The Ten-Day Baby Takeover(4)

Sarah carefully hitched up the baby’s pant leg. The child must’ve been incredibly tired—he hardly stirred when she revealed the mark. Aiden’s breath caught in his throat. He rounded the desk, dropping down on one knee before them. He had to see it up close. He had to know this was real. The shape and size of the birthmark were indeed the same as his—an oval about the height of a dime, tilting to one side. The dark brown color was a match. Is this possible?

He reached out to touch the mark, but stopped himself. “I’m sorry. I’m a little taken aback.”

“It’s okay. He’s your son.” Sarah’s voice was sweet and even. Given the impression he had of her from that first email, she was not at all the woman he’d envisioned.

The boy’s skin was powdery soft and warm. Aiden gently tugged his pant leg back down, then studied his face. His eyelids were closed in complete relaxation, lined with dark lashes. His light brown hair had streaks of blond, admittedly much like Aiden’s, although Oliver had baby-fine curls and Aiden’s hair was straight and thick. Still, he knew from his own baby pictures that his hair had once been like Oliver’s. Was this possible? Was this really happening? And what was he supposed to do about it? He had no idea how to care for a baby. This would change his entire life. Just when he was getting settled back in New York and trying to find a place for himself in his own family.

Oliver shifted in Sarah’s arms, and for an instant, he opened his eyes and looked right at Aiden. The familiar flash of blue was a shot straight to Aiden’s heart. It was like staring into a mirror. Oh my God. He’s mine.





Two

Things weren’t going terribly. Awkward, yes. Terrible, no.

It was really only awkward on Sarah’s side of things. Aiden was still on bended knee watching Oliver sleep, and it was impossible not to stare at him. She tried to look elsewhere, to feign interest in the framed black-and-white photographs of exotic locales on his walls, or the view out his office window overlooking the Manhattan skyline, but she could only sustain it for a few moments. His blue eyes would draw her back in, so vivid and piercing she was sure he could hypnotize her if their gazes connected for more than a few heartbeats. They were topped by dark brows that suited his hard-nosed demeanor, accentuated by just a few tiny crinkles at the corners. The scruff on his face was a warm cinnamon brown, neatly tended, but gave him an edge that made her wonder what he was like when he wasn’t so guarded. And there was something about the way he carried himself—more than self-assured, he came across as superhuman. Bulletproof. Sarah was certain Aiden Langford did precisely what he wanted to do, when and how he wanted to do it. He was not the sort of man who cared to be told what to do.

Too bad she had to do exactly that. The thought made her pulse race like an overcaffeinated jackrabbit. There was no telling how he would react, but judging by the look on his face, there was a chance it might go okay. However much of a handsome jerk he’d been when she walked in the door, his demeanor had softened in the last few minutes, ever since he’d taken a good look at Oliver. Surely he realized now, that even in the absence of hard evidence like the results of a paternity test, the baby was his.

“So,” Sarah started, recalling the speech she’d practiced many times, words she dreaded saying because they would signal the end of her time with Oliver. “I was thinking that I’ll leave Oliver with you now and I’ll check into a hotel while we get this straightened out. A paternity test is a quick thing. We’ll get your name on Oliver’s birth certificate. I’ll sign over the power of attorney and guardianship. All we need is a lawyer and a few days and then I can be out of your hair.”

A crease formed in the center of Aiden’s forehead as he stared at her. “Out of my hair?” It was just as tough to look into his eyes as she’d guessed it would be—they really were the spitting image of Oliver’s. She’d fallen in love with that shade of blue over the last three weeks. “I already told you that you are not handing me a baby and walking away.” He stood and straightened his charcoal suit jacket, which showed off his wide shoulders and broad frame. The way he loomed over her only accentuated his stature. There must’ve been something in the water in the Langford household—the two she’d met were ridiculously tall. “It seems to me that the more sensible course is for you to keep Oliver until this gets straightened out. You said it yourself—you used to be a nanny. You’re used to caring for a child. I have zero experience in this area.”