Bound by the Kincaid Baby / The Millionaire's Miracle. Emilie Rose

of the big, strong man gently holding the small boy.

      Why was Mitch here? Had he come in on other nights without her knowledge? Was his jerk act just that? An act? Which was the real Mitch Kincaid? The picture in front of her certainly didn’t mesh with the description Marlene had provided of Everett’s henchman or the emotionless robot Carly had seen so far.

      Carly entered the room, and Mitch’s eyes flew open.

      “Is something wrong?” she whispered.

      “He woke up crying. You didn’t come.” The accusatory tone raised her hackles.

      He rose quickly and laid Rhett back in the crib. Carly pried her gaze off the bare, broad V of his back to note the care Mitch took not to jostle the child. He handled Rhett with experienced hands and tucked the blanket around him.

      Interesting.

      “I didn’t hear him. I was showering off the stench of our evening run. I forgot to take the baby monitor into the bathroom with me.”

      When Mitch turned, the sight of his naked chest made her catch her breath. Oh yeah, he had a fine physique above the low waistband of his pants. Wide shoulders. Muscled arms. Washboard abs. Dark swirls of curls circled his flat nipples and painted a silky line down the center of his lean abdomen.

      Dampening her suddenly dry lips, she hoped the lust percolating through her didn’t show on her face.

      “Don’t forget next time.” His sandpaper voice sounded harsh in the quiet room. He brushed past her, heading toward the door.

      “You’ve done this before.”

      Mitch stopped in the hallway and slowly turned. “I told you I knew how to handle kids.”

      “This is the first evidence I’ve seen of that. Do you have children of your own who live with their mother?”

      “No.”

      “Then where did you get your experience?”

      “Leave it, Carly.”

      She advanced on him in the dimly lit hall. “You expect me to trust you with Rhett. Tell me why I should.”

      A nerve in his jaw twitched. “I was engaged to a single parent once.”

      “What happened?”

      “She went back to her famous ex-husband.” His blank expression couldn’t completely mask the pain in his eyes or the husky edge to his words.

      “I’m sorry.” Carly reached out and gave his forearm a comforting squeeze. His skin scorched her, but she couldn’t seem to pull away.

      Mitch’s muscles shifted beneath her palm and his chest expanded on a long, slow inhalation. His gaze met hers and desire widened his pupils. The same hunger flooded her veins.

      Carly gulped. This could so not happen. Not with him.

      “What are you doing, Carly?”

      Playing with fire, that’s what. But she could only shake her head and lower her hand. Too late. Electricity arced between them unbroken.

      The dark green gaze dropped from her eyes to her mouth. “Is this what you want?”

      Mitch hooked an arm around her waist and yanked her forward. The thin cotton of her sleep shirt and robe weren’t nearly enough protection from his searing flesh. Her torso fused to his.

      Mitch took her mouth roughly, the initial contact slamming his teeth against hers. She squeaked a protest, but he didn’t release her. He merely changed the angle of the kiss.

      Every cell in her body screamed with alarm. With arousal.

      This wasn’t supposed to happen. Mitch Kincaid had hurt and insulted her sister. Carly didn’t even like him. How could she when he made no secret of his desire to dump her and keep Rhett locked up like a dog in quarantine?

      She had every intention of shoving him away when she dug her fingers into his arm and pressed her free hand against his waist. But the moment his bare, supple skin melded to her palm her body seemed to come up with a different plan. It burned and ached and needed, reminding her that she hadn’t been with a man in a while. And even then, making love with Sam hadn’t felt like this—like a swarm of fireflies taking flight, flickering and sparking nerve endings that had previously lain dormant.

      Mitch’s lips parted and his tongue traced the outline of her mouth, caressing, stroking. She gasped, and he swept the inside of her bottom lip, tempting her against her will into settling against him and relaxing her jaw. Their tongues touched, intertwined.

      She shouldn’t be kissing him back. But his flavor filled her mouth and his musky scent invaded her lungs. Dizziness rocked her. She grappled for steady ground.

      One hand mapped an upward path along his bicep to grasp his shoulder. The other spread over his back. Hard muscles flexed beneath his smooth skin.

      Mitch’s big hands raked her back, her waist. He cupped her buttocks and pressed her against his thickening flesh. Her internal muscles clenched and wept in appreciation of the length pressing her belly. A moan snaked up her throat.

      He shoved her robe from her shoulders. It snagged at her waist. His frustrated growl filled her mouth. A quick tug and the belt gave way. Her robe parted. His hot hands found her waist through the thin fabric and raked upward. He traced the underside of her breasts with his thumbs and the air thinned.

      She ought to protest, but she couldn’t seem to put the words together. She could barely think. All she could do was feel. His heat. His strength. His ravenous mouth. Lust, unlike anything she’d experienced before, rose within her. Her short nails dug into firm tissue and held on.

      He palmed her breast and unerringly found her nipple, stroked it, then rolled it between his fingers. