Yuletide Baby Surprise Page 8

  Rowan jogged down the long steps from the pool area to the beach. Late-night vacationers splashed under the fake waterfall, others floated, some sprawled in deck loungers with drinks, the party running deep into the night.

  His appointment would take place in cabana number two, away from prying eyes and with the sound of the roaring surf to cover conversation. His loafers sank into the gritty sand, the teak shelter a dozen yards away, with a grassy roof and canvas walls flapping lightly in the wind. Ships bobbed on the horizon, lights echoing the stars overhead.

  Rowan swept aside the fabric and stepped inside. “Sorry I’m late, my friend.”

  His old school pal Elliot Starc lounged in a recliner under the cabana in their designated meeting spot as planned, both loungers overlooking the endless stretch of ocean. “Nothing better to do.”

  Strictly speaking that couldn’t be true. The freelance Interpol agent used his job as a world-renowned Formula One race-car driver to slip in and out of countries without question. He ran in high-powered circles. But then that very lifestyle was the sort their handler, Colonel Salvatore, capitalized on—using the tarnished reputations of his old students to gain access to underworld types.

  Of course, Salvatore gave Rowan hell periodically for being a do-gooder. Rowan winced. The label pinched, a poor fit at best. “Well, thanks all the same for dropping everything to come to Cape Verde.”

  Elliot scratched his hand over his buzzed short hair. “I’m made of time since my fiancée dumped me.”

  “Sorry about that.” Talk about headline news. Elliot’s past—his vast past—with women, filled headlines across multiple continents. The world thought that’s what had broken up the engagement, but Rowan suspected the truth. Elliot’s fiancée had been freaked out by the Interpol work. The job had risked more than one relationship for the Brotherhood.

  What would Mari think if she knew?

  “Crap happens.” Elliot tipped back a drink, draining half of the amber liquid before setting the cut crystal glass on the table between them. “I’d cleared my schedule for the honeymoon. When we split I gave her the tickets since the whole thing was my fault anyway. She and her ‘BFF’ are skiing in the Alps as we speak. I might as well be doing something productive with my time off.”

  Clearly, Elliot wouldn’t want sympathy. Another drink maybe. He looked like hell, dark circles under his eyes. From lack of sleep most likely. But that didn’t explain the nearly shaved head.

  “Dude, what happened to you?” Rowan asked, pointing to the short cut.

  Elliot’s curly mop had become a signature with his fans who collected magazine covers. There were even billboards and posters…. All their pals from the military academy—the ones who’d dubbed themselves the Alpha Brotherhood—never passed up an opportunity to rib Elliot about the underwear ad.

  Elliot scratched a hand over his shorn hair. “I had a wreck during a training run. Bit of a fire involved. Singed my hair.”

  Holy hell. “You caught on fire?”

  Elliot grinned. “Just my hair.”

  “How did I miss hearing about that?”

  “No need. It’s not a big deal.”

  Rowan shook his head. “You are one seriously messed-up dude.”

  But then all his former classmates were messed up in some form. Came with the territory. The things that had landed them in that reform school left them with baggage long after graduation.

  “You’re the one who hangs out in war-torn villages passing out vaccinations and blankets for fun.”

  “I’m not trailed by groupies.” He shuddered.

  “They’re harmless most of the time.”

  Except when they weren’t. The very reason he’d consulted with Elliot about the best way to protect Mari and Issa. “I can’t thank you enough, brother, for overseeing the security detail. They earned their pay tonight.”

  “Child’s play. So to speak.” Elliot lifted his glass again, draining the rest with a wince. “What’s up with your papa-and-the-princess deal?”

  “The kid needed my help. So I helped.”

  “You’ve always been the saint. But that doesn’t explain the princess.”

  Rowan ignored the last part of Elliot’s question. “What’s so saintly about helping out a kid when I have unlimited funds and Interpol agents at my disposal? Saintly is when something’s difficult to do.”

