The Billionaire's Christmas Baby

by Marion Lennox

  And it was done.

  * * *

  Saturday night. Sunny had thrown every objection she could think of at him and he’d overruled them all.

  The final one had been dress and that was the biggest hurdle. He and Phoebe had escorted her to the salon his secretary had told him of and she’d looked at the prices and almost had kittens.

  ‘No way,’ she’d declared, walking straight out. ‘With that sort of money I could buy a new wheelchair for Pa. Not a dress for a night.’

  ‘I’ll pay for a wheelchair anyway,’ he growled and she looked at him as if he’d lost his mind.

  ‘You’re my boss, not my sugar daddy. But, seeing you’ve organised this dinner...’ He’d given her a credit card as promised and now she took it from her purse and looked at it doubtfully. ‘You’re sure I can use this?’

  ‘Absolutely. It’s part of the deal.’

  ‘You’ve already bought me cold weather gear. But now...if I can take a couple of hours off...’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I promise I won’t abuse it.’

  ‘I’d enjoy watching you abuse it.’

  ‘The coat was bad enough,’ she retorted. ‘Having you watch while I try on slinky gowns...’

  ‘I’d definitely enjoy it.’

  She’d grinned, but it was a grin that put him in his place. It said sexy banter was just that, banter, and he needed to shut up.

  So he shut up and hoped she’d choose something that wouldn’t make her feel like a poor relation when she met for dinner with people he knew had style and impeccable taste and confidence.

  But when she emerged from her room on Saturday night she took his breath away.

  She was wearing a dress of silver-grey lace, a frock that would have been equally at home in a nineteen-twenties drawing room as it was here. It was a simple tube, scoop-necked, reaching to just above her knees. The tube consisted entirely of circles of fringing, soft, silky and delicate, and it shimmered as she moved, so even though the dress itself seemed shapeless, somehow it accentuated every one of her delicious curves.

  She was wearing silver court shoes with kitten heels. A single rope of some kind of white shell that shimmered like pearls. Tiny matched earrings.

  Her hair had been let loose. It was tucked behind her ears but cascaded to her shoulders in a mass of shiny curls.

  Her make-up was simple—a touch of lipstick, a brush of blush to accentuate her beautiful cheekbones.

  She looked so lovely she took his breath away.

  ‘How...how is it?’ she asked a little self-consciously and he didn’t answer for a moment. He couldn’t.

  But she looked worried. ‘I found it in a vintage shop in SoHo and it was a bit battered,’ she told him. ‘I had to sew a lot of the lace back on but I love it. It’s not too much for tonight? They won’t think I’m doing a fancy dress?’

  ‘They will not think you’re doing a fancy dress,’ he breathed and then the doorbell pealed and it was the caterers and waiting staff he’d hired for the occasion, and it was just as well because if they hadn’t arrived then, who knew what would have happened?

  All Max knew was that he felt as if he’d just been punched. Hard. Or was that the wrong word? Wrong metaphor—punched?

  Knocked sideways.

  He wanted to lock the door, lock the world out and spend the night alone with this woman. He wanted to touch her bare shoulders, draw her to him, feel the soft silk mould to his body.

  And the idea that had been an embryo just days ago was growing. It was starting to become...something that seemed a consummation devoutly to be wished?

  If he could pull it off...

  But he needed to keep his hands off her now. He needed not to scare her, to keep things businesslike, to let her see how they could make things work.

  But meanwhile the caterers were heading for the kitchen and Sunny was looking doubtful, as if she really imagined her appearance might be inappropriate. Which was so far from the truth...

  ‘You look beautiful,’ he told her and he thought of the minuscule amount he’d seen when he’d checked his credit card details after her shopping expedition. He’d come close to demanding to see what she’d bought so he could march her out to buy something more suitable—but no money in the world could make her look more beautiful than she did right now. ‘You’re perfect,’ he added and she blushed and the temptation to kiss her was so great...

