Baby for the Billionaire(61)

“Not ripping,” said Connor firmly. “We’ll share him.”

“And he’s going to know what’s happening?” She shook her head so hard the silken mass of her hair whipped from side to side. “No, he’s not going to understand the terms of a custody arrangement. His parents are gone. Right now everything in his little life is in upheaval. I’m his only constant. How can you yank up the few roots he has left and take him away from me?”

She had a point. He remembered how Dylan had snuggled against her earlier.

“And you can’t take Dylan away from my home. That’s all that’s familiar to him right now. Another change of place is going to unsettle him all over again.”

He tilted his head to one side and replayed her words through his mind—Another change of place is going to unsettle him all over again. “That’s it!”

At his exclamation Victoria stared at him as though he’d taken leave of his senses.

He hit a hand against his forehead. “The answer is simple.”





Five


“Come on.” Connor held open the door.

Victoria hesitated only for a second. No way was she abandoning Dylan to Connor and the powerful Maserati.

She stepped past Connor, catching a whiff of lemon and male, and settled into the passenger seat. The acreage of leather was seductively plush, and before she could protest Connor had leaned across her and clicked the seat restraint into place, strapping her in.

She’d barely recovered from the jolt to her senses of having him so close when he joined her in the intimacy of the cockpit.

“Ready?”

Victoria nodded, unsure what she was letting herself in for.

The motor roared, and the rich, husky voice of Nina Simone poured from the surround-sound system, silencing even Dylan. Connor’s hands slid over the steering wheel with such tactile pleasure that Victoria had to suppress a groan. A moment later he swung the vehicle out of the churchyard.

The journey passed in a flash. As Connor throttled back the surging engine, Victoria glimpsed through the side window a familiar oak with wide, spreading branches.

What were they doing outside Suzy and Michael’s home?

She struggled impotently to unlock the car door, until—to her immense frustration—Connor strode around and freed her.

Clambering out, she slung her tote over her shoulder and asked, “Why have you brought us here, Connor?”

“Let me get Dylan first.”

Nostalgia welled up as she stared at the Edwardian cottage that had been Suzy and Michael’s home since their marriage—and where she had spent so many happy hours.

She wandered across the sidewalk to the low, white wooden gate.

Dylan had been baptized in this garden. Right there in the arbor tucked into the east side, under the canopy of girly, pale-pink roses. It had been one of the few times she and Connor had visited the house at the same time. As the baby’s godparents they’d been forced to put on a façade of friendship for Michael and Suzy’s sakes.

The gate swung open under her touch. As she stepped onto the winding garden path a gigantic wave of sadness drowned her. The ghosts of Suzy’s laughter and Michael’s slow smiles lurked everywhere. In the pretty pansies that brightened the pots lining the pathway, in the fresh coat of lily-white paint on the shutters and in the shriek of a gull overhead, its wings icy-pale against the darkening sky.

She started as Connor came up beside her.

“Connor, I’m not sure that I’m ready to do this. I don’t think I can even go into the cottage yet.” A tempest of grief was imminent. Only Connor’s presence held the tears in check. “I need time.”

“Look.” Connor swung the baby seat forward. “I think Dylan knows he’s home.”

The baby was cricking his neck, and making gurgling sounds of pleasure.

Sorrow tasted bitter in the back of her mouth. What did poor Dylan know? “It’s not his home anymore,” she choked. “Michael and Suzy are gone.”

And she and Connor were going to have to decide—and agree—what to do with the house.

Michael had done a marvelous job restoring the old cottage—with Suzy and Connor’s help. But the maintenance would be a nightmare. Best to sell it and invest the proceeds for Dylan.

Moisture escaped from the corner of one eye and she quickly brushed it away before Connor could notice.

He swung around. “I’ve been thinking …”

She gave a surreptitious sniff. “What?”

“One of the reasons you felt that Dylan should live with you was because he’s grown accustomed to his surroundings in the past few days.”

