Millionaire's Instant Baby

by ALLISON LEIGH,

  His jaw hardened. He’d had this argument with himself too many times already to want to sit here and go through it with this young woman. He’d spent too many years planning. Waiting for just this opportunity. To finally take the action that, while it wouldn’t reverse the past, would go a long way toward evening the score.

  If producing the family Payton kept harping on got Kyle to his goal, then produce a family he would.

  ChandlerAIR would survive if the deal to acquire CCS didn’t go through. His company was strong and solid because he’d devoted his existence to it for most of his adult life. But taking over CCS was an action that went beyond business.

  And he had no intention of discussing his personal motives with this young woman, no matter how honeyed her voice. “I prefer to look at it as expedience. And perhaps we should agree to disagree on the point,” he said.

  “Might be wise,” she murmured, shifting in her chair.

  A fine white line appeared around her softly compressed lips at the movement, and he felt a jab of conscience. She’d just had a baby. Sitting here arguing ethics was undoubtedly the last thing she’d expected to be doing today. “Miss Valentine. Emma. Give my offer some thought.” He kept his voice calm even though his impulse was to push the issue. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

  Far from calming her, however, her face blanched. “I’m sorry, Mr. Montgomery.” Her tone said she was anything but. “I can’t help you.” Her hands curled over the sides of the chair and she pushed herself gingerly to her feet.

  He rose, automatically reaching out to assist her, but the frosty look she gave him had him keeping his hands to himself. He felt awkward and inept, something he hadn’t experienced for at least twenty years. Yet watching her slowly maneuver herself to the hospital bed without offering assistance went against his grain.

  “One of my sisters had a baby last year,” he said.

  “How nice,” she murmured.

  It would have been so simple just to lift her off her feet and deposit her on the bed—much easier than watching her efforts to climb into it. He looked away, shoving his hands in his pockets. When his sister had been in the hospital after giving birth, her room had been filled to overflowing with flowers, plants, balloons and assorted baby gifts. The only thing personal in this room was one small green plant with a cheerful smiley-face balloon sticking out of it.

  At the rustle of sheets he let his gaze travel back to her. Emma was still bundled in the thick robe and looked as if she’d just as soon be buried in it as remove it with him present.

  This wasn’t going at all the way he wanted. Needed.

  He started to reach up to loosen his tie, then realized he’d left it in his car, so it wasn’t a tie that made him feel choked. “Is someone picking you up this afternoon to take you home?”

  She folded her arms across the top of the sheet and sighed faintly. “You’re not going to go away, are you.”

  It hadn’t been a question. He answered, anyway. “Emma, this is too important for me to go away.” How many times had he removed an obstacle from his path simply because of his ability to outlast, outthink, outmaneuver?

  Only this time, the obstacle in Kyle’s path had smudgy shadows beneath her eyes and slender shoulders he was certain were being held straight through sheer grit. “But I can see you’re exhausted. So I’ll come back later when you’re released and get you settled at home. We can discuss this more then.”

  “There is nothing to discuss. Besides, I have my car here and I’ll be getting myself and my son home just fine.”

  “Your car is here? Did someone drop it off for you?” He pulled his hands from his pockets and wrapped them around the metal rail at the foot of her bed. Kyle had specifically asked Dennis Reid if there was a man in the picture with Emma Valentine. Reid had assured him that Emma was totally on her own. The last thing Kyle needed was some love-struck fool bumbling onto the scene.

  “I drove it here,” she said, surprising him into forgetting the issue of her single status.

  “While you were in labor?”

  “Yes,” she said with exaggerated patience. “And I’ll drive it home again this afternoon. I assure you I have the proper baby seat and everything, so stop frowning.”

  “You have no one you could have called on?” If not the man responsible for her pregnancy, then a friend. A sibling. Someone.

  Her lips firmed. “Whether I do or not is hardly your business, now is it?”

  Kyle would have liked to debate that point, considering he was determined this woman would be his make-believe wife. But there was a loud rattle out in the corridor and the door swished open to reveal a young man in pristine white bearing a breakfast tray.

