Billionaire's Jet Set Babies
Page 1
He Needed More Time With Her.
His mind filled with a vision of Alexa chasing his kids around, all wet from the tub. Warm memories pulled him in with a reminder of the family life he should be having right now and wasn’t because of his workload. Having Alexa here felt so right.
It was right.
And so he wasn’t sending her home in the morning. Not only did he need her help with the children, he wanted her to stay for personal reasons. The explosive chemistry they’d just discovered didn’t come around often. Hell, he couldn’t remember when he’d ever burned this much to have a particular woman. So much the craving filled his mind, as well as his body.
The extension of their trip presented the perfect opportunity to follow that attraction to its ultimate destination.
Landing her directly in his bed.
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Dear Reader,
As an avid reader myself, I adore connected stories! When I’m intrigued by a secondary character in a novel, I’m ecstatic when that character gets his or her own happily-ever-after. It’s especially a thrill when readers write to me, asking about a potential book for one of my characters.
In this case, readers have been asking for Seth Jansen’s story since his extended family first appeared in one of my Silhouette Intimate Moments novels, Explosive Alliance, and then again in my early Silhouette Desire novels Baby, I’m Yours and Under the Millionaire’s Influence. This book—Billionaire’s Jet Set Babies—can be read as a stand-alone. However, if you would like to find those earlier reads about Seth and his family, they have all been reissued in ebook form. And the two Silhouette Desire novels are being re-released in print form in November 2011 as a 2-in-1 for Harlequin Showcase.
Thanks again to all of you who sent shout-outs for Seth Jansen’s story. I had a blast penning the long-awaited happily-ever-after for this jet-setting hero!
Cheers,
Catherine Mann
www.CatherineMann.com
CATHERINE MANN
BILLIONAIRE’S JET SET BABIES
Books by Catherine Mann
Harlequin Desire
Acquired: The CEO’s Small-Town Bride #2090
Billionaire’s Jet Set Babies #2115
Silhouette Desire
Baby, I’m Yours #1721
Under the Millionaire’s Influence #1787
The Executive’s Surprise Baby #1837
†Rich Man’s Fake Fiancée #1878
†His Expectant Ex #1895
Propositioned Into a Foreign Affair #1941
†Millionaire in Command #1969
Bossman’s Baby Scandal #1988
†The Tycoon Takes a Wife #2013
Winning It All #2031
“Pregnant with the Playboy’s Baby”
*The Maverick Prince #2047
*His Thirty-Day Fiancée #2061
*His Heir, Her Honor #2071
All backlist available in ebook
CATHERINE MANN
USA TODAY bestselling author Catherine Mann is living out her own fairy-tale ending on a sunny Florida beach with her Prince Charming husband and their four children. With more than thirty-five books in print in more than twenty countries, she has also celebrated wins for both a RITA® Award and a Booksellers’ Best Award. Catherine enjoys chatting with readers online—thanks to the wonders of the wireless internet, which allows her to network with her laptop by the water! To learn more about her work, visit her website, www.catherinemann.com, or reach her by snail mail at P.O. Box 6065, Navarre, FL 32566.
To Amelia Richard: a treasured reader,
reviewer and friend. Thank you for all you’ve done to
help spread the word about my stories. You’re awesome!
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Epilogue
One
Alexa Randall had accumulated an eclectic boxful of lost and found items since opening her own cleaning company for charter jets. There were the standard smart phones, portfolios, tablets, even a Patek Philippe watch. She’d returned each to its owner.
Then there were the stray panties and men’s boxers, even the occasional sex toys from Mile High Club members. All of those items, she’d picked up with latex gloves and tossed in the trash.
But today marked a first find ever in the history of A-1 Aircraft Cleaning Services. Never before had she found a baby left on board—actually, two babies.
Her bucket of supplies dropped to the industrial blue carpet with a heavy thud that startled the sleeping pair. Yep, two infants, apparently twins with similar blond curly hair and cherub cheeks. About one year old, perhaps? A boy and a girl, it seemed, gauging from their pink and blue smocked outfits and gender-matched car seats.
Tasked to clean the jet alone, Alexa had no one to share her shock with. She flipped on another table lamp in the main compartment of the sleek private jet, the lighting in the hangar sketchy at best even at three in the afternoon.
Both kids were strapped into car seats resting on the leather sofa along the side of the plane, which was Seth Jansen’s personal aircraft. As in the Seth Jansen of Jansen Jets. The self-made billionaire who’d raked in a fortune inventing some must-have security device for airports to help combat possible terrorist attacks on planes during takeoffs and landings. She admired the man’s entrepreneurial spirit.
Landing his account would be her company’s big break. She needed this first cleaning of his aircraft to go off without a hitch.
Tiny fists waved for a second, slowing, lowering, until both babies began to settle back to sleep. Another huffy sigh shuddered through the girl before her breaths evened out. Her little arm landed on a piece of paper safety-pinned to the girl’s hem.
Narrowing her eyes, Alexa leaned forward and read:
Seth,
You always say you want more time with the twins, so here’s your chance. Sorry for the short notice, but a friend surprised me with a two-week spa retreat. Enjoy your “daddy time” with Olivia and Owen!
XOXO,
Pippa
Pippa?
Alexa straightened again, horrified. Really? Really!
Pippa Jansen, as in the ex-Mrs. Jansen, had dumped off her infants on their father’s jet. Unreal. Alexa stuffed her fists into the pockets of her navy chinos, standard uniform for A-1 cleaning staff along with a blue polo shirt bearing the company’s logo.
And who signed a note to their obviously estranged baby daddy with kisses and hugs? Alexa sank down into a fat chair across from the pint-size passengers. Bigger question of the day, who left babies unattended on an airplane?
A crappy parent, that’s who.
The rich and spoiled rotten, who played by their own rules, a sad reality she knew only too well from growing up in that world. People had told her how lucky she was as a kid—lucky to have a dedicated nanny that she spent more time with than she did with either of her parents.
The best thing that had ever happened to her? Her father bankrupted the family’s sportswear chain—once worth billions, now worth zip. That left Alexa the recipient of a trust fund from Grandma containing a couple of thousand dollars.
She’d used the money to buy a partnership in a cleaning service
about to go under because the aging owner could no longer carry the workload on her own. Bethany—her new partner—had been grateful for Alexa’s energy and the second chance for A-1 Aircraft Cleaning Services to stay afloat. Using Alexa’s contacts from her family’s world of luxury and extravagance she had revitalized the struggling business. Alexa’s ex-husband, Travis, had been appalled by her new occupation and offered to help out financially so she wouldn’t have to work.
She would rather scrub toilets.
And the toilet on this particular Gulfstream III jet was very important to her. She had to land the Jansen Jet contract and hopefully this one-time stint would impress him enough to cinch the deal. Her business needed this account to survive, especially in today’s tough economy. If she failed, she could lose everything and A-1 might well face Chapter 11 bankruptcy. She’d hardly believed her luck when she’d been asked by another cleaning company to subcontract out on one of the Jansen Jets—this jet.
Now that she’d found these two babies, she was screwed. She swept particles of sand from the seat into her hand, eyed the fingerprints on the windows, could almost feel the grit rising from the carpet fiber. But she couldn’t just clean up, restock the Evian water and pretend these kids weren’t here. She needed to contact airport security, which was going to land Jansen’s ex-wife in hot water, possibly him as well. That would piss off Jansen. And the jet still wouldn’t be serviced. And then he would never consider her for the contract.
Frustration and a hefty dose of anger stung stronger than a bucket full of ammonia. Scratch cleaning detail for now, scratch cinching this deal that would finally take her company out of the red. She had to locate the twins’ father ASAP.
Alexa unclipped the cell phone from her waist and thumbed her directory to find the number for Jansen Jets, which she happened to have since she’d been trying to get through to the guy for a month. She’d never made it further than his secretary, who’d agreed to pass along Alexa’s business prospectus.
She eyed the sleeping babies. Maybe some good could come from this mess after all.
Today, she would finally have the chance to talk to the boss, just not how she’d planned and not in a way that would put him in a receptive mood…
The phone stopped ringing as someone picked up.
“Jansen Jets, please hold.” As quickly as the thick female Southern drawl answered, the line clicked and Muzak filled the air waves with soulless contemporary tunes.
A squawk from one of the car seats drew her attention. She looked up fast to see Olivia wriggling in her seat, kicking free a Winnie the Pooh blanket. The little girl spit out her Piglet pacifier and whimpered, getting louder until her brother scrunched up his face, blinking awake and none too happy. His Eeyore pacifier dangled from a clip attached to his blue sailor outfit.
Two pairs of periwinkle-blue eyes stared at her, button noses crinkled. Owen’s eyes filled with tears. Olivia’s bottom lip thrust outward again.
Tucking the Muzak-humming phone under her chin, Alexa hefted the iconic Burberry plaid diaper bag off the floor.
“Hey there, little ones,” she said in what she hoped was a conciliatory tone. She’d spent so little time around babies she could only hope she pegged it right. “I know, I know, sweetie, I’m a stranger, but I’m all you’ve got right now.”
And how crummy was that? She stifled another spurt of anger at the faceless Pippa who’d dropped her children off like luggage. When had the spa-hopping mama expected their father to locate them?
“I’m assuming you’re Olivia.” Alexa tickled the bare foot of the girl wearing a pink smocked dress.
Olivia giggled, and Alexa pulled the pink lace bootie from the baby’s mouth. Olivia thrust out her bottom lip—until Alexa unhooked a teething ring from the diaper bag and passed it over to the chubby-cheeked girl.
“And you must be Owen.” She tweaked his blue tennis shoe—still on his foot as opposed to his sister who was ditching her other booty across the aisle with the arm of a major league pitcher. “Any idea where your daddy is? Or how much longer he’ll be?”