  ‘Thank you,’ she said simply. ‘I’ll check on Phoebe before the guests arrive.’

  ‘I can do that.’

  ‘That’s what I’m here for,’ she said, almost sternly. ‘You’re being incredibly generous but I’m not about to forget my role.’ The doorbell pealed again and she nodded, affirming the truth for herself. ‘Go and greet your guests, Max,’ she told him. ‘I’ll meet you in the dining room, as long as Phoebe doesn’t need me.’

  * * *

  Phoebe was sound asleep. The baby monitor was routed to the dining room. There was nothing for Sunny to do but return.

  She didn’t for a while, though. She stood and gazed down at the sleeping baby. She thought of Max greeting guests, in his jet-black Italian suit with crisp white shirt, his silk tie, a billionaire at the top of his game. And she thought of the way he’d looked at her.

  I need to be so careful. She almost whispered it aloud but the intercom was on and she wasn’t so far gone to forget where she was.

  Or who she was.

  I’m here to do a job, she told herself as she listened to the sound of arriving guests, of Max meeting them with the ease of long-standing friendship or, in the case of those he hadn’t met, with the assurance of his place in the world.

  I’m a hotel cleaner, she told herself. Remember it. Max has invited these people to meet you. Which is very good of him. If I ever get to study architecture they might... I might...

  But the impossibility of might was enough to bring her to her senses. She knew why she was here and she knew what she was going home to.

  It’s just a dinner, she told herself. With a boss who’s being charming to an employee. So the boss kissed the chambermaid? That’s the way things have been since time immemorial. Get over it, Sunny. Move on.

  The voices from the dining room seemed relaxed. There was laughter, banter, ease of social standing.

  So stay in the background like a good little employee, she told herself. Know your place. Okay, Sunny Raye, big breath. You can do this.

  But heaven only knew the courage it took to walk through that door.

  * * *

  For the first part of the dinner Sunny seemed deliberately retiring. The talk was general as his guests got to know each other, friendly and unthreatening. Sunny was asked about her home in Australia, her thoughts on New York, but mostly she was left alone. She seemed to want it that way.

  After the main course Phoebe woke and Sunny excused herself. Through the intercom they heard Sunny’s soft crooning as Phoebe fed and then settled.

  ‘She’s some lady.’ His friend, Francis, had listened to her in the tunnel and had been impressed. Now he was eyeing Max with speculation. Max tried for a non-committal shrug but Francis had known him for a long time. Maybe he saw...what he was thinking?

  And when Sunny returned it was Francis who deliberately brought Sunny into the conversation. He led the discussion to the tunnels underpinning Manhattan, and from there to the history of tunnelling, to the architecture involved, to the engineering that formed the foundations for almost every city in the world.

  Who’d have thought tunnels could be so fascinating? Max thought. Maybe they weren’t, but he was fascinated with Sunny’s response.

  They were talking of the Lincoln Tunnel, built in the nineteen-thirties to carry traffic under the Hudson. ‘There may be problems in the future,’ Fra
ncis was saying and Sunny nodded. Her decision to stay in the background faltered in the face of Francis’s determination to have her join in.

  ‘Battery Park City,’ she murmured and Francis eyed her cautiously.

  ‘You know the problems?’

  ‘I guess...’ She seemed almost embarrassed.

  ‘I don’t know of any problems,’ Max said and she cast him a look that was almost resentful. She’d asked questions as they’d talked and they’d been intelligent but she’d been backward in contributing. He thought that it had been like that at Christmas, probably for most of her life. Sunny’s siblings were deemed the ‘intelligent’ ones, the ones with the education. Sunny stayed in the background and listened.

  But she was caught now, by Francis’s interest and by Max’s direct probe. He watched her hesitate, almost as if she was afraid to reveal what she knew. But the interest around her was friendly. She’d had a couple of glasses of wine.

  He almost saw her give a mental shrug.