  “And the woman—the princess?” his half-drunk buddy persisted. “She had a reputation for being very difficult on the subject of Dr. Rowan Boothe.”

  Like the time she’d written an entire journal piece pointing out potential flaws in his diagnostics program. Sure, he’d made adjustments after reading the piece, but holy hell, it would have been nice—and more expedient—if she’d come to him first. “Mari needs my help, too. That’s all it is.”

  Elliot laughed. “You are so damn delusional.”

  A truth. And an uncomfortable one.

  Beyond their cabana tent, a couple strolled arm-in-arm along the shoreline, sidestepping as a jogger sprinted past with a loping dog.

  “If you were a good friend you would let me continue with my denial.”

  “Maybe I’m wrong.” Elliot lifted the decanter and refilled his glass. “It’s not denial if you acknowledge said problem.”

  “I am aware of that fact.” His unrelenting desire for Mari was a longtime, ongoing issue he was doing his damnedest to address.

  “What do you intend to do about your crush on the princess?”

  “Crush? Good God, man. I’m not in junior high.”

  “Glad you know that. What’s your plan?”

  “I’m figuring that out as I go.” And even if he had one, he wasn’t comfortable discussing details of his—feelings?—his attraction.

  “What happens if this relationship goes south? Her father has a lot of influence. Even though you’re not in his country, his region still neighbors your backyard. That could be…uncomfortable.”

  Rowan hadn’t considered that angle and he should have. Which said a lot for how much Mari messed with his mind. “Let me get this straight, Starc. You are doling out relationship advice?”

  “I’m a top-notch source when it comes to all the wrong things to do in a long-term relationship.” He lifted his glass in toast. “Here’s to three broken engagements and counting.”

  “Who said I’m looking for long-term?”

  Elliot leveled an entirely sober stare his way, holding for three crashes of the waves before he said, “You truly are delusional, dude.”

  “That’s not advice.”

  “It is if you really think about it.”

  He’d had enough of this discussion about Mari and the possibility of a train wreck of epic proportions. Rowan shoved off the lounger, his shoes sinking in the sand. “Good night.”

  “Hit a sore spot, did I?” Still, Starc pushed.

  “I appreciate your…concern. And your help.” He clapped Elliot on the shoulder before sweeping aside the canvas curtain. “I need to return to the hotel.”

  He’d been gone long enough. As much as he trusted Elliot’s choice of guards, he still preferred to keep close.

  Wind rolled in off the water, tearing at his open shirt collar as he made his way back up the beach toward the resort. Lights winked from trees. Fake snow speckled windows. Less than two weeks left until Christmas. He would spend the day at his house by the clinic, working any emergency-room walk-ins as he did every year. What plans did Mari have? Would she go to her family?

  His parents holed up on Christmas, and frankly, he preferred it that way. Too many painful memories for all of them.

  He shut off those thoughts as he entered the resort again. Better to focus on the present. One day at a time. That’s the way he’d learned to deal with the crap that had gone down. And right no
w, his present was filled with Mari and Issa.

  Potted palms, carved masks and mounted animal heads passed in a blur as he made his way back to his suite. He nodded to the pair of guards outside the door before stepping inside.

  Dimmed lights from the wet bar bathed the sitting area in an amber glow. Silence echoed as he padded his way to Mari’s room. No sounds came from her room this time, no conversation with her royal dad.

  The door to Mari’s room was ajar and he nudged it open slowly, pushing back thoughts of invading her privacy. This was about safety and checking on the baby.

  Not an insane desire to see what Mari looked like sleeping.

  To appease his conscience, he checked the baby first and found the chubby infant sleeping, sucking on her tiny fist as she dreamed. Whatever came of his situation with Mari, they’d done right by this baby. They’d kept at least one child safe.

  One day at a time. One life saved at a time. It’s how he lived. How he atoned for the unforgivable in his past.

