Emilie Rose - Bound by the Kincaid Baby / The Millionaire's Miracle - Bound by the Kincaid Baby / The Millionaire's Miracle

If there was one thing she could count on in this very exclusive section of Miami, it was the solitude she needed to get her head together. Rich folks, she’d learned since moving into Kincaid Manor, stayed behind their tall fences. They didn’t jog or stroll through the meandering, tree-and shrub-lined streets. The pricey peninsula couldn’t be more different from her friendly neighborhood of culs-de-sac and block parties. She knew all of her neighbors.

She jogged in place at a hand-carved wooden Stop sign and waited for a banana-yellow Lamborghini to pass. She waved a greeting, but couldn’t see through the darkly tinted windows whether or not the occupant waved back.

The nearing footsteps told her the other runner was gaining on her. She glanced back again. Mitch . A nearly naked Mitch. Her heart rate shot up.

He wore skimpy running shorts and shoes. Nothing else. And the view of his torso in the bright sunlight was a hundred times better than it had been in Rhett’s shadowy room last night. A fitness model would envy that body, those legs, those abs, and oh, mama, those mile-wide shoulders. There wasn’t an ounce of surplus fat on him. Corded muscles wrapped in tight, tanned, glistening skin, bunched and flexed with each long stride and pump of his arms as he closed the distance between them and drew up alongside her.

If not for her tight grip on the stroller handle, Carly would have fallen flat on her face—after tripping over her tongue.

“Good morning, Carly.” Like her, he jogged in place. Unlike her, he wasn’t winded. Or drooling. His gaze raked over her, lingering on her breasts encased in a sports bra tank before traveling to her shorts and her legs.

So much for avoiding him for a few days. She hoped he’d attribute the heat in her face to exertion and not lust—which had hit her like a hurricane the second she spotted him. His kisses had been that good.

“Morning, Mitch.” Carly snapped her attention back to the road and resumed her run. He kept pace beside her.

“Don’t let us keep you.” Not exactly subtle, Carly .

“I’ve decided to join you and the kid when you run.”

Why did she doubt it was for the pleasure of their company? “His name is Rhett.”

“Bubba, bubba, bubba,” Rhett singsonged.

Mitch shot ahead and turned. Jogging backward, he said, “Mitch. Not bubba. Mitch .”

“Mitt. Mitt. Mitt.”

“Close enough.” Mitch nodded and fell back in line beside her.

They covered a block in silence broken only by the slap of their shoes and the bleats of Rhett’s horn. “Did your sister leave a will?”

Carly’s steps faltered. “Yes. Why?”

“I’d like to see it.”

“I repeat, why?”

“Because anything that concerns Rhett concerns me. I am, after all, his brother. You’re only his aunt.”

Worry twisted her stomach. The attorney had promised the hastily scribbled will was valid. But he was a small-time attorney and not one of the high-profile types the Kincaids probably kept on retainer. “Half brother. Marlene’s will was handwritten, but notarized and completely legal.”

“Then you have no reason not to share it.”

She couldn’t stop him from getting a copy. Cooperating would probably be for the best. “I’ll tell my lawyer you want a copy.”

“I’d prefer to see the original.”

Her nerves snarled tighter. “Why?”

“To make sure the document is valid.”

He was going to challenge her right to Rhett. It was all she could do to keep putting one foot in front of the other. “It is.”

“Find a renter for your house yet?” he asked before she could get past her panic.

“No.”

“Are you comfortable leaving it vacant?”

If his goal was to ruin her run, he’d succeeded. “My neighbors will keep an eye on it for me.”

“You trust them that much?”

“I do.”

“You might want to consider a security system.”

“I can’t afford one.”

“You could. Just say the word.”

“If I moved back home, I wouldn’t need a security system.” Carly usually ran farther, but she couldn’t stomach more of Mitch’s company this morning. She took a sharp right at the intersection without warning and headed back toward the manor.

Mitch’s steps echoed hers, and he tracked her back toward the house. “Running from something, Carly?”

Yes. You . She glanced at him. “I need to go into work early this morning.”

A lone dark eyebrow hiked as if he recognized the lie for what it was. But she didn’t care. Mitch wasn’t interested in his half brother’s well-being. All he cared about was the billions of bucks Rhett represented.

Carly needed to call her attorney and find out if Mitch had any chance at all of stealing her precious nephew. If he did, then renting her house wasn’t going to be an issue, because she’d have to sell it and use the equity to pay the legal fees.

Mitch Kincaid seemed determined to screw up hers and Rhett’s lives. And Carly was just as determined to stop him.

No matter what the cost.

“Fax coming through,” Frank Lewis’s voice said through the cell phone line. “You’re not going to like it.”

Mitch tossed his keys into the porcelain bowl on the credenza. “Why?”

“Because Carlene Corbin is squeaky-clean.”

“Nobody’s that clean. How far back did you go?”

“Eighteen. Want me to look further? Check for a juvenile record?”

“Yes.”

“It’ll take some time to crack sealed records.”

“I’ll wait. What about the other matter?”

“I used my connections to get what the police had on the sister’s accident. Nothing of interest so far. No flags on your father.”

Mitch exhaled in relief. “Good. Keep looking.”

“Everett wasn’t Mafia, Mitch.”

Mitch entered the study and closed the door. As predicted, the fax machine spewed pages. “No, but we both know you didn’t cross him. Marlene Corbin backed Dad into a corner. He would have come out swinging. And he wouldn’t plan to lose the fight.”

“I hear you. I’m on it. Read the fax. Give me a call if anything rings your chimes.”

“Will do. Thanks, Frank.” He disconnected, retrieved the report and scanned the pages, noting Carly’s University of Florida, Gainesville, education, her steady work history and her broken engagement. Something niggled at him as he settled in his leather desk chair. He reread until he nailed the odd part.

She’d graduated from high school at nineteen when many kids did so at seventeen or eighteen. That wasn’t too unusual. Had she missed the age cutoff for entering school? Repeated a grade? He double-checked her birth date. July 9. She hadn’t missed the age cutoff. Probably nothing, but he’d get Frank on it.

She’d had a long-term relationship with one man in college, and she’d been engaged until recently to another. What had happened to the college boyfriend and the ex-fiancé?

A knock on the door yanked him away from those intriguing questions. He opened a drawer and shoved the fax inside. “Yes?”

The knob turned and the oak panel opened. Carly filled the gap. She had Rhett on her hip and judging by her purple tracksuit had just returned from work.

“Mitt,” the kid screamed and beamed and waved.

A stab of something, probably a hunger pain, jabbed Mitch in the midsection. He jerked a nod. “Hi, kid.”

Carly stepped into the study. “Della needed another day. I can have dinner ready in about an hour. Will that work for you?”

“That makes three days off.”

“Get over yourself, Kincaid. She’s trying to take care of her sister, not going out of her way to inconvenience you. And I told her to take as long as she needed.”