She’d been told by security she had about a half hour to service the inside of the jet in order to be out before Mr. Jansen arrived. As much as she would have liked to meet him, it was considered poor form for the cleaning staff to still be on hand. She’d expected her work and a business card left on the silver drink tray to speak for itself.
So much for her well laid plans.
She scooped up a baby blanket from the floor, folded it neatly and placed it on the couch. She smoothed back Owen’s sweaty curls. Going quiet, he stared back at her just as the on hold Muzak cued up “Sweet Caroline”—the fourth song so far. Apparently she’d been relegated to call waiting purgatory.
How long until the kids got hungry? She peeked into the diaper bag for supplies. Maybe she would luck out and find more contact info along the way. Sippy cups of juice, powdered formula, jars of food and diapers, diapers, diapers…
The clank of feet on the stairway outside yanked her upright. She dropped the diaper bag and spun around fast, just as a man filled the open hatch. A tall and broad-shouldered man.
He stood with the sun backlighting him, casting his face in mysterious shadows.
Alexa stepped in front of the babies instinctively, protectively. “Good afternoon. What can I do for you?”
Silently he stepped deeper into the craft until overhead lights splashed over his face and she recognized him from her internet searches. Seth Jansen, founder and CEO of Jansen Jets.
Relief made her knees wobbly. She’d been saved from a tough decision by Jansen’s early arrival. And, wow, did the guy ever know how to make an entrance.
From press shots she’d seen he was good-looking, with a kind of matured Abercrombie & Fitch beach hunk appeal. But no amount of Google Images could capture the impact of this tremendously attractive self-made billionaire in person.
Six foot three or four, he filled the charter jet with raw muscled man. He wasn’t some pale pencil pusher. He was more the size of a keen-eyed lumberjack, in a suit. An expensive, tailored suit.
The previously spacious cabin now felt tight. Intimate.
His sandy-colored hair—thick without being shaggy—sported sun-kissed streaks of lighter blond, the kind that came naturally from being outside rather than sitting in a salon chair. His tan and toned body gave further testimony to that. No raccoon rings around the eyes from tanning bed glasses. The scent of crisp air clung to him, so different from the boardroom aftershaves of her father and her ex. She scrunched her nose at even the memory of cloying cologne and cigars.
Even his eyes spoke of the outdoors. They were the same vibrant green she’d once seen in the waters off the Caribbean coast of St. Maarten, the sort of sparkling green that made you want to dive right into their cool depths. She turned shivery all over just thinking about taking a swim in those pristine waters.
She seriously needed to lighten up on the cleaning supply fumes. How unprofessional to stand here and gawk like a sex-starved divorcée—which she was.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Jansen. I’m Alexa Randall with A-1 Aircraft Cleaning Services.”
He shrugged out of his suit jacket, gray pinstripe and almost certainly an Ermenegildo Zegna, a brand known for its no-nonsense look. Expensive. Not surprising.
His open shirt collar, with his burgundy tie loosened did surprise her, however. Overall, she got the impression of an Olympic swimmer confined in an Italian suit.
“Right.” He checked his watch—the only non-GQ item on him. He wore what appeared to be a top-of-the-line diver’s timepiece. “I’m early, I know, but I need to leave right away so if you could speed this up, I would appreciate it.”
Jansen charged by, not even hesitating as he passed the two tykes. His tykes.
She cleared her throat. “You have a welcoming crew waiting for you.”
“I’m sure you’re mistaken.” He stowed his briefcase, his words clipped. “I’m flying solo today.”
She held up Pippa’s letter. “It appears, Mr. Jansen, your flight plans have changed.”
Seth Jansen stopped dead in his tracks. He looked back over his shoulder at Alexa Randall, the owner of a new, small company that had been trying to get his attention for at least a month. Yeah, he knew who the drop-dead gorgeous blonde was. But he didn’t have time to listen to her make a pitch he already knew would be rejected.
While he appreciated persistence as a business professional himself, he did not like gimmicks. “Let’s move along to the point, please.”
He had less than twenty minutes to get his Gulfstream III into the air and on its way from Charleston, South Carolina, to St. Augustine, Florida. He had a business meeting he’d been working his ass off to land for six months—dinner with the head of security for the Medinas, a deposed royal family that lived in exile in the United States.
Big-time account.
Once in a lifetime opportunity.
And the freedom to devote more of his energies to the philanthropic branch of this company. Freedom. It had a different meaning these days than when he’d flown crop dusters to make his rent back, in North Dakota.
“This—” she waved a piece of floral paper in front of him “—is the point.”
As she passed over the slip of paper, she stepped aside and revealed—holy crap—his kids. He looked down at the letter fast.
Two lines into the note, his temple throbbed. What the hell was Pippa thinking, leaving the twins this way? How long had they been in here? And why had she left him a damn note, for Pete’s sake?
He pulled out his cell phone to call his ex. Her voice mail picked up immediately. She was avoiding him, no doubt.
A text from Pippa popped up in his in-box. He opened the message and it simply read, Want 2 make sure you know. Twins r waiting for you at plane. Sorry 4 short notice. XOXO.