“Well, yes …” It looked like she’d gotten through to him. Finally. The first thread of relief started to unwind. She glanced up at him, grateful for his understanding. “It’ll be much better for him than going to your home, which he doesn’t know.”

“I wouldn’t say he doesn’t know it,” Connor objected. “He has been there with his parents. But as you pointed out, it would be much better for him to be in familiar surroundings—like here.”

“Here?” Dismay filled her.

Connor nodded. “This is, after all, his home.”

In the distance thunder growled. Victoria decided that even the weather gods disagreed with Connor.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t live here.” The comforting sense of relief had vanished. There were far too many memories of Suzy and Michael. In every piece of painted wood, every flower. It would kill her to have to live here. “Don’t ask me to do that.”

“I’m not asking you to—I’ll move in. Can’t you see?” He was looking at her as if he expected her to applaud his perspicacity. “You were right, Victoria. And this way I won’t be displacing the baby. He’ll be in familiar surroundings.”

Her own arguments had caused him to come to this conclusion? Her heart started to thud in fear. She was going to lose Dylan after all. “You can’t do this!”

He thrust his hand into his pants pocket and brought out a bunch of keys. “Why not?”

Because Dylan is mine, she thought. But she couldn’t tell him that. She’d promised Suzy she wouldn’t reveal her part in Dylan’s birth.

Oh, dear God.

She tried to get her thoughts straight. Surely Suzy’s death released her from that promise.

Or did it?

She rubbed her fingertips against the sides of her nose. Finally she said thinly, “It’s macabre that you’re thinking of moving into their home when we only buried them today.” Her head started to ache. “Tell me you don’t mean this?”

But Connor was already striding up the path that wound to the wooden front door, keys jangling between his fingers, the handle of the infant seat hooked over his arm.

A splatter of moisture landed on her arm. Victoria glanced up, startled at how dark the sky had grown. She hurried after Connor and grabbed his arm.

He swung around. “Careful, you’ll awaken—”

“I’m not going in there. I’m not.” Barely conscious of the wetness on her cheeks, Victoria tipped her head back and glared at him defiantly.

Connor grew still. His free hand came up and touched her cheek with gentle fingers. “You’re crying.”

She ducked her head sideways, dislodging his touch. “I’m not crying. It’s the rain.” It seemed important to convince him of that. To reveal no weakness. Victoria pointed to the sky. “Look how low the clouds are.”

But his gaze didn’t waver from her face, and his eyes softened to the color of mist. “Okay, it’s the rain.”

“It’s going to get worse.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “We can’t stay out here. Dylan will get drenched.” Hunching her shoulders, she threw a haunted glance toward the cottage.

“I’ll take the two of you home.” Connor put an arm around her shoulder and turned her toward the gate, the infant seat swinging gently from his other hand.

The warmth of his body against hers flooded Victoria with a rush of emotion. She blinked frantically as he held the garden gate open for her, determined not to cry any more. This was Connor, why was he being so darned gentle? It made her want to cry all the more.

The rain began to fall in stinging drops. Connor dropped his arm from her shoulders and hurried to get Dylan into the back of the Maserati.

Victoria stood on the sidewalk, unmindful as the drops turned to sheets of water. She’d won. She could hardly believe it. He wasn’t going to force her—or Dylan—to go into the cottage. Conner was taking them both home.

So why didn’t she feel a thrill of victory? Why did she feel so terribly lost?

“You need to get out of that wet dress.”

Connor jerked his gaze away from the sodden material that clung to Victoria’s skin, blatantly revealing the gentle curves and the tight tips of her breasts as she shivered.

“But Dylan—”

“Is perfectly dry. I got him into the car before the heavens opened.” Connor’s attention fell onto the baby still sleeping in his infant seat.

“He’s exhausted.”

He knew without looking that she’d followed his gaze. Victoria must be exhausted, too. After all, she’d been holding the baby for most of the day. But if he said anything more, she’d only deny it. So Connor settled himself down onto a couch and propped his feet up on the coffee table. “Why don’t you go have a hot shower. I’ll watch the baby for a while.”