  ‘The Hudson River’s main current has always been close to the edge of Lower Manhattan,’ she told him. ‘As far as I understand, building Battery Park City has rerouted it. The current’s now closer to the river centre and it’s washing away much of the soil on the walls and ceiling of the tunnel. It means they’re a lot more susceptible to shifting and cracking. It’s a huge problem the world over—a demonstration of why city planners need to take a broader view. When the initial rail tunnels were built there was an overview of every surface and underground construction. Now...it’s like a rabbit warren as each developer fights for space.’ She eyed him speculatively, almost challengingly. ‘The Grayland Corporation has fingers in Battery Park projects, I believe. And you’re not aware of it?’

  She arched an eyebrow, gently quizzing, and beside her Francis gave a snort of laughter. ‘Well, well. A lady with an overview of the entire Grayland Corporation—in your own home. You’re in trouble, Max.’

  This was his father’s legacy. He’d already taken steps to counter such problems in the future, so now he could grin and hold up his hands in surrender. He could defend his company’s structural sensitivities and move on.

  The moment passed but the conversation had changed. Sunny was now a respected participant.

  She was no longer the nanny. Not even close. As they talked of the difficulties of maintaining past tunnels and building new ones, as they discussed soil density and rock formation and river flow, as they talked of population growth and the need to accommodate more, she held her own and pushed further.

  She hadn’t learned all this in the last few days, he thought, stunned. How much had she stored in that head of hers while she’d scrubbed floors?

  He found himself resenting it when others spoke. All he wanted was to listen, sit back and watch. She was smart, funny, quick. She was warm, loyal, loving.

  She was perfect.

  She was a woman he’d never thought he’d meet.

  A woman he’d be proud to call his...wife?

  He sat as the conversation washed around him and let the concept drift.

  Three weeks ago he’d been single, schooled in independence by a cold, isolated upbringing. That had been okay. Independence had its own rewards.

  But Phoebe’s arrival had changed that. He’d had a choice: adopt the child and rear her with love, or walk away. He hadn’t been able to walk, and his precious independence was shattered.

  But then came Sunny. This woman was a life-saver. She’d rescued him from a situation that did his head in. She’d shown him how to love, what warmth was, what commitment was, and he wanted it. He wanted it for Phoebe and now...as he watched her he thought he wanted it for himself.

  And the thought was there, a selfish niggle but one that stayed reassuringly in place. With Sunny here as his wife, as Phoebe’s...mom...he could go back to the life he knew. His commitment to his financial empire could stay unchanged. He’d not have the emotional burden of thinking Phoebe was home with a paid nanny. He wouldn’t have to check and check again, or go through the emotional turmoil he remembered as a child when a beloved nanny left.

  And when he did come home...this place would be different. Sunny would be here as she was now, smart, feisty, welcoming. They could still hire a nanny, but part-time. Sunny could study her beloved architecture but that’d be in college hours. When he got home she’d be here.

  Family. Ready-built.

  And it’d be great for her. The change to her life would be amazing. No more scrubbing... He could help her family back home...

  The concept got better and better, and Francis glanced across the table at him and raised his brows.

  ‘You’re looking smug.’

  ‘Smug?’ Uh-oh. He schooled his expression with haste. There were things he needed to put in place before he could afford to look smug. Like asking her.

  But how could she say no? He knew she was as attracted to him as he was to her. He could feel it. They’d lived together for weeks now, first at her grandparents’ house and then here. He could feel the frisson of sexual tug that happened whenever they came close.

  ‘I like it when a plan comes together,’ he admitted to Francis. ‘Like this dinner. You guys seem to be hitting it off.’

  ‘I’m taking Sunny for a tour of a couple of our old rail tunnels the general public don’t know about,’ Francis told him. ‘We’ll organise it as soon as she has a day off.’

  ‘A day off?’

  ‘Isn’t Sunny working as your nanny?’