  The orderly smiled genially at them, set the tray on a rolling cart and slid it neatly against the side of Emma’s bed, turning it so the tray hung over her lap. Then he lifted the cover from the food and left.

  As Kyle peered at the bowl of cooked cereal, the puny foil-covered plastic cup of orange juice and a half-burned piece of toast, he thought of the fluffy omelet, crisp bacon and fragrant coffee Baxter had served him that morning. He’d barely taken time to appreciate the food or the way it had been served—on china at the wrought-iron glass-topped table on his patio.

  “Are you hungry, Mr. Montgomery?”

  “No, why?”

  “You’re staring at my breakfast like you haven’t seen food in a month.” She didn’t look at him as she peeled back the foil cover of the juice.

  “I haven’t seen a breakfast that looks like that in more than a month,” he muttered. “I’ll bring you back something more…appealing.”

  She took a healthy swallow of the juice, then picked up a spoon which she plunged into the cereal. “I like hot cereal, Mr. Montgomery. Some people do, you know.” Her tone slowed like rich rolling drops of syrup. “Even rich folks, I’m told.”

  He smiled, genuinely amused. “You think I’m a snob.”

  Her hesitation was barely noticeable. “I can’t imagine what you mean.”

  His amusement grew. “Neatly avoided and you didn’t have to lie.” Seeing the corners of her mouth twitch as if she was holding back a reluctant smile of her own, he decided it was a good time to retreat. On a high note, so to speak. “I’ll leave you to enjoy your oats and whey,” he said. “We’ll be talking again.”

  “I don’t think so. Our paths are in different neighborhoods. I doubt they’ll cross again.”

  He shrugged easily and headed toward the door. She didn’t know him yet, so she could have no idea how wrong she was. He stopped and turned. “Get some sleep after you eat,” he suggested. “It’ll be a busy afternoon taking your son home. What did you say his name was?”

  She tilted her head. “I didn’t. Which you know very well.”

  “He is a good-looking boy.”

  Her eyes softened like rich melting chocolate. “Thank you. He is beautiful.”

  “And his name? You’ve already given him one, I’m sure.” He smiled faintly. “I’ll bet you had his name picked out when you were only halfway through your pregnancy.” She seemed like the type of woman who’d have cherished every moment she carried her child. Very much the way his sister had.

  “Four months along,” she admitted.

  “And?”

  She moistened her lips. Hesitated. “My son’s name is Chandler.”

  Kyle absorbed that. “Well. Good name.”

  “I named him after a very dear old friend from my hometown,” she said evenly. “A name I chose months ago, so wipe that smug look off your face.”

  “Not smug at all, Emma. It’s just another indication that I’ve chosen the right woman for my wife.”

  “Your pretend wife,” she corrected.

  “That’s what I said.”

  “Not exactly.”

  “You like to have the last word, don’t you?”

  “I’m a woman, Mr. Montgomery.”

  “I did notice that, Miss Valentine.” He watched her c
heeks blossom with pink. “And while I am but a humble man—” he ignored her soft snort “—I’m a determined one. Our paths will cross again, Emma. And again. Until I have your agreement that becoming my pretend wife benefits everyone.”

  Her mouth moved, but no words emerged. He smiled and stepped out into the hall. “I’ll see you and Chandler later.”

  The door swished closed, but he heard her honeyed voice in the moment just before it did. “Good gravy.”

  He pushed his hands into his pockets and thought about the woman on the other side. She was perfect for his needs. He just needed to remember that his needs were strictly business. That her curvy body, from slender neck to trim ankles, was off-limits.

  All he needed was a pretend wife. He’d keep his hands to himself. He’d keep his thoughts strictly on sewing up every last detail of acquiring Payton Cummings’s company.

  So that when the day arrived that he dismantled every facet of that damned company, he’d have the personal satisfaction of knowing there wasn’t one thing Payton Cummings, Sr., could do about it.

  Kyle let out a long breath and went in search of a flower shop.

  Chapter Two

  “Okay, Emma, this one is what we’ll use to file for Chandler’s birth certificate. Fill in the blanks, sign and leave it in the folder with the others. The state will send you the certificate once it’s recorded. You can leave the folder with the nurse when you’re released. Okay?”

  Emma nodded and waited until the brisk I’m-from-Records-honey woman left. Then Emma looked down at the form and nibbled the inside of her lip. She’d been completing and signing forms for the past ten minutes. Financial forms, affirming that she didn’t have medical insurance and including a payment agreement that would take every cent of the pay she earned from her part-time teaching job for the next few years. Medical-information forms regarding the aftermath of childbirth. Even forms to purchase sets of newborn photos.

  She’d ordered one eight-by-ten and six wallet-size ones simply because she hadn’t been able to resist the first photo of Chandler, his little fists pressed against his round cheeks and a snug blue cap covering his thatch of dark brown hair. But even the photos were an extravagance these days. Signing all those financial forms had brought home with a thump the responsibilities she had to shoulder. Alone.

  Which brought her right back to the birth certificate information. She rolled the pen between her fingers, looking at the empty boxes. Mother’s maiden name. Location and date of mother’s birth. Father’s name.

  The tip of her pen hovered over that last box. Father. It took much more than biology to make a father. It took love and commitment and dedication.

  Yet all she had was betrayal and lies and a twelve-page legal document sitting in the closet of her apartment.

  She drew in a breath and let it out slowly. Then she deliberately slashed a line through the father box before completing the rest, and placed the form, along with the others, inside the folder.

  She looked at her watch and hoped the nurse came by soon with her release. She didn’t believe for one minute that Kyle Montgomery would be returning as he’d said that morning. Why would he?

  He had money. He had incredible looks. He could find a make-believe wife wherever he wanted, making it worthwhile for some other woman. Personally Emma had had enough of rich men who thought they could either buy her presence or buy her absence.

  The only man she was interested in was the tiny one sleeping in his carrier right beside her.

  She looked down at Chandler, feeling tears threaten. Tears of gratitude for his sweet perfection she could happily shed. But tears filled with worry and fear about the days ahead, of managing, getting by—those tears she refused to indulge.

  She was twenty-six years old. When her mama was that age, she had five kids. All daughters. Another year and she had six. The year after that, Hattie Valentine had stopped having babies, because her husband went off one night and didn’t come back.

  A soft knock on the door caught her attention, and she pushed to her feet, tugging the hem of her cotton maternity top over her hips. Nell Hastings smiled and pushed the door wide until it stayed open on its own. “I’ve got your ride here, Emma.” She patted the bright blue wheelchair, her eyes twinkling. “Is that all your stuff in that bag?”

  She didn’t wait for an answer, but tucked the handles of the big plastic sack that held bottles of water, formula samples and diapers over the back of the wheelchair.

  Emma handed the motherly nurse the folder of paperwork and sat in the chair, holding Chandler in his carrier on her lap as Nell pushed her to the sidewalk outside the small hospital. Emma could see her orange car in the parking lot. She swallowed, thinking it was stupid to feel nervous about leaving the hospital. She could do this. She looked down at her sleeping son. She would do this. She climbed out of the wheelchair. It wasn’t as if she had no friends to support her decisions. To laugh with. To cry with. She just didn’t have a husband. And she’d turned down the offers of a ride home from the hospital. She’d start out as she intended to continue. Depending on herself.

  “Emma, you and Chandler are going to be just fine. But you get nervous about anything, you just call. Okay?”

  “Thanks, Nell. When I’m back at work, I’ll treat you to pie and coffee.”

  The nurse patted her ample hips. “I don’t need pie, but I’ll take you up on that.” She helped Emma with the plastic bag and overnight case before turning the wheelchair around and heading back inside.

  “We can do this, right, Chandler?” With the plastic sack slung over one shoulder, the strap of her overnight bag over the other and Chandler’s carrier cradled between her arms, Emma slowly headed toward her car.

  When she reached it, she had to set everything down on the ground, though, because her keys were buried somewhere in the overnight bag. Chandler was starting to stir, and she moved his carrier onto the hood of her car, humming to him while she dug blindly through her bag.

  “Looks like you could use an extra hand.”

  Emma gasped, automatically closing her arm over the carrier. She looked across the hood of her ancient car to the gleaming late-model sports car against which Kyle Montgomery leaned lazily. Her heart was thudding only because he’d startled her, she assured herself.

  “My two hands are quite sufficient,” she said, flushing when the words came out sounding breathless. She swept her hand once more through the interior of her case searching, searching.

  He tilted his head slightly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Emma swallowed and pulled the case in front of her, pushing aside the clothing she’d worn to the hospital in her search. She was certain she’d dumped the keys in the bottom of the case.

  “You’re overflowing there.”

  She frowned, looking up. Right there, large as life, was her white cotton bra, D cup and all, hanging drunkenly over the side of the case. She hastily shoved it back inside, finally encountered the sharp edge of a key with her fingertip and pulled the set out triumphantly. Without bothering to refasten the zipper of the case, she hurriedly unlocked the car and dumped the two bags inside, rolled the car window halfway down and reached for the baby carrier. From the corner of her eye, she could see Kyle still leaning against his car.

  He’d added the tie that had been missing that morning. Looking just as spit-polished as she’d figured he’d look. She swallowed and tried blocking him from her sight as she bent over her baby.

  Though she’d practiced fastening the baby carrier into the stationary base that was already in the car, she fumbled the job. Chandler started whimpering and Emma crooned soothingly to him as she tried again. But the latch wouldn’t connect.

  Painfully aware of Kyle’s gaze, which she couldn’t seem to ignore no matter how hard she tried, she worked at the carrier again. And again. Chandler started crying in earnest. “Oh, pumpkin, don’t,” she murmured, trying to distract him with the pacifier the nurse had sent with them. But Chandler wasn’t interested in the
pacifier, and his newborn wail rose.

  The panic rose in her far too easily. Her knees felt wobbly and all she wanted to do was lie down. She took a deep breath and tried fitting the carrier into place once more. What was wrong with the thing?

  “Let me give it a try.”

  Emma looked over her shoulder at Kyle, who’d moved to stand behind her. His wide shoulders blocked the bright afternoon sun in a way that no man wearing a silk tie should be able to do. “I can do it.”

  “I’m sure you can,” he said mildly. “But that’s the same model I bought my sister when she had her baby. Remember, the one I told you—”

  “I remember.” Feeling cross, she pulled the carrier back out of the car and propped it between her hip and the open car door while she tried coaxing Chandler to take the pacifier. At last he did, his cries ceasing as his lips worked rhythmically.

  “He’s hungry.”

  “I’m aware of that.” And her breasts positively ached for relief. But she wasn’t going to tell this man that. Not that she needed to, she realized with a hot flush, because his eyes had definitely been eyeing her there. “Don’t you have planes to fly somewhere or something?”

  His eyes crinkled and he gently, firmly, nudged her out of the way, easily replacing her hands on the carrier with his own. “I am a pilot,” he said as he leaned into the car. “But unfortunately the business end of things keeps me on the ground pretty much these days. There. All set.”

  He straightened and Emma could see the carrier had been transformed into a secure car seat. Naturally. She felt like bawling. “I…Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He looked at her, not smiling, just being male and competent and calmly accepting the tears collecting in her eyes. This last made the urge to cry magically fade. “I’ll follow you home.”

  His statement was oddly appealing. And as such, completely out of the question. She blinked, moved away from him and his hypnotic scent, and pushed the door closed. He either had to move or have his hip banged.

  “What for? To see if I can release the carrier once I get there?” She knew she was being rude. He had helped her with the carrier, after all. But criminy, the man seemed incapable of taking no for an answer. “I don’t know how to get it through to you, Mr. Montgomery, but you cannot buy me into playing your pretend-marriage game.”