Billionaire Boss, Holiday Baby. Janice Maynard

he had been lying to himself. She was here. Now. Sleeping under his roof and making him think about things that were definitely not conducive to relaxation.

      Arousal tightened his body and fractured his breathing. Damn it. He rolled onto his side and told himself he wasn’t a slave to his urges.

      Yawning, he tried converting foreign currencies in his head. It was better than counting sheep. Eventually, exhaustion claimed him...

      * * *

      The waning hours of the night turned into a long, wretched dream. The baby woke him every forty-five to ninety minutes. He knew she was disoriented and unsettled. Thankfully, each time he picked her up and cuddled her, he was able to coax her back to sleep.

      At 5:00 a.m., though, the volume of her cries told him she was hungry again. Carrying her into the kitchen, he found one of the premixed formula bottles and uncapped it. He would have to learn how to mix the powder, but not while it was still dark outside.

      Earlier, he had thrown on a robe with his boxers. Now he and Peaches settled on the sofa in the den. Pulling an afghan over both of them, he leaned back and watched as the baby gobbled down her meal. He remembered Dani mentioning the need for burping. When the bottle was half-empty, he hefted the baby onto his shoulder and patted her back. Peaches didn’t like being interrupted, but her loud belch told him he’d done the right thing.

      While the infant finished her formula, he reached for the remote and turned the TV on with the volume muted. He had a million channels to choose from, but nothing interested him. He wanted a distraction...some assurance that the world still spun in its normal orbit. Skipping over infomercials and weird sports channels, he landed on an old movie, a Christmas film.

      He had never seen it all the way through, but he knew the general premise. A man unhappy with his life wished he had never been born and then had a chance to see what the world would have been like without him.

      The scenario hit uncomfortably near home for Nathaniel. He had no close friends by design. As head of the company, he knew better than to build relationships that might backfire on him. Because he worked all the time, there was no opportunity for socializing even if he had wanted to. Other than a couple of guys he occasionally played racquetball with at the gym, he was a loner, and he liked it. Mostly.

      By following a rigid set of rules for his personal life, he kept his days running smoothly. This blip with Ophelia only proved what it cost to deviate from his usual behavior.

      Again and again, he wondered what he would do if Peaches were his. Again and again, he shut down that line of thinking. Until the truth came out, speculation served no purpose.

      Too late, he realized he should have changed the kid’s diaper before giving her a bottle. Now she had sucked down the last ounce of formula and was out cold. Fortunately, Dani had already stocked most rooms in the house with diapers and wipes. Thank God for her babysitting experience. At least one of them had some exposure to infants. Otherwise, the situation would have been far worse.

      Luckily for him, Peaches slept through the diaper change, even though he fumbled and cursed and struggled with the seemingly simple task. He was able to return to his room, tuck her back into the little protected corner and fall into his own bed, facedown, unconscious in seconds.

      The next time he surfaced, the clock said seven. He had a hangover headache, and he hadn’t even had a beer last night. Stumbling to his feet, he visited the bathroom and then moved stealthily toward Peaches’s corner on the floor to check on her.

      The nest was empty. Panic flooded his chest for half a second before common sense intruded. The chairs were intact. Dani must have the child.

      He found them both in the kitchen. Dani had fixed a pot of coffee, God bless her, and she was sitting at the window, baby in arms, drawing pictures in the condensation on the glass.

      She looked up when Nathaniel entered the room. “Good morning. It sounded like this little stinker gave you a rough night.”

      He winced. “You heard us?”

      “I’m a light sleeper.” She shrugged, her expression guarded. “I decided that if you wanted help, you would ask, so I didn’t disturb you. You’re a very capable man.”

      Pouring himself a cup of coffee and gulping it with no thought for scalding his tongue, he snorted. “Didn’t feel like it last night.”