Sandra Marton - The Playboy’s Unexpected Bride

Linc turned and saw Nanny Crispin, dressed and with her suitcase in her hand.

“I’ll see you later, Charles,” he said, and ended the call.

“I phoned for a taxi, Mr. Aldridge. Unless, of course, you’ve changed your mind?”

Two meetings this morning. Two meetings this afternoon. Linc had always been a logical man. There was still time for a logical man to say he’d changed his mind.

“I will reconsider my departure if you are prepared to acknowledge my authority.”

Linc’s jaw tightened. “Send me the bill for the cab.”

He waited as Nanny Crispin stalked from the room. Then he looked down at his niece.

“Well, kid, it looks like it’s just you and me.”

Jennifer gave a huge yawn. Her eyelids drooped. A second later, she was asleep.

An excellent idea, Linc thought, but there wasn’t much point in going back to bed, not anymore.

Okay, then. Time for a plan. When his housekeeper showed up, he’d ask her to do him a favor and watch the baby for the day. He’d go to his office, hold his meetings, contact the nanny agency—again. This time tomorrow he’d have nanny number six and life could return to whatever level of normalcy was possible.

Carefully, he lowered the sleeping baby into the crib.

“Waaaah!”

Linc hoisted her up. She screamed. He rocked her. She roared. Finally, gingerly, he brought her against his chest. Hot drool fell against his naked flesh. The baby gave a shuddering sigh and promptly fell asleep.

Linc waited. Then, very slowly, he sank into the straight-backed chair Nanny Crispin had vacated.

The baby slept on.

Half an hour later, he heard his housekeeper in the kitchen. He rose stiffly from a chair that had surely been designed by a sadist, lowered the baby inch by slow inch into her crib, hobbled to the shower and stepped gratefully under a blast of hot water.

* * *

Mrs. Hollowell couldn’t babysit.

Her daughter was in the city for the day and she was taking the afternoon off to spend with her. Had Mr. Aldridge forgotten?

Mr. Aldridge had. He’d come close to forgetting his own name. Three hours of sleep could do that to a man.

He told her not to worry.

At eight, he strode into his office. His PA’s eyes widened at the sight of Jennifer in his arms.

“I fired the nanny,” he said brusquely. “Phone the agency, please. And take care of the kid for the next hour.”

Another nod, but when he tried to hand the baby over those tiny lungs contracted and the baby began to scream. Linc rolled his eyes and reached for her. His PA started to grin but one glance put an end to that.

Frowning, Linc plunked Jennifer against his shoulder again and vanished into his office.

He took his eight-thirty meeting with Jennifer still plastered against him. His people pretended not to notice.

By nine-thirty, she’d drifted off to sleep. After a quick survey of the Italian leather, smoked glass and cherrywood furnishings of his office, Linc sent his PA on another shopping expedition. In short order a thing that looked kind of like a tilted basket stood on the conference table along with diapers, baby bottles and formula.

The basket thing was pink and padded. Linc put the baby into it and breathed a sigh of relief when she didn’t object.

His PA had phoned his European clients at the Waldorf. They were not in their rooms but, at Linc’s direction, she’d left a message changing the location of their meeting to Peacock Alley, the hotel’s posh dining venue.

The trouble with messages was they didn’t always get where they were meant to go.

Midmorning, just as Linc was getting ready to leave for the Waldorf, his clients walked in. So sorry, they said, they knew they were early, but…

The baby chose that moment to wake up.

Her face turned pink. Her rosebud mouth pursed. Linc snatched her from her sleeping place before she could shriek.

She smiled, drooled, and—there was a God after all—his clients melted. The meeting went on, the baby gurgled and smiled. Finally, mercifully, his clients left.

Linc started to put the baby in the crib. She began to whimper.

“She’s hungry,” his PA said helpfully.

Linc looked at her. Looked at the baby. Then he handed the kid over.

“Feed her,” he commanded.

His PA started to say something, thought better of it, turned away, opened the door…

Someone brushed by her and walked in. Strode in, was more like it.

A blonde. Tall. Slender. Wearing a black suit, black spiked heels and with a sleek black leather attaché case hanging from a strap across her shoulder. The look on her face meant trouble as she marched toward him, stopped a foot from his desk and slapped her hands on her hips.

Linc’s green eyes narrowed. His temper was hot, his patience shredded, his exhaustion a black cloud waiting to burst loose with thunder and lightning…

Holy hell!

The blonde was Ana Maria Marques.

Linc scraped back his chair and jumped to his feet. “What are you doing here?”

“You made my father a promise, Senhor Aldridge. I do not think he will be pleased when he hears that you intend to renege on it.”

The baby let out a cry. Linc let out a groan. And assumed, as any intelligent man would, that he had somehow fallen through a wormhole in space and emerged in a nightmare.

CHAPTER THREE

AS A boy, Lincoln had taught himself Tai Chi.

Well, maybe not Tai Chi, precisely. The classes had been held after school; they’d cost money and no way would his mother have been able to afford them. Hell, there was no way she’d have paid for something he’d wanted even if she’d been able to afford it.

But he’d spied on the class by cracking open the locker-room door, and he’d learned. Not the finer points, perhaps, but enough to find Tai Chi useful.

The ancient Chinese martial art was as much about self-control as it was about physical strength.

Eventually, he’d figured out that was something you could apply to life in general. He’d used that realization over the years and he thought of it now as he fought the growing tension inside him.

Too bad you didn’t think about Tai Chi when you first met this babe, a smug voice inside him said.

Linc ignored it. He’d made a fool of himself with her once. It wouldn’t happen again. Besides, Ana Maria Marques looked as furious as he felt.

She also looked spectacular, every man’s dream of a dressed-for-success female, the black suit elegant and proper, yet somehow hinting at the rounded contours of her body, the black pumps discreet until you took a look at the height of those heels and what they did for her long, lean legs.

His PA had stepped back into the room, the baby pressed to her shoulder, a bewildered look on her face.

“Sir? My apologies. I don’t know why Reception let this woman—”

“It’s all right, Sarah.”

“If the lady has an appointment, I don’t have anything in my calendar about it.”

“If you think you are going to throw me out because I don’t have an appointment,” Ana said hotly, “I assure you, Senhor Aldridge, you are not!”

A muscle flexed in Linc’s jaw but his tone was calm.

“Thank you, Sarah. Shut the door, please. I’ll ring if I need you.”

The door swung shut. Ana didn’t blink. She simply glared at him.

Linc folded his arms. “Explain yourself.”

“You have it wrong, senhor .You are the one who must do the explaining. To me. Or, if you prefer, to my father.”

What in hell was she talking about? Better still, what was she doing here? The last he’d seen, she’d been pretending to be a dutiful daughter while her old man worked up the courage to offer her as a bride. In fact, Marques had been so caught up in the offer that he’d gone on talking even as Linc ran out the door that night.