Renee Roszel - The Billionaire Daddy

The winged pest dived out of her range of vision, but a second later she knew where it went from the stinging at her nape. “Ouch!”

“Damn!”

Lauren hardly had time to register the growled curse. She found herself relieved of the baby and tugged from the chair. A large hand gripped her upper arm. “Are you allergic, Quinn?”

“No—not particularly—it just stings.” Once she had her bearings, she realized Dade held the baby against his chest with one arm and hauled her with the other. “I’ll be okay,” she said. “Just make sure Tina’s safe.”

“That wasp won’t bother anybody now.”

Once inside, Dade led Lauren to the kitchen and coaxed her to sit at the breakfast table. “Take the baby.” He handed Tina back and strode toward a cabinet.

Lauren winced at the stinging in her neck, but regained enough of her wits to glance around. Besides Dade, the baby and her, the kitchen was empty. Yet the place was redolent with the rich scent of roasting beef. Tentatively she touched the smarting bump, and winced. “Where’s the cook?” she asked.

“Shopping for tomorrow’s meals.” Dade retrieved a box of baking soda from a cabinet and poured some into a cup, then added a little water.

“What’s that?”

“It should take the sting out.”

She stared. “You know a remedy for wasp stings?” She wouldn’t have thought he was the type to know such homespun tidbits. She figured a man like Dade Delacourte would be more likely to know the gross national product of Uruguay rather than a balm for insect stings.

“I spent summers on my grandparents’ farm in Vermont.” He glanced her way, his brows knit. “When they died, they left the place to me. I moved the barn here and turned it into my house.” He dropped the spoon into the sink and returned to her.

“Really?” Lauren murmured. Sentiment? She supposed even womanizers could have fond memories of grandparents. But this sentimental side of him surprised her. If that’s what it was. Maybe his reasons were purely narcissistic or, just as likely, some kind of tax write-off. Who knew? “It’s—very nice,” she said, meaning it. No matter why he’d moved the barn all this way to create his rustic haven, it had turned out wonderfully.

“Thanks.” He scooped some of the white goo onto his fingertips. “Lean forward.”

With great reluctance, she did as he commanded. Though she wasn’t as allergic to wasp stings as Millie, they stung like crazy and made a good-size welt.

Earlier that afternoon, while Tina napped, Lauren had swept her hair up off her neck with a big clip. Now she regretted the action for two reasons. First, it had made it easier for a wasp to sting her neck, which brought on the second, and most troubling regret—Dade Delacourte’s fingers gently brushed sensitive skin as he smoothed warm paste on the wound.

Dade’s touch sent shivers of appreciation along Lauren’s spine. She supposed playboys had to cultivate a seductive touch or they wouldn’t be successful at—playing. She recognized the sad irony, but wasn’t in the mood for ironic life lessons at the moment. She chewed her lower lip, her emotions in conflict. She wanted his hand off her, but a niggling part of her brain wouldn’t allow her to jerk away.

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