  Did Issa’s mother regret abandoning her child? The note said she wanted her baby in the care of someone like him. But there was no way she could have known the full extent of the resources he had at his disposal with Interpol. If so, she wouldn’t have been as quick to abandon her child to him because he could and would find the mother. It wasn’t a matter of if. Only a matter of when.

  He wouldn’t give up. This child’s future depended on finding answers.

  All the more reason to tread carefully with Mari. He knew what he wanted, but he’d failed to take into consideration how much of a help she would be. How much it would touch his soul seeing her care for the baby. From her initial reaction to the baby, he’d expected her to be awkward with the child, all technical and analytical. But she had an instinct for children, a tenderness in her heart that overcame any awkwardness. A softness that crept over her features.

  Watching her sleep now, he could almost forget the way Mari had cut him down to size on more than one occasion in the past. Her hair was down and loose on her pillow, black satin against the white Egyptian cotton pillowcase. Moonlight kissed the curve of her neck, her chest rising and falling slowly.

  He could see a strap of creamy satin along her shoulder. Her nightgown? His body tightened and he considered scooping her up and carrying her to his room. To hell with waiting. He could persuade her.

  But just as he started to reach for her, his mind snagged on the memory of her talking about how she felt like she’d been a disappointment to her family. The notion that anyone would think this woman less than amazing floored him. He might not agree with her on everything, but he sure as hell saw her value.

  Her brilliance of mind and spirit.

  He definitely needed to stick to his original plan. He would wait. He couldn’t stop thinking about that snippet of her phone conversation with her father. He understood that feeling of inadequacy all too well. She deserved better.

  Rather than some half-assed seduction, he needed a plan. A magnificent plan to romance a magnificent woman. The work would be well worth the payoff for both of them.

  He backed away from her bed and reached for his cell phone to check in with Salvatore. Pausing at the door, he took in the sight of her, imprinting on his brain the image of Mari sleeping even though that vision ensured he wouldn’t be sleeping tonight.

  * * *

  Mari’s dreams filled with Rowan, filled with his blue eyes stroking her. With his hands caressing her as they floated together in the surf, away from work and responsibilities. She’d never felt so free, so languid, his kisses and touches melting her bones. Her mind filled with his husky whispers of how much he wanted her. Even the sound of his voice stoked her passion higher, hotter, until she ached to wrap her legs around his waist and be filled with his strength.

  She couldn’t get enough of him. Years of sparring over their work, and even the weather if the subject came up… Now all those frustrating encounters exploded into a deep need, an explosive passion for a man she could have vowed she didn’t even like.

  Although like had nothing to do with this raw arousal—she felt a need that left her hot and moist between the legs until she squirmed in her bed.

  Her bed.

  Slowly, her dream world faded as reality interjected itself with tiny details, like the slither of sheets against her skin. The give of the pillow as her head thrashed back and forth. The sound of the ocean outside the window—and the faint rumble of Rowan’s voice beyond her door.

  She sat upright quickly.

  Rowan.

  No wonder she’d been dreaming of him. His voice had been filtering into her dream until he took it over. She clutched the puffy comforter to her chest and listened, although the words were indistinguishable. From the periodic silences, he must be talking to someone on the phone.

  Mari eased from the bed, careful not to wake the baby. She pulled her robe from over a cane rocking chair and slipped her arms into the cool satin. Her one decadent pleasure—sexy peignoir sets. They made her feel like a silver-screen star from the forties, complete with furry kitten-heel slippers, not so high as to trip her up, but still ultrafeminine.

  Would Rowan think them sexy or silly if he noticed them? God, he was filling up her mind and making her care about things—superficial things—that shouldn’t matter. Even more distressing, he made her want to climb back into that dream world and forget about everything else.

  Her entire focus should be on securing Issa’s future. Mari leaned over the lace bassinet to check the infant’s breathing. She pressed a kiss to two fingers and skimmed them over Issa’s brow, affection clutching her heart. How could one little scrap of humanity become so precious so fast?

