help chuckling when she raised the monitor to her ear to listen more closely.

      She shot him an annoyed look. “What?”

      “You know you’re only one room away. You could probably hear her cry without the monitor.” When she looked as if she might comment, he reached out and carefully extracted it from her fingers. “Not that you’re going to need this tonight any way.”

      “I really don’t mind staying up with her.” “The discussion is over.”

      She opened her mouth to respond, then snapped it shut, her lips twisting into a smile. “I guess I know you well enough to recognize that I’m-the-boss-and-what-I-say-goes tone.”

      “I have a tone that says all that?”

      She snorted her derision. “Yeah. And don’t pretend you don’t know it.” She took a step in the direction of the room at the end of the hall—the guest room she’d claimed for her own—then she paused. “You didn’t have to do this, you know.”

      “Wendy, let’s not have another discussion about my motives.”

      She took another step toward him, closing the distance between them and lowering her voice. “No. I’m not talking about the wedding. I’m talking about all this.” She nodded her head in the direction of Peyton’s room. “I mean the nursery. The crib. The rocking chair. It’s all—”

      “It’s nothing.”

      She quirked an eyebrow. “Like the twenty percent nothing? Unless you were up all night hand-painting butterflies and daisies last night, I’m guessing you hired an interior decorator to come in and do this. In less than a week. That’s not nothing.”

      “Kitty mentioned that all you had was a bassinet.”

      She smiled a slow, teasing smile. “And you knew that wasn’t enough. Being such an expert on babies and everything.”

      He was struck once again by the idea that this was their wedding night. That if there wasn’t a baby asleep in the next room, he might now be slowly lifting that sweater up over her head. He might be unhooking that hot-pink bra of hers and stripping her naked.

      But of course, if there wasn’t a baby asleep in the next room, then there wouldn’t have been a wedding to begin with. Let alone a wedding night.

      Suddenly she reached up and cupped his jaw in her hand. Her gaze was soft, her touch gentle. “Thanks for taking such good care of us.”

      For a solid heartbeat—maybe longer—his brain seemed to completely stop working. He couldn’t remember all the reasons why touching her was such a bad idea. All he knew was how much he wanted her. Not just in bed, but here. Like this. Looking up at him as if he was a decent guy who deserved a woman like her.

      Before he could give in to the temptation to let her go on thinking that, he grabbed her hand in his and gently pulled it away from his face. Backing up a step, he said, “You should go to bed. Catch up on that sleep you’ve been missing.”

      He even used his I’m-the-boss tone.

      “Right.” She gave a chipper little salute. “Got it, boss.”

      Wendy had been so sure she wouldn’t be able to sleep. She’d been positive she’d find herself waking at every sound coming from Peyton’s room. She feared that she’d lie awake in bed thinking about the moment in the hall. But instead of the sleepless night she expected, she woke ten hours later to sun streaming in her bedroom window, feeling more rested than she had in weeks. Then she bolted upright in bed as panic clogged her heart. She’d slept through the night. Which meant she’d slept through Peyton waking and needing her God only knew how many times.

      Wendy dashed down the hall and into Peyton’s room, skidding to a halt beside the crib. It was empty. Her heart doubled its already accelerated rate. Where could—

      “Morning.”

      She spun around to see Jonathon seated in the rocking chair, Peyton nestled on his lap as he fed her a bottle. Wendy pressed a hand to her chest, blowing out a whoosh of air, willing her heart rate to slow.

      “You have her,” she muttered. “She’s fine.”

      Jonathon gave her a once-over, his gaze lingering on the tank top and boxers she always slept in. Finally his eyes returned to hers. “What did you think had happened to her?”

      Wendy tugged at the hem of the thin white cotton, resisting the urge to glance down to verify just how thin the tank top was. She doubted knowing would bring her comfort. Instead she СКАЧАТЬ