The Billionaire's Christmas Baby

by Marion Lennox

  ‘I know. I stopped you because it seemed scary. You’re my employer and there seemed all sorts of minefields. So maybe there are but right now... You know, right now I’m over being sensible. It felt good then and somehow I suspect it might feel even better now.’ And then, as she looked at his face, the hint of mischief returned. ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Max Grayland, just kiss me.’

  And what was a man to do? He chuckled. And then he kissed her.

  * * *

  The first time Max had kissed her, two weeks ago now, she’d felt as if her world had changed, and, to be honest, there’d been a voice inside her all this time demanding she try again. Was that first reaction her imagination?

  It wasn’t.

  It was as if her breathing had been taken over by another. More, it was as if her body had been taken over. She was no longer Sunny.

  Somehow, two parts of a whole, a being she hadn’t known existed, had been miraculously brought together and joined. Every piece fitted into place and now its heat was soldering them together in some way that could never be undone.

  Weird? Fanciful? She didn’t care. All she cared about was that she was in his arms. Phoebe was tucked between them, warm and safe, both of their bodies curved to protect her, and that was weird too. It was as if Phoebe was part of them. A bonding that couldn’t be undone?

  But these feelings were subliminal, a wash of sensation, a wave of intuition that told her she was right out of her comfort zone but somehow the zone she was in seemed...right?

  A woman could die in this kiss.

  And, yes, it was nuts to be kissing this man. It was crazy to be standing in the window of his beautiful apartment overlooking all of Manhattan. It was a dream, one she surely had to wake from.

  But waking was no part of her plans. He was kissing her with heat, with passion and with desire, and she had no option but to kiss him back. To do anything else would be to deny a part of her she hadn’t known existed.

  This was a fairy tale, she thought, in the tiny part of her mind that was available for thought. Cinders with her prince. The thought almost made her laugh, and if she wasn’t being kissed maybe she would have, but the thought of not being kissed was unbearable.

  So shut up, she told her consciousness. Just kiss.

  Let yourself dissolve...

  And she didn’t have to say it. She just did.

  His strong hands were cupping her chin, holding her, lifting so his mouth could merge with hers. Her mouth was opening to welcome him.

  Fire meeting fire. Strength meeting strength.

  Home.

  For that was what this felt like. It was a wash of sensation so intense if felt as if this man, this baby, this moment was where she was meant to be for ever.

  She was kissing back with an intensity that matched his. She was still cradling the baby—both of them were—and the feel of this warm, tiny bundle between them only heightened the sensation of earthquake within.

  She was someone else. A woman free to love.

  To be loved by Max?

  Max.

  Her body ached to be closer. She wanted to mould to him, to sink into him, to surrender to what she had never known she craved until this moment. If Phoebe wasn’t in her arms she’d hold him tight but it didn’t matter. How much closer could she be than she was right now? This was...perfect.

  Scary?

  No. Perfect. Right.

  The night, the moment, the wash of light from the view outside, everything seemed to be dissolving. His mouth and hers formed a link fused by fire. His hands had dropped now to the small of her back, moulding her against him, but pulling her so Phoebe had the perfect cocoon.

  Delicious, delectable, dangerous...

  Max.

  A man who was holding her with passion. Whose mouth turned her to fire. Whose eyes caressed her, loved her, told her anything was possible...

  A hotel cleaner and a billionaire?

  It didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter.

  But then Phoebe stirred between them, a tiny movement, a mewed whimper, and she knew it did. Was it her consciousness that had disturbed the baby? Was Phoebe reminding her reality was right here, waiting to take hold and shake her back to where she belonged?

  Which wasn’t here. She’d wanted this but she had to stop. Surely she did.

  Someone had to see sense and in the end it was Phoebe.

  Phoebe’s whimpering was telling them this moment was mad.

  * * *

  Phoebe whimpered and reality flooded back—and also sense.