  Rowan’s voice filtered through the door again and piqued her curiosity. Who could he be talking with so late at night? Common sense said it had to be important, maybe even about the baby.

  Her throat tightened at the thought of news about Issa’s family, and she wasn’t sure if the prospect made her happy or sad. She grasped the baby monitor receiver in her hand.

  Quietly, she opened the door, careful not to disturb his phone conversation. And yes, she welcomed the opportunity to look at Rowan for a moment, a double-edged pleasure with the heat of her dream still so fresh in her mind. He stood with his back to her, phone pressed to his ear as he faced the picture window, shutters open to reveal the moonlit shoreline.

  She couldn’t have stopped herself if she tried. And she didn’t try. Her gaze skated straight down to his butt. A fine butt, the kind that filled out jeans just right and begged a woman to tuck her hand into his back pocket. Why hadn’t she noticed that about him before? Perhaps because he usually wore his doctor’s coat or a suit.

  The rest of him, though, was wonderfully familiar. What a time to realize she’d stored so much more about him in her memory than just the sexy glide of his blond hair swept back from his face, his piercing blue eyes, his strong body.

  Her fingers itched to scale the expanse of his chest, hard muscled in a way that spoke of real work more than gym time with a personal trainer. Her body responded with a will of its own, her breasts beading in response to just the sight of him, the promise of pleasure in that strong, big body of his.

  Were the calluses on his hand imagined in her dream or real? Right now it seemed the most important thing in the world to know, to find out from the ultimate test—his hands on her bare flesh.

  His back still to her, he nodded and hmmed at something in the conversation, the broad column of his neck exposed, then he disconnected his call.

  Anticipation coursed through her, but she schooled her face to show nothing as he turned.

  He showed no surprise at seeing her, his moves smooth and confident. He placed his phone on the wet bar, his eyes sweeping over all of her. His gaze lingered on her shoes and he smiled, then his gaze stroked back up t
o her face again. “Mari, how long have you been awake?”

  “Only a few minutes. Just long enough to hear you ‘hmm’ and ‘uh-huh’ a couple of times.” She wrapped her arms around her waist, hugging the robe closed and making sure her tingling breasts didn’t advertise her arousal. “If I may ask, who were you talking to so late?”

  “Checking on our security and following up a lead on the baby.”

  She stood up straighter and joined him by the window, her heart hammering in her ears. “Did you find her family?”

  “Sorry.” He cupped her shoulder in a warm grasp, squeezing comfortingly. “Not yet. But we’re working on it.”

  She forced herself to swallow and moisten her suddenly dry mouth. “Who is this ‘we’ you keep mentioning?”

  “I’m a wealthy man now. Wealthy people have connections. I’m using them.” His hand slid away, calluses snagging on her satin robe.

  Calluses.

  The thought of those fingers rasping along her skin made her shiver with want. God, she wasn’t used to being this controlled by her body. She was a cerebral person, a thinker, a scientist. She needed to find level ground again, although it was a struggle.

  Reining herself in, she eyed Rowan, assessing him. Her instincts told her he was holding something back about his conversation, but she couldn’t decipher what that might be. She searched his face, really searched, and what a time to realize she’d never looked deeper than the surface of Rowan before. She’d known his history—a reformed bad boy, the saintly doctor saving the world and soaking up glory like a halo, while she was a person who preferred the shadows.

  She’d only stepped into the spotlight now for the baby. And that made her wonder if his halo time had another purpose for him—using that notoriety for his causes. The possibility that she could have been mistaken about his ego, his swagger, gave her pause.

  Of course she could just be seeking justification for how his kisses turned her inside out.

  Then his hand slid down her arm until he linked fingers with her and tugged her toward the sofa. Her stomach leaped into her throat, but she didn’t stop him, curious to see where this would lead. And reluctant to let go of his hand.