The Billionaire Daddy. Renee Roszel
So what! What had she expected? The man was a seduction machine! She knew that already, so why was she surprised to find out that a seduction machine would most likely be seductive! Even when he wasn’t trying.
Rich laughter drew her gaze to his face and she made an involuntary examination of his features. The car’s halo lighting reflected in his gray eyes, kindling them with dazzling beauty. His straight forehead and aquiline nose were the sort of features women would stand in line for days to behold, not to mention that chin, square and slashed with a sexy cleft. She grew peevish and unhappy with herself for finding anything about him appealing. He was a lecherous weasel.
She threw him a withering glare, but he was too preoccupied with his conversation to notice.
She hoped, in the next few days, she could catch him knee deep in debauchery. Spending too much time around Mr. Dade Delacourte-of-the-pretty-boy-charm-and-complete-lack-of-scruples was a dangerous idea—and not just for the baby.
CHAPTER TWO
LAUREN didn’t know what she expected to see when they arrived at Dade Delacourte’s seaside home. The Hampton’s palatial estates were referred to ironically as “cottages,” though they bore as much resemblance to a cottage as a pencil resembled a computer.
Lauren supposed she expected a billionaire playboy to vacation in ostentatious, even tacky, luxury. She wouldn’t be surprised if the River Styx flowed right outside a twenty-foot, flaming gate. With this inflammatory vision in her head, Lauren was startled when Goodberry turned the limo onto a narrow, wooded lane marked by nothing more than a small metal sign reading Private Property. Perhaps the infamous river hid somewhere within the deceptively inviting forest of weathered pine and oak trees.
She frowned, staring out the window, trying to catch any glimpse. They emerged from the peaceful woodland, and Lauren was taken aback. She witnessed no fiery gateway. The pine-scented air held no hint of brimstone. Instead Lauren saw a wonderful house, more the image of a picturesque Vermont barn than a palatial mansion. Constructed of antique barn siding and stone, the home sprawled within an unpretentious, natural setting. Even from where Lauren sat, the bluff commanded a panoramic view of the Atlantic.
“Miss Quinn? Are you all right?”
Mr. Delacourte’s question yanked Lauren from her musings. She could tell he had raised his voice, so it was embarrassingly clear he’d been trying to get her attention. She glanced at him. “Yes, sir? I mean, yes, I’m fine.”
He watched her quizzically for another moment, as though it crossed his mind that she was more astonished by the house than a nanny of her qualifications and job history should be. “Quinn, if you’ll get the baby, I’ll show you to your room.”
Goodberry opened their door, and Mr. Delacourte flicked a glance at the driver. “The oceanfront guest suite has been prepared for Quinn and the child.”
“Yes, sir.” Goodberry stepped forward, offering Lauren a hand and smile. “May I help you, miss?”
The servant was so old-world gallant, Lauren couldn’t keep from smiling. “Why thank you, Goodberry.” She mused again about how sweet the driver was, and stole a quick look at her unprincipled employer.
Mr. Delacourte watched her with that same quizzical stare. Snapping her gaze away, she unbuckled Tina from her car seat and allowed Goodberry to assist them out of the limo.
Once safely out of the car, Lauren approached the stone walk meandering from the driveway of crushed seashells. There was no real lawn, just the grasses and low flowering vegetation that grew naturally in the sandy soil. Trees lined the walk and dotted the yard, enhancing the unaffected charm of the residence.
Lauren felt a hand at her elbow and jumped.
“It’s only me,” Mr. Delacourte said. “I thought it would be easier to guide you to your room. Besides, the path is a little uneven. We wouldn’t want you falling.”
She cast him a black glance. Was this a come-on, already? Did he “initiate” young, female help with a quick seduction on the first night? She jerked from his hold. She certainly had no plans to follow in her sister’s footsteps. “I don’t believe in physical contact between employer and employee, sir.” Jutting her chin, she focused on the front door, which was up several steps, across a broad, covered stone porch. “Why don’t you walk in front of me? I don’t think the baby and I will get lost.”
He cleared his throat and Lauren wondered if she heard a hint of amusement, as though he were hiding a chuckle. “Forgive me, Quinn. I’ll watch my hands very carefully in the future.” He bounded up the steps and proceeded to open the door. “Would you care to go inside, first?” He canted his head in query. “If I promise not to touch?”
His eyes sparkled, even in the shade of the porch. Lauren felt a prickle of irritation. He was laughing at her! As though it was just too funny that she thought, even for an instant, that he had anything more sexy in mind than to make sure she didn’t break an ankle and sue his pants off. Apparently that was the only way she might get Mr. Delacourte out of his pants.
So much for his seducing every female employee. She was definitely not on his I-must-have-her-tonight list. She gritted her teeth, wishing she could be sure she wasn’t blushing. The fact that her face burned was a bad sign. Scurrying inside, she concentrated on Tina and her sweet smile. The innocence of the sight helped calm her nerves.
“Please follow me, Quinn,” Mr. Delacourte said. She nodded, but refused to meet his gaze. She knew her cheeks were flushed, and she didn’t believe seeing amusement in his eyes would do anything to improve that situation.
Instead she glanced around. The great room looked as though it had been built around a real eighteenth century barn. The ceiling had to be thirty feet high, with thick beams of weathered pine supporting a steeply pitched roof. The floor was stone, the walls, old barn siding. A window-wall took up much of the ocean side of the house, with breathtaking views of surf, sand and sky.
Lauren was impressed, not so much by the fact that her boss had the wealth to own a coveted chunk of Long Island seacoast, but that his estate was more homey then she expected. Nevertheless, she counseled inwardly, Dade Delacourte doesn’t have to live in a golden villa in Sodom or Gomorrah to be a thrill-seeking-woman-chaser!
Lauren trailed a limousine’s length behind Mr. Delacourte, yet didn’t lose sight of him as he exited the great room and headed down a hallway. His soft-soled shoes made hardly a sound on the wide pine planks.
Lauren passed a kitchen brimming with sunlight, lush green plants and the delectable scents of cooking food. She got a quick glimpse of a woman bustling around amid pots and pans, but only a glimpse. It appeared Mr. Delacourte wasn’t inclined to make introductions.
“This is your room, Quinn,” he said, halting at a sunlit entrance. “It’s actually two rooms. The small one off to the left has been set up as the nursery. If there’s anything you lack, please tell Goodberry or Braga, the cook.”
Lauren tried to appear unmoved, as though the suite was nothing more nor less than she was accustomed to on a day-to-day basis. But, heavenly days, the place was wonderful! It had the idyllic grace of a rural cabin, but with the view of a palace. The furnishings were a mix of antique and contemporary, of warm woods and wicker and bright, sunny hues.
On one wall of coarse siding, a collection of old weather vanes gave a sense of drama and fantasy to the room. A shaker rocker sat before the French doors, giving the open space a welcoming, country porch feel. Frothy sheers puddled at the outermost reaches of the glass doors, looking as though they were there for show, never really employed to obscure visual access to the grassy dunes, beach and sparkling sea.
“Miss Quinn?”
His stern use of her name relayed, once again, that he was afraid she’d fallen into some peculiar brain fog. Which she had. Lauren blinked several times, hoping the small flutter of lashes wouldn’t alert Mr. Delacourte to the fact that she’d been deeply intent on computing