The Billionaire Daddy. Renee Roszel
She peered in that direction and nodded, then presented him with his daughter. “Please hold her for a moment, while I dispose of it and wash my hands.”
His expression was priceless, though irritating. He seemed as startled by being offered his child as he might be if she’d asked him to hold her spleen. “Haven’t you ever held her?”
He frowned slightly. “Not—often. I’ve been busy.”
He’d been busy! All the time and money she’d spent these past six months trying to find Tina, longing to be near Tina, and he’d been busy! She imploded with rage and suffering so acute she could hardly contain herself. This man had housed, fed and clothed her precious niece for nearly half a year, but he had scarcely held her? Lauren redoubled her vow to get the child out of his indifferent clutches. The selfish playboy was merely warehousing her, not raising her!
Maintaining her poised masquerade was nearly impossible, but she struggled to appear professional. She handed the child to him as gently as her mood would allow. “I don’t understand why you want to learn to diaper her, when you—”
“As I said before, Miss Quinn,” he cut in, “it’s not your place to understand why I choose to do anything. Is that clear?”
“Crystal clear, sir,” she murmured, stiffly.
He was the master and she the servant. Period. If the great and powerful Dade Delacourte had an urge to learn to diaper Tina, the reason was not Lauren’s business. She had a sinking feeling that, whatever the reason, the urge would be fleeting—just like any culpability he might feel. Ultimately Tina would be relegated to the care of a series of nannies and nurses, while receiving a very unsavory moral education.
The innocent baby had to be rescued—and quickly.
Dade left the nanny and her charge to their privacy and went upstairs to unpack. Alone in his room, he berated himself for snapping at the woman. It wasn’t her fault he’d been saddled with a child his brother fathered. It wasn’t Quinn’s fault Dade felt like a damned failure.
Dade caught sight of himself in a wall mirror and his gut clenched. For a moment he stared at the grim facade, then lurched away. The vision held too much pain. Even his own reflection reminded him of his identical twin, and how badly Dade had unknowingly neglected him.
It didn’t seem like eleven years since he’d taken over his father’s small electronics firm, welcoming its challenges and opportunities. Unlike himself, Dade’s identical twin, Joel, never found his niche in the world. So Dade had sustained his brother’s wander-lust lifestyle, mopping up after him when he screwed up. In retrospect, all the paid fines and advances in allowances seemed more like a betrayal to his brother than real assistance.
So now, at his leisure, Dade was free to suffer great guilt. He spent his days and nights eaten up with regret for plunging all his efforts and passions into building the company, rather than taking more personal care to curb his brother’s heedless behavior.
His masculine retreat of weathered wood, earth tones and simple furnishings held no peace for him. The wide-plank flooring was so solidly built, it made no revealing sounds as he paced.
“I should have made you come home, take a job with the firm,” Dade muttered, jerking a hand through his hair. “I should have made you be responsible for your actions.”
How could he have let his only family slip so negligently through his fingers? And how quickly, ruthlessly, it was done. On a rainy country road, Joel barreled drunkenly off a cliff to meet a fiery end. Such a tragic waste.
“I’m sorry, Joel.” Dade dropped wearily into a leather armchair. “I’m so sorry.”
In an ironic twist, Dade didn’t actually lose his entire family that night. Though he wouldn’t know it until half a year later—when Joel’s daughter was born.
He pictured the baby, napping downstairs, and frowned. The last thing Dade wanted was the responsibility of another man’s child, yet he couldn’t abandon little Christina. Taking her in was one more “fix” of Joel’s lamentable life, a huge one—a last one—but ultimately, Dade’s burden to bear.
His brother was gone, and it was obvious the striking blonde, in the hospital photograph, had no interest in the child. He had heard nothing from her. No demands for money or position. Over the past few months it had become clear that the woman had wanted nothing but to be rid of the child. To that end, she had schemed and plotted, devising exactly how best to force Dade into accountability, since he was the man she thought to be the father of her child.
Though she was wrong about his paternity, she was not wrong about his obligation.
His grief for all that had been lost was as bitter as his fury at himself. He had forfeited his self-absorbed independence with the shocking arrival of his brother’s child. Yet, it was no one’s fault but his own.
“I failed you, brother,” he muttered. His knuckles whitened as he clutched the chair arms. “In the name of all that’s holy, I will not fail your daughter.”
CHAPTER THREE
LAUREN was out of her element when it came to taking care of an infant. Fortunately Braga, the cook, had received the baby’s food menu and schedule early, and the baby’s formula was ready when Tina woke from her nap. The menu included “solid” food, so when Braga asked which “solid food” did Nanny prefer, Lauren had a momentary panic attack, and blurted that she was of the school of thought that a baby should have only a bottle at midafternoon.
Braga, a rotund, bulldog of a woman in her mid-fifties, didn’t even blink at Lauren’s stiff-lipped pronouncement, and indifferently handed over the warmed bottle. With a tiny sigh, Lauren thanked providence for the small reprieve. Her Solid Food Ordeal would be put off until sometime tonight. Right now, her main problem was mastering The Bottle.
She decided to take her niece out onto the acres of redwood deck that surrounded the ocean side of the house. Not necessarily because the day was balmy, but because she thought she would have more privacy to make any blunders in feeding a baby.
The sun shone pleasantly, not overly warm, but Lauren decided a tiny person’s skin might be pretty sensitive, so she settled with Tina in a shaded, cushioned lounge chair. To Lauren’s surprise and pleasure, the chair rocked.
She managed to get Tina to take the bottle without much problem. Luckily Tina seemed to be a good eater. Relieved, Lauren breathed deeply of the ocean-scented air. How pleasant it was there, with a picture-book view and gentle breeze. The only sounds were the distant sough of the ocean, and the cry of gulls as they swooped and soared.
In such vast, idyllic privacy, Lauren decided to try out a lullaby. After all, she was a music appreciation teacher. She should know lullabies. She began to sing and rock as Tina contentedly took her bottle. After Lauren sang the only verse she knew of “Rock-a-bye Baby” twelve times, she began to get a little sick of it. Besides, who in her right mind would rock a baby in a treetop!
She began to hum one of her favorite compositions by Debussy. Lauren had never considered herself much of a singer, but she could carry a tune. She figured at just under six months of age Tina wouldn’t be too picky.
The baby appeared fascinated by Lauren’s face and the sound of her voice. Lauren grinned. Something about the sight of those big blue eyes, so wide and rapt, sparked a creative bent in her soul, and she started ad-libbing lyrics. “Oh—Oh, no—not a tree! We don’t want to be hauled up in a tree! We’re tired of falling—out of treeeeeeees.”
“I didn’t realize Clair de lune had words.”
Lauren jerked around to see Mr. Delacourte framed in the open door to the living room. He’d changed into blue shorts, deck shoes and a white polo shirt. He was marvelous looking, breathtakingly so, from a great pair of legs to his masterfully chiseled face. A smile lurked in dazzling smoky-gray eyes. Once again he was laughing at her.
She