Leigh Michaels - The Tycoon's Baby

“You’d be quite willing to let me seduce you, I suppose.”

“Come on, Janey. If that kiss wasn’t an invitation—”

“I was not kissing you!” Her voice was fierce and Maddy jerked in surprise and wailed. Janey scooped the baby up into her arms, and Maddy relaxed again, her face nestled against Janey’s breast.

“I assure you,” Webb said cheerfully, “I do know a kiss when I—”

“I want you to understand I’m not interested in you personally. My only goal is the money you promised me!”

“Want to place a little bet? That it won’t be the last suggestive kiss you’ll ever give me?”

Welcome to DADDY BOOM!

Just look who’s holding the baby now! Following on from our highly popular BABY BOOM series, Harlequin Romance® is proud to bring you DADDY BOOM, full of babies, bachelors and happy-ever-afters. Meet irresistible heroes who are about to discover that there’s a first time for everything—even fatherhood!

Fifth in our series is The Tycoon’s Baby by Leigh Michaels.

Look out for Outback Wife and Mother by Barbara Hannay.

Who says bachelors and babies don’t mix?

The Tycoon’s Baby

Leigh Michaels

DADDY BOOM

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ONE

THE ROOM RANG with the sound of a toddler’s giggles. Webb raised himself up on one elbow and leaned over the pajama-clad child who was sprawled on the Oriental rug in front of the fireplace. He growled gently as he threatened once more to gobble her tummy, and she shrieked with delight and yanked his hair.

Nearby, a white-uniformed woman shifted to the edge of her chair and said, “Mr. Copeland, it’s Madeline’s bedtime.”

Who cares? Webb wanted to say. I don’t, and Madeline certainly doesn’t. “I’ve only seen my little girl for twenty minutes all day, Mrs. Wilson. Can’t her bedtime be put off for a while?”

The nurse’s expression was stern. “I’d say you’ve already managed that. You’ve got her so agitated it’ll take an hour just to get her settled.”

Webb sighed and made a vow to himself that tomorrow he would get out of the office on time, no matter what. “All right.” He bent over the toddler again. “Maddy, playtime’s over. Give me a kiss before you go up to bed.”

Madeline’s enormous brown eyes—her mother’s eyes—pleaded silently, but Webb gathered her close and stood up. He rubbed his cheek against her soft dark hair and kissed her rosy cheek, then handed her over to the nurse and watched the pair of them cross the marble-tiled foyer and climb the winding stairs.

The tiny woman perched on a low rocking chair at one side of the fireplace didn’t look up from the mass of rose-colored yarn in her lap. The flicker of the flames cast long shadows, which emphasized the deep lines etched in her face. “I don’t know why you put up with that woman, Webb.”

“Because she’s the best baby nurse in Cook County.”

Camilla Copeland sniffed. “Says who?”

“She was highly recommended.”

“She’s rigid.”

“Gran, you can’t have it both ways. I’ve heard you say yourself that children need schedules.”

“I said they need security and stability. That does not mean I’m in favor of regimentation.”

Webb buttoned the collar of his pin-striped shirt and settled his tie back into place. “Gran, please don’t start this again.” But he might as well have tried to stop a battleship.

“Madeline’s only fifteen months old. Don’t you think it’s a bit early for her to be living a boarding school life-style, all bells and whistles and rules?” Camilla Copeland looked straight at her grandson and added firmly, “The child needs a mother.”

Webb dropped into a chair. He might as well make himself as comfortable as possible. They’d had this discussion a dozen times at least, and he knew better than to think he could cut it short now, because, once launched, Camilla was inexorable.

Her voice softened. “I know it affected you horribly, when Sibyl...went—”

“You have no idea, Gran.”

“But it’s been more than a year since she died, and it’s time for you to get on with your life.”

“I am getting on with my life. What I don’t plan to do is get married again—ever.”

“Oh, my dear.” Camilla’s voice was soft. “I know that you’ve been stunned—almost in a daze—ever since the accident. But you mustn’t assume that because you haven’t felt any interest in women in this past year that you never will. Those...urges...aren’t gone, Webb.”

Despite his annoyance with her, Webb had to bite back a laugh. Dear old Gran, with her Victorian way of putting things! She’d even turned just a little pink, bless her heart. Or was that simply the firelight reflecting off the half-finished sweater in her lap?

Camilla turned her knitting and started another row. “Someday, Webb, I promise you’ll be eager to have a woman in your life again.”

Webb wondered what she’d say if he pointed out that he’d only ruled out marriage, not the possibility of another woman in his life.

“And it’ll be easier for Madeline to accept a stepmother now than it will be later.” Camilla nodded firmly, as if she’d nailed her point and was assured there could be no argument.

Webb blinked in surprise. He’d thought he could practically recite this entire conversation from beginning to end with all its variations, but that last line had been a completely new twist. He felt like a skier who’d wandered off the marked trail and found himself speeding down the side of an entirely different mountain.

“Now wait a minute,” he said. “Because you’re so certain that someday I’ll decide to get married again, you think I should leap into it right now—whether I’m ready or not—because Maddy’s the right age to bond with a stepmother?”

“I didn’t say you should leap,” Camilla said. “I said you shouldn’t write off the possibility.”

Webb shook his head. “No, you weren’t nearly that flexible, Gran. So let’s assume I take your advice and get married, against my better judgment, purely so Maddy can have a stepmother—”

“I never indicated that you should consider only what’s best for Madeline. I expect you’d have a few criteria of your own.”

“That’s very generous of you,” Webb said with mock humility. “I’m grateful to have a say in this.”

“Don’t be impudent, Webb.” Camilla pushed her knitting needles deep into the mass of pink yarn. “There’s the bell, and we won’t be able to finish this discussion over dinner.”

Because the butler would hear, Webb thought. Thank heaven for small blessings.

“But I want your promise that you’ll think it over.”

Webb offered his arm. “I assure you, Gran,” he said gravely, “that I’ll give the idea all the consideration it deserves.”

Camilla’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t leap on the irony in his voice. “And we’ll talk about this again.”

That, Webb thought, is precisely what I’m afraid of.

* * *

AS THE CLOCK neared three, the mood of the students in the lecture hall shifted from attentive to restless. Papers shuffled, notebooks closed, books scraped as they were loaded into backpacks. Finally, in the middle of a sentence, the professor seemed to notice the time. “Test next Monday,” he reminded, “after the Thanksgiving break.” The rush to the door began.

Janey Griffin stayed in her seat at the back corner of the room, finishing up her notes and waiting for the traffic jam to clear. In a couple of minutes, she’d be able to walk straight through the building without having to dodge the crowds. Besides, she needed to finish writing down the professor’s last line of logic before she left the room, because she’d never be able to reconstruct it tonight after work.