Baby Bequest. Robyn Grady

“What if it means getting custody of your niece?”

      “Gage, please. This isn’t a game.”

      But the steely look in his eyes said he was very serious.

      He picked up a miniature globe and spun the sphere. Asia, Europe, America flew round in a blur of bright colors. “I must say, I’m not wholly convinced you’ll be happy giving up your lifestyle. God knows, I wouldn’t be.”

      Self-righteous heat scorched her cheeks. “No problem for you.” Her smile was thin. “Stay single.”

      His lips twitched as if she’d said something amusing. “I don’t see marriage as an issue, necessarily.” He set the globe down. “But children need a stable home life.”

      “Then I suggest you be extra careful about contraception.”

      The air between them condensed and crackled before he grinned and assured her, “Always.”

      His hip slid off the desk and he drew up to his full intimidating height while Jenna remembered his mother—wiry hair, vacant expression, a vague smell of whiskey whenever she spoke. If Gage didn’t want the responsibility of having a family, she shouldn’t be surprised. He’d been sorely deprived of role models. Jenna’s own reasons for remaining single were something else entirely.

      “We were talking about your niece,” he said in a meaningful tone. “I have a way to get you what you want.”

      His cool eyes sparkled and she was reminded again of the lawless rebel she’d once known. Then, as now, he’d rippled with the promise of a thousand possibilities. At seventeen, almost eighteen, she’d been entranced by it.

      Feeling that same tug, she leant further back against the doorjamb. “Just so we’re on the same page, kidnapping’s not an option.”

      He didn’t crack a smile. “What I propose isn’t completely honest, but it’s far from a federal offence.”

      Now she was intrigued.

      Weighing the pros and cons, she searched his eyes and finally murmured, “I’m listening.”

      “Wherever possible, judges like to comply with last wishes. But you are this baby’s blood relative.”

      Her shoulders sagged. She’d been through all that. “Dad’s lawyer said that’s not enough. And the longer Meg stays with Leeann, the less likely the courts will be to uproot her.”

      “But if you had a suitable place of your own, as well as the legal brains and money to push forward and make an immediate request…”

      She frowned. Waited.

      “And…”

      “You need a secret weapon,” Gage said, “that will shoot you ahead in the guardianship stakes.”

      “A miracle?”

      The scar on his top lip curved up. “A husband.”

      Two

      “You’re suggesting I get married?” Jenna’s hand went to her forehead and she coughed out a laugh, a baffled sound. “I’m sorry. This is taking a moment to absorb but…what would my marrying accomplish?”

      Gage’s gaze skimmed her shoulder-length dark-blond hair. The soft curl was pretty, but he preferred her hair long, framing a face he’d remembered as saucy, not tearstained.

      “For a start,” he explained, “a marriage license would tell the court that you’re serious about settling down. It would also imply that the child would enjoy the benefits of having a father.”

      He’d often wondered how different his life might have been had he known positive paternal guidance. Chances were he wouldn’t be absurdly rich. Then again, he wouldn’t have needed money as a substitute for other, less definable things. Things he’d once wanted to give Jenna but knew now he could never provide.

      “Isn’t that rather drastic?” she asked.

      Gage inhaled her perfume, a scent that reminded him of crushed berries—wild and sweet—then he cocked his head. “I thought these were drastic times.”

      He looked at her expectantly, but her troubled gaze held far more suspicion than hope.

      Hell’s fire, the last thing he wanted was Jenna’s distrust, even if he well understood it. Twelve years ago he’d vanished like a thief in the night. The time for excuses was long past. But he’d come here today with a plan to help make it up to her. Oh, not entirely—not even close. But maybe, hopefully, enough.

      He had it on good authority that Darley Realty, the residential development company her father had founded twenty-five years ago, was in dire financial straits. Gage also knew that Jenna’s father had intended to change his will; in the event of his death, the vast majority of Raphael’s assets were to pass on to his daughters, not his wife. With Amy gone now, too, Gage had assumed Jenna would be the major beneficiary.

      He’d come today to offer to buy Darley Realty for a generous price. He’d wanted a speedy transaction, the idea being Jenna could continue her hassle-free life without learning about the company’s problems and consequently suffering any unnecessary sense of embarrassment or gratitude over his offer. He’d had little doubt that Jenna would accept; her profession was writing, and her life was overseas. But apparently Raphael hadn’t had time to change his will before the accident. And it seemed that Jenna couldn’t care less about the money. After her loss, she had her heart set on one thing and one thing only.

      A baby.

      Not easy given the circumstances, but he’d learned that almost anything was possible. He’d make it his mission: before he walked away a second time, he would see Jenna happy. He would give her what she wanted most. Then maybe he could close that book—bury that ghost—and at last get on with his life, conscience clear.

      She edged toward the middle of the room, hands clasped at her waist. “Say you’re right. Where am I supposed to find this husband?”

      He tipped an imaginary hat. “At your service.”

      She smiled. “Now you are playing games.”

      His earlier years had been about survival, pretending offhanded acceptance when mostly he’d been drowning with weights tied around both feet. These days he called the shots. With every breath, he intended to keep it that way. If Gage Cameron played games, it was only ever by his own rules.

      “Will you at least listen to my plan?”

      “Fine.” She nodded. “Go ahead.”

      “First we’ll make it known to Leeann that we’re reunited lovers.”

      Her slim nostrils flared. “First lie.”

      Not through any lack of desire on his part. But success was bred through a combination of flexibility, critical timing and restraint of emotion. Now he was a master. Now he always won.

      “We’ll announce our engagement,” he went on. “As soon as possible, we’ll marry and file a petition for guardianship of Meg. The judge will see that the baby won’t need to worry financially—”

      “Meg wouldn’t need to worry about money with Leeann as a guardian either.”

      “You said you’d listen,” he chided.

      Given the way her fingers wound around and strangled each other, she might want to slap him for suggesting any part of this. Instead she nodded again and he strolled toward her.

      “Our petition,” he continued, “will state that you’re not only a blood relative but are also the mother’s twin sister. We’ll dig up an expert or two who will testify that you’re the natural choice to replace the child’s biological mother. They can list the benefits the baby would enjoy with regard to face as well as scent recognition. As identical twins, yours and Amy’s would be similar.”

      Her