  ‘Sunny’s not a nanny,’ he growled, almost roughly. ‘Sunny’s my...godsend. Sunny’s my friend.’

  * * *

  She didn’t feel like a friend.

  The dinner over, guests and caterers departed, Max did a fast check on his emails and went to find Sunny. She was watching a sleeping Phoebe.

  She’d kicked off her shoes. She was still wearing her beautiful dress. Her curls were soft and shining. He stood at the door and watched her in the dim light, bent almost protectively over the cot.

  They’d moved the cot into his room now. The room was massive. A vast bed. A cot with a sleeping baby. Moonlight playing in the window and a beautiful woman standing guard.

  He walked slowly forward and placed his hands on her waist. He felt her stiffen but only for a moment. He felt the instant she decided to relax, the moment her body leaned back into his, the instant her loveliness curved against his chest.

  ‘It was a great night,’ he said softly and he couldn’t help himself; he buried his face into her curls and kissed her.

  ‘It was.’ But was she trembling?

  He turned her to face him. She looked troubled. Doubtful. Scared?

  ‘Sunny, I won’t...if you don’t want this...’

  ‘That’s just the problem,’ she whispered. ‘I know it’s dumb. I know it’s unwise, but oh, Max, I do want this.’

  ‘Then as one consenting adult to another...’ He cupped her chin and kissed her lips, a kiss so tender it almost blew him away. He didn’t know he could kiss like this. He didn’t know he could care. ‘Sunny, as one consenting adult to another, would you do me the very great honour of coming to my bed?’

  She drew back a little, watching him in the moonlight, her face still troubled.

  ‘Because?’

  ‘Because I want you,’ he said honestly because there was no room for anything but honesty between them right now. ‘But Sunny, it’s more. I think... I think I’m starting to love you.’

  ‘Well, how about that?’ Her voice was a breathless whisper. ‘How about that for a miracle, Max Grayland? Because...because I think I’m starting to love you, too.’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  WHAT FOLLOWED WAS two weeks of time out of frame. Two weeks of fantasy.

  For two weeks they were a make-believe family. Max
seemed to drop almost everything and devote himself to her and to Phoebe.

  With Phoebe strapped securely against Max’s chest, they explored New York in winter.

  Every morning when she woke Sunny was presented with a list of things he thought might be fun. Museums. Art galleries. A flea market. A New Year firecracker ceremony. A winter jazz festival. A snow carnival with ice carving. They were hers to choose, but Max put himself behind every one of them with enthusiasm and enjoyment.

  They’d even ended up at a knitting festival where he’d tried his hand, then bought wool and declared his intention of knitting Phoebe a scarf. She’d watched him that night, laboriously casting on and dropping stitches while they waited up for Phoebe’s last feed. In helpless laughter, with the wool a tangled knot, they’d made a mutual decision that knitting wasn’t their forte.

  She’d watched him carefully untangle the knot. She’d thought of the business empire this man controlled and her sense of fantasy had deepened.

  But how could she care that it was fantasy? She was so in love.

  For every night he took her to his bed and she fell deeper and deeper...

  Max Grayland. A fantasy?

  Her love.

  How could she leave? She knew she must, but she wouldn’t—she couldn’t think of it yet.

  A week before she was due to leave she woke in his arms and her sense of peace and contentment was all-enveloping. Fantasy seemed real and she let herself believe. How could she not? The morning light started to filter though the half-closed curtains. She was warm, she was sated—she was sleeping in the arms of the man she loved.

  She’d never thought this could happen to her and, miraculously, it seemed to be returned. The way Max held her...the way he looked at her, laughed with her, loved her...

  Her body seemed his and vice versa. From the moment he’d lifted her joyously and carried her to his bed it seemed as if this was her place. This was where she’d been meant to be all her life.

  How could this be fantasy?

  And yet it was. She knew that. Her life was half a world away, and yet who was thinking forward? Not her. She couldn’t bear to. Only here and now mattered.