  More than anything else in the world, he wanted to pick this woman up and carry her into his bedroom. He wanted to lay her down on the welcoming covers of his king-sized bed and take this to its inevitable conclusion. For that was what it felt like. Inevitable. That his body could love her and she could love him...

  But, no matter what was between them, she was here at his behest, paid to take care of his sister, paid to be alone with him. And she was alone. She had no one on this side of the world. Even though her body had moulded to his, even though she’d welcomed his kiss, had kissed him back with an intensity that matched his, a part of him was achingly aware of her vulnerability.

  And...his?

  If he gave himself to Sunny...

  The thought was blindsiding him.

  He’d had women before, of course he had, and some of those relationships had been long-standing. But every one of them had been superficial. Demanding nothing of each other but mutual enjoyment, the convenience of having a partner, decent sex. He’d been prepared to lay his cards on the table early but mostly he hadn’t needed to. The women he dated were from his social milieu, out for a good time, as protective of their personal space as he was.

  But Sunny... She’d want more, he thought, with insight that came from nowhere but he knew had to be the truth. She had none of the social gloss, the layers of armour, the self-sufficiency he sought in his women. She was a woman who loved, freely and without thought of self.

  She could love him—but if she did she’d expect him to love her back and he didn’t know how. And did he want that?

  His life was organised. His childhood had taught him that independence was the only way to go. Attachment left him gutted.

  And now he’d been landed with a baby. That, in itself, was huge. He’d probably end up attached; he could sense that. That scared him enough.

  He looked down at the doubts in Sunny’s face and he thought Phoebe was enough. To have two people dependent on him for their happiness...

  He couldn’t do it. He had to draw the curtain on this now.

  But Sunny already had. He didn’t know what she could read in his face but her face reflected...dismay? As if she’d overstepped some boundary she’d set herself and it scared her as much as it scared him.

  ‘Wow,’ she breathed, taking a step back. ‘I...you pack quite a punch.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  And amazingly the twinkle flashed back. ‘You’re sorry for packing a punch?’

  ‘I shouldn’t have kissed you.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘You’re my employee.’ It was a lame statement and it made the twinkle disappear.

  ‘So I am,’ she said and cocked her head so she was surveying him with eyes that saw too much. ‘But we’re not talking of a fumble under the stairs with the kitchen maid here.’

  ‘I wouldn’t...’

  ‘Is that how you see me? The kitchen maid?’

  ‘Of course not.’ But he didn’t know where to take it.

  She did, though. She gazed at him for a long minute and then gave a brisk nod. ‘Okay. Don’t worry. The kitchen maid isn’t getting ideas. She knows you won’t jump her, and in turn she won’t jump you. Your boundaries are safe, and in truth
they’re very wise. There’s a mountain between us, Max Grayland, and no one’s about to knock it down because of lust.’ She turned and laid Phoebe gently back into her perambulator, kissing her softly on the cheek as she tucked her in.

  ‘Goodnight, little one,’ she whispered, speaking a bit too fast. Breathlessly? ‘You go and sleep by your big brother. He’ll love you in the end, I know he will. He has a huge heart. He just...he just needs to figure out how big.’

  And with that enigmatic statement she disappeared.

  She almost ran.

  * * *

  Phoebe slept on. He should wheel her back to his room. Instead he stood staring at the door that led to where Sunny was...sleeping?

  Could she sleep after that kiss?

  Had it hit her as it’d hit him?

  It didn’t matter, he told himself harshly. It was just a kiss.

  But it was more. What she’d just said...

  How did she know him? How did she see what he was most afraid of?

  He had no idea.

  It must be an illusion, for how could she know when he scarcely had it figured himself?

  ‘Go to bed,’ he told himself out loud. ‘Forget it. And leave her be. She’s here to help for four weeks and that’s it. Keep it friendly, keep it formal and keep it distant.’

  And as if in protest Phoebe stirred and whimpered.

