Yuletide Baby Surprise

by Catherine Mann

  Her arm draped around his neck, her head lolling against him as she still breathed heavily in the aftermath of her release. He strode across the suite toward his bedroom, his jeans open and riding low on his hips. Hell, he’d never even gotten his pants off.

  He lowered Mari to his bed, the sight of her naked body, long legs and subtle curves stirring him impossibly hard again. Shadows played along her dusky skin, inviting him to explore. To lose himself in the oblivion of her body. To forget for a few hours that the emptiness of their suite was so damn tangible… No baby sighs. No iPhone of Christmas lullabies. Gone.

  Just like Issa. Their reason for staying together.

  Eleven

  Mari had spent a restless night in Rowan’s arms. As the morning light pierced through the shutters, he’d suggested they get away from the resort and all the memories of Issa that lurked in their suite. She hadn’t even hesitated at jumping on board with his plan.

  Literally.

  Mari stretched out on the bow of the sailboat and stared up at the cloudless sky, frigate birds gliding overhead with their wide wings extended full-out. Waves slapped against the hull, and lines pinged against the mast. Rowan had leased the thirty-three-foot luxury sailboat for the two of them to escape for the day to a deserted shore. No worries about the press spying on them and no reminders of the baby. Nothing to do but to stare into the azure waters, watching fish and loggerhead turtles.

  God, how she needed to get away from the reminders. Her time with the baby had touched her heart and made her realize so many things were missing in her life. Love. Family. She’d buried herself in work, retreating into a world that made sense to her after a lifetime of feeling awkward in her own skin. But holding that sweet little girl had made Mari accept she’d turned her back on far too much.

  That didn’t mean she had any idea how to fix it. Or herself. She watched Rowan guiding the sailboat, open shirt flapping behind him, sun burnishing his blond hair.

  Rowan had made love to her—and she to him—until they’d both fallen into an exhausted sleep. They’d slept, woken only long enough to order room service and made love again. She had the feeling Rowan was as confused and empty as she, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on why.

  For that matter, maybe she was just too lost in her own hurt to understand his.

  In the morning, he’d told her to dress for a day on a boat. She hadn’t questioned him, grateful for the distraction. Mari had tossed on a sarong, adding dark glasses and an old-school Greta Garbo scarf to make her escape. He’d surprised her with a gift, bracelets she’d admired at the marketplace their first night out with Issa. She stretched her arm out, watching the sun refract off the silver bangles and colorful beads.

  Rowan sailed the boat, handling the lines with ease as the hull chopped through the water toward an empty cove, lush mountains jutting in the distance. They’d followed the coast all morning toward a neighboring island with a private harbor. If only the ache in her heart was as easy to leave behind.

  She rolled to her tummy and stretched out along her towel, her well-loved body languid and a bit stiff. Chin on her hands, she gazed out at the rocks jutting from the water along the secluded coastline. She watched the gannets and petrels swoop and dive for fish. Palm trees clustered along the empty shoreline, creating a thick wall of foliage just beyond the white sandy beaches. Peaceful perfection, all familiar and full of childhood memories of vacationing along similar shores with her parents.

  A shadow stretched across her, a broad-shouldered shadow. She flipped to her back again, shading her eyes to look up at Rowan. “Shouldn’t you be at the helm?”

  “We’ve dropped anchor.” He crouched beside her, too handsome for his own good in swim trunks and an open shirt, ocean breeze pulling at his loose hair. “Come with me and have something to drink?”

  She clasped his outstretched hand and stood, walking with him, careful to duck and weave past the boom and riggings. The warm hardwood deck heated her bare feet. “You didn’t have to be so secretive about our destination.”

  “I wanted to surprise you.” He jumped down to the deck level, grasping her waist and lowering her to join him. He gestured to where he’d poured them two glasses of mango juice secured in the molded surface between the seat cushions, the pitcher tucked securely in an open cooler at his bare feet.

  “That’s your only reason?”

  “I wasn’t sure you would agree, and we both needed to get away from the resort.” He passed her a glass, nudging her toward the captain’s chair behind the wheel. “Besides, my gorgeous, uptight scientist, you need to have fun.”

  “I have fun.” Sitting, she sipped her drink. The sweet natural sugars sent a jolt of energy through her, his words putting her on the defensive. “My work is fun.”

  He cocked an eyebrow, shooting just above his sunglasses.

  “Okay, my work is rewarding. And I don’t recall being all that uptight when I was sitting on the bar last night.” She eyed him over the glass.

  “Fair enough. I’m taking you out because I want you mellow and softened up so when I try to seduce you later you completely succumb to my charm.” He thudded the heel of his palm to his forehead, clearly doing his best to take her mind off things. “Oh, wait, I already seduced you.”

  “Maybe I seduced you.” She tossed aside her sunglasses and pulled off his aviator shades, her bracelets chiming with each movement. She leaned in to kiss him, more than willing to be distracted from the questions piling up in her mind.

  Like where they would go from here once the conference was over. Since she didn’t have any suggestions in mind, she sure wasn’t going to ask for his opinion.

  “Whose turn is it, then, to take the initiative?” He pulled her drink from her and stepped closer.

  “I’ve lost count.” She let her eyes sweep over him seductively, immersing herself in this game they both played, delaying the inevitable.

  “Princess, you do pay the nicest compliments.” He stroked her face, along the scarf holding back her hair, tugging it free.

  “You say the strangest things.” She traced his mouth, the lips that had brought her such pleasure last night.

  “We’re here to play, not psychoanalyze.”

  Her own lips twitched with a self-deprecating smile. “Glad to know it, because I stink at reading people.”

  “Why do you assume that?” His question mingled with the call of birds in the trees and the plop of fish.

  “Call it a geek thing.”

  “You make geek sexy.” He nipped her tracing finger, then sucked lightly.

  She rolled her eyes. “You are such a…”

  “A what?”

  “I don’t even have words for you.”

  His eyes went serious for the first time this morning. “Glad to know I mystify you as much as you bemuse me.”

  “I’ve always thought of myself as a straightforward person. Some call that boring.” She flinched, hating the feeling that word brought, knowing she couldn’t—wouldn’t—change. “For me, there’s comfort in routine.”

  Those magnificently blue eyes narrowed and darkened. “Tell me who called you boring and I’ll—”

  She clapped a hand over his mouth, bracelets dangling. “It’s okay. But thanks.” She pulled her hand away, a rogue wave bobbing the boat beneath her. “I had trouble making friends in school. I didn’t fit in for so many reasons—everything from my ridiculous IQ to the whole princess thing. I was either much younger than my classmates or they were sucking up because of my family. There was no sisterhood for me. It was tough for people to see the real me behind all that clutter.”

  “I wasn’t an instant fit at school, either.” He shifted to stand beside her, looping an arm around her shoulders bared by the sarong.

  She leaned against him, looking out over the azure blue
waters. The continent of her birth was such a mixture of lush magnificence and stark poverty. “You don’t need to change your history to make me feel better. I’m okay with myself.”

  “God’s honest truth here.” He rested his chin on top of her head. “My academy brothers and I were all misfits. The headmaster there did a good job at redirecting us, channeling us, helping us figure out ways to put our lives on the right path again.”

  “All of you? That’s quite a track record.”

  He went still against her. “Not all of us. Some of us were too far gone to be rehabilitated.” His sigh whispered over her, warmer than the sun. “You may have read in the news about Malcolm Douglas’s business manager—he was a schoolmate of ours. He lost his way, forgot about rules and integrity. He did some shady stuff to try and wrangle publicity for his client.”

  “Your friend. Malcolm. Another of your Brotherhood?”

  “Malcolm and I aren’t as close as I am to the others. But yes, he’s a friend.” He turned her by her shoulders and stared into her eyes. “We’re not perfect, any of us, but the core group of us, we can call on each other for anything, anytime.”

  “Like how the casino owner friend provided the start-up money for your clinic…”

  Rowan had built an incredible support system for himself after his parents failed him. While she’d cut herself off from the world.

  “That he did. You wouldn’t recognize Conrad from the high school photos. He was gangly and wore glasses back then, but he was a brilliant guy and he knew it. Folks called him Mr. Wall Street, because of his dad and how Conrad used his trust fund to manipulate the stock market to punish sweatshop businesses.”

  “You all may have been misfits, but it appears you share a need for justice.”

  “We didn’t all get along at first. I was different from them, though, or so I liked to tell myself. I didn’t come from money like most of the guys there—or like you—and I wasn’t inordinately talented like Douglas. I thought I was better than those overprivileged brats.”

  “Yet, Conrad must respect you to have invested so much money to start the clinic.”

  “If we’re going to be honest—” he laughed softly “—I’m where I am today because of a cookie.”

  “A cookie?” She tipped her head back to the warm sunshine, soaking in the heat of the day and the strength of the man beside her.

  “My mom used to send me these care packages full of peanut-butter cookies with M&M’s baked into them.” His eyes took on a faraway look and a fond smile.

  Mari could only think that same mother had sent him to that school in his brother’s place. Those cookies must have tasted like dust in light of such a betrayal from the woman who should have protected him. She bit back the urge to call his mother an unflattering name and just listened, ocean wind rustling her hair.

  “One day, I was in my bunk, knocking back a couple of those cookies while doing my macro biology homework.” He toyed with the end of her scarf. “I looked up to find Conrad staring at those cookies like they were caviar. I knew better than to offer him one. His pride would have made him toss it back in my face.”

  She linked fingers with him and squeezed as he continued, her cheek against the warm cotton of his shirt, her ear taking in the steady thrum of his heart.

  “We were all pretty angry at life in those days. But I had my cookies and letters from Mom to get me through the days when I didn’t think I could live with the guilt of what I’d done.”

  What his family had done. His mother, father and his brother. Why couldn’t he see how they’d sacrificed him?

  “But back to Conrad. About a week later, I was on my way to the cafeteria and I saw him in the visitation area with his dad. I was jealous as hell since my folks couldn’t afford to fly out to visit me—and then I realized he and his dad were fighting.”

  “About what?” She couldn’t help but ask, desperate for this unfiltered look into the teenage Rowan, hungry for insights about what had shaped him into the man he’d become.

  “From what Conrad shouted, it was clear his father wanted him to run a scam on Troy’s parents and convince them to invest in some bogus company or another. Conrad decked his dad. It took two security guards to pull him off.”

  Hearing the things that Rowan and his friends had been through as teens, she felt petty for her anger over her own childhood. The grief Rowan and his friends had faced, the storms in their worlds, felt so massive in comparison to her own. She had two parents that loved her, two homes, and yes, she was shuttled back and forth, but in complete luxury.

  “And the cookie?”

  “I’m getting there.” He sketched his fingers up and down her bare arm. “Conrad spent a couple of days in the infirmary—his dad hit him back and dislocated Conrad’s shoulder. The cops didn’t press charges on the old man because the son threw the first punch. Anyhow, Conrad’s first day out of the infirmary, I felt bad for him so I wrapped a cookie in a napkin and put it on his bunk. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t toss it back in my face, either.” He threw his hands wide. “And here I am today.”

  Her heart hurt so badly she could barely push words out. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “I don’t know. I just want you to understand why my work is so important to me, so much so that I couldn’t have kept Issa even if her family didn’t come through. Because if I start keeping every orphan that tugs at my emotions, I won’t be able to sustain all I’ve fought so hard to build. The clinic…it’s everything to me. It helps me fill the hole left by Dylan’s death, helps me make up for the lives lost.”

  She heard him, heard an isolation in his words in spite of all those friends. He’d committed himself to a life of service that left him on a constant, lonely quest. And right then and there, her soul ached for him.

  She slid her hand up into his hair, guiding his mouth to hers. He stepped between her knees, and she locked her arms around his neck. Tight. Demanding and taking.

  “Now,” she whispered against his mouth, fishing in his back pocket for a condom.

  He palmed her knees apart and she purred her approval. Her fingers made fast work of his swim trunks, freeing his erection and sheathing him swiftly, surely.

  She locked her legs around his waist and drew him in deeper. He drove into her again and again. She angled back, gripping the bar, bracelets sliding down to collect along her hand. He took in the beauty of her, her smooth skin, pert breasts, her head thrown back and hair swaying with every thrust. The boat rocked in a rhythm that matched theirs as his shouts of completion twined and mingled with hers, carried on the breeze.

  In that moment she felt connected to him more than physically. She identified with him, overwhelmed by an understanding of him being as alone in the world as her. But also hammered by a powerlessness to change that. His vision and walls were as strong as hers, always had been. Maybe more so.

  What a time to figure out she might have sacrificed too much for her work—only realizing that now, as she fell for a man who would sacrifice anything for his.

  * * *

  The taste of the sea, sweat and Mari still clinging to his skin, Rowan opened the door to their suite the next morning, praying the return to land and real life wouldn’t bring on the crushing sense of loss. He’d hoped to distract her from Issa—and also find some way to carve out a future for them. They were both dedicated to their work. They could share that, even in their disagreements. They could use that as a springboard to work out solutions. Together. His time with her overnight on the sailboat had only affirmed that for him.

  He just hoped he’d made a good start in persuading Mari of the same thing.

  Guiding her into the suite with a hand low on her spine, he stepped deeper into the room. Only to stop short. His senses went on alert. There was someone here.

  Damn it, there was more traffic
through this supposedly secure room than through the lobby. Which of course meant it was one of his friends.

  Elliot Starc rose from the sofa and from Mari’s gasp beside him, clearly she recognized the world-famous race-car driver…and underwear model.

  Rowan swallowed a curse. “Good morning, Elliot. Did you get booted out of your own room?”

  Laughing, Elliot took Mari’s hand lightly and ignored Rowan’s question. “Princess, it’s an honor to meet you.”

  “Mr. Starc, you’re one of Rowan’s Brotherhood friends, I assume.”

  Elliot’s eyebrows shot up. “You told her?”

  “We talk.” Among other things.

  “Well, color me stunned. That baby was lucky to have landed in Rowan’s room. Our Interpol connections kept all of you safe while bringing this to a speedy conclusion.”

  Crap. The mention of Interpol hung in the air, Mari’s eyes darting to his.

  Oblivious to the gaffe, Elliot continued, “Which brings me to my reason for being here. I’ve emailed a summary of the existing security detail, but I need to get back to training, get my mind back in the game so I don’t set more than my hair on fire.”

  Rowan pulled a tight smile. “Thanks, buddy.”

  Mari frowned. “Interpol?”

  Elliot turned sharply to Rowan. “You said you told her about the Brotherhood.”

  “Classmates. I told her we’re classmates.” He didn’t doubt she would keep his secret safe, but knowing wouldn’t help her and anything that didn’t help was harmful. “You, my friend, made a mighty big assumption for someone who should know better.”

  “She’s a princess. You’ve been guarding her.” Elliot scratched his sheared hair. “I thought… Ah, hell. Just…” Throwing his hands out and swiping the air as if that explained it all, Elliot spun on his heel and walked out the door.

  Mari sat hard, sinking like a stone on the edge of the sofa. “You’re with Interpol?” She huffed on a long sigh. “Of course you’re with Interpol.”