Allison Leigh - The Billionaire's Baby Plan / Marrying the Northbridge Nanny - The Billionaire's Baby Plan

Not a speck of lace or ribbon or silk in sight.

Sadly, she didn’t know if she’d have felt more confident if there had been. Probably not.

She was far more comfortable in a suit sitting in a boardroom debating business practices than she was in a nightgown waiting for a man…

She had a few hours, according to what he’d said, but instead of attempting another bath when the memory of her last attempt was so fresh in her mind, she unpinned her hair and took a short, steaming shower and tried not to think about the fact that the slate-tiled enclosure was certainly roomy enough for two.

When she got out, she wrapped her wet hair in one of the plentiful plush terry towels, slathered lotion on her arms and legs—just like she did every time she showered, she justified—pulled on the jersey and bikini pants, and, feeling like a thief in the night, crept her way through the villa to the nearest kitchen. There was, indeed, a wide assortment of foods already available.

She selected a crusty roll and a handful of green grapes and turned to go back to the bedroom. But the chilled bottle of wine that had already been opened caught her eye, and she grabbed that, too, as well as one of the wineglasses that hung from beneath one of the whitewashed cupboards. Feeling even more thieflike, she stole back to the bedroom, carefully skirting around the office.

But her footsteps dragged to a halt when the low murmur of Rourke’s voice through the partially closed door shaped into distinguishable words. “Call the publisher,” he was saying. “Tell him if he doesn’t squash the story, I’ll personally call on every corporate advertiser they’ve got and he won’t like the results.”

One of the grapes rolled out of Lisa’s hand and she silently darted after it, catching it just before it rolled down one of the steps.

She looked back and saw Rourke watching her, his phone still at his ear.

She flushed a little. “I was hungry after all.”

His gaze settled on the wine bottle, looking amused. “And thirsty?”

“This is France. And the bottle was already opened.”

“You don’t have to defend yourself to me.” He abruptly turned his attention back to the phone. “You’re damn right I’m serious.” His voice was sharp, obviously intended for his caller. “If you can’t accomplish this, I’ll hire someone who can.” He went back into the office, closing the door behind him.

Lisa scurried down the steps to the bedroom feeling a little sorry for whomever was on the other end of that call.

She quickly demolished the bread and grapes even before she finished half a glass of wine. She pulled out her own cell phone and started to dial Sara Beth twice.

But she didn’t want to burden her friend with foolishly panicked calls. Aside from Rourke’s insistence that nobody know the true details of their agreement, Sara Beth’s new husband was Rourke’s friend and Lisa was loath to put her problems between them. Particularly when Lisa suspected that Sara Beth was already concerned.

So she put the phone away.

She paced around the bed, avoiding it as if it was poisonous, until finally, annoyed with herself, she yanked back the creamy silk bedspread and bunched up a few of the bed pillows behind her back. She pulled out the suspense novel that she’d brought with her, but reading it now was just as big a pretense as it had been on the plane, and she finally tossed it aside.

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