  He rocked the pram for a little, then wheeled her through to his room, parking it beside his bed, then lay in his too-big bed and listened to her resettling, the faint snuffles of a baby totally dependent on him.

  Phoebe needed loving, he thought. But then he thought Phoebe needed Sunny’s kind of loving. Not his.

  And then he thought...

  No. The idea was crazy. The idea was impossible.

  He put it aside decisively and attempted to sleep.

  He couldn’t. The idea was still with him and it wouldn’t let him rest.

  It was an amazing idea. Crazy? Possibly. Probably.

  ‘It’s too soon to even think about it,’ he muttered into his pillow. ‘Give it time. Meanwhile, friendly, formal and distant. She needs to trust.’

  And so did he, he thought, and that was a bigger ask.

  Four weeks...

  Maybe?

  CHAPTER TEN

  THE EXPEDITION TO City Hall Station took some organising. Clothes were the first thing. Both Sunny and Phoebe needed fitting out to face New York’s winter. ‘I can go with them,’ Eliza said, but Max had his word to stick to and he did. Thus, armed with baby advice from Eliza and advice from his secretary—bemused by her boss’s absence and his requests for help on women’s fashion—they spent a day shopping. And doing a little exploring as well.

  ‘I know you’ve seen a thousand pictures of our lady but you need to see her in person,’ Max growled and the three of them took a chartered boat and sailed the harbour.

  It was a practice run to see how Phoebe took to exploring and the answer was very well. Warmly ensconced in a padded carry cocoon, she allowed herself to be carried at will. She woke to feed and be cuddled and then went back to sleep again.

  So Sunny was free to enjoy the day and she did enjoy it. She was dressed in the most beautiful jacket she’d ever owned, plus warm pants and sheepskin-lined boots. She was sitting in the back of a luxurious cruiser, watching the sights of New York’s harbour, with Max beside her giving an intelligent and sometimes fun commentary. How could she not enjoy herself?

  How could she not let herself be drawn into the illusion that there was more...?

  That this man beside her was making her laugh because he cared?

  That was crazy. He was being nice. He’d kissed her the night before because...well, he was a man and she was a woman and she’d practically asked for it.

  He’d pulled away the moment she’d stiffened.

  He was an honourable man.

  She tried—hard—to stop thinking of Max the man and concentrate instead on his commentary. It containted gems that had her fascinated. Did she know that Albert Einstein’s eyeballs were stored in a safe deposit box in the city? That there were tiny shrimp called copepods in Manhattan’s drinking water? Or once upon a time there’d been a pneumatic mail tube system dug about four feet underground, capable of moving over ninety thousand letters a day around the whole island? ‘I wish I could show you,’ Max said sadly. ‘But some fool seems to have dug it up.’ He looked so despondent she almost giggled—okay, she did giggle—and then she thought, Wow, she, Sunny Raye, was being given a personalised tour of Manhattan by Max Grayland.

  ‘Did you know all this or did you research it for the day?’ she asked and he grinned.

  ‘I asked my secretary for a list of New York’s oddest. She now thinks I’ve lost my mind.’

  And that did her head in too. She was in some sort of dream, she decided, as she gazed up at the truly magnificent Statue of Liberty. Max was right—it was far better than in the pictures.

  So was Max Grayland. He had Phoebe strapped against his chest. He was smiling at her, watching her enjoy herself, wanting her to enjoy herself. She knew from his phone calls—he kept it on silent, simply glancing at the screen now and then to ensure the sky hadn’t fallen—that the sky could almost fall at his behest and yet, not only was he sticking by his word to care for Phoebe, he was making every effort he could to ensure Sunny was having fun.

  It was a dream. Australia was half a world away. She, Sunny, was having fun with a guy who, quite simply, made her toes curl.

  ‘You’re blushing,’ Max said, on a note of discovery. ‘What is it about our lady that makes you blush?’ He glanced up at the enormous statue looming above their heads. ‘As far as I can see, she’s very respectably dressed.’

  ‘I’m not blushing. I’m just...flushed.’

  ‘Coat too hot?’ he asked solicitously and, yeah, it was a lot too hot but it wasn’t the coat and there wasn’t a thing she could do about it.

  ‘What...what next?’ she managed.

  ‘Empire State Building?’ he queried. ‘And then maybe it’s time to go home.’

  Home. There was another loaded word.

  What was it about that statement that made her want to blush all over again?

  * * *

  They kept their hands off each other that night—with difficulty. Ten out of ten, Sunny told herself as she snuggled under her gorgeous bedclothes. She wasn’t really tired but there was no way she was watching Max give Phoebe her last feed.

  She had to keep her distance. Employer/employee. That was their relationship and it had to stay that way.

  Except...the way he looked at her... She couldn’t figure it out. It was as if he didn’t understand what she was. As if he was trying to figure some puzzle that wouldn’t come right. She almost asked, but whenever he caught her looking at him he’d smile and it’d make something twist inside her and she backed off in fright.

  He didn’t understand?

  Neither did she, and it was starting to seriously scare her.

  * * *

  The next day they did City Hall Station.

  There were tour groups that came down here—she’d read about them. Tour groups, however, were not for Max Grayland. He’d contacted a Professor of Urban Studies, Francis, a guy who’d apparently gone to university with Max, a friend who seemed to have the keys to practically all of Manhattan’s underground and who professed it would be his pleasure to take them down.

  ‘What would you like to know?’ Francis asked Sunny as they trod the great underground cavern. Max stood back with Phoebe strapped to his chest and appeared to enjoy it as Sunny learned more than she’d believed possible about New York’s network of rail tunnels. Past, present, future. Francis knew the entire history, everything she could possibly want to know. She drank it
in, and for a while she even forgot Max was watching.

  ‘You need someone with architecture knowledge as well,’ Francis told her. He turned back to Max. ‘Max, you know Tom Clifford? Anything you want to know about historical tunnelling, he’s your man, and I believe he’ll be in town this weekend. How about you and Sunny come to dinner? Tom and Sunny can go hammer and tongs and the rest of us can learn and enjoy.’

  ‘I don’t...we don’t go out,’ Sunny said, too fast. Oh, for heaven’s sake, as if she was part of Max Grayland’s social life... ‘Phoebe...’

  ‘Hmm, yeah.’ Francis smiled benignly at the sleeping bundle on Max’s chest. ‘My wife and I have three rug rats. They do cramp your style. But surely you have a nanny.’

  ‘I’m the nanny,’ Sunny managed.

  ‘She’s not.’ Max had hardly spoken but he intervened now, putting a hand on Sunny’s shoulder. And why the touch should go through her...

  She was wearing three layers of padding to protect her from the creeping cold associated with being so far underground. There was no way she should feel it.

  She felt it as if his fingers were on her naked skin.

  She shuddered, and Max felt it.

  ‘Time to go up,’ he decreed. ‘No, Sunny’s not a nanny; she’s a friend helping out until I find one. But dinner sounds a great idea. At my place. Francis, you and your wife? Tom and his partner? Anyone else who’d enjoy the conversation?’

  ‘Mary Rutherford’s into the history of the rail network. She’s great company. I could persuade her.’

  ‘Max...’ Sunny said, feeling desperate. ‘I can’t...’

  ‘Hey, there’s nothing to this,’ Max reassured her. ‘This is Manhattan. There’s a whole world of caterers out there. I’ll have my secretary organise it. All you need to do, Sunny, is sit back and enjoy it.’

  ‘That’s not what I’m here for.’

  ‘Yes, it is,’ he told her and he smiled, and such a smile... It was all she could do not to gasp. But the smile had been fleeting and he’d turned back to Francis. ‘So... Saturday? Anyone else you can think of who Sunny might enjoy grilling? I might need to do some pre-dinner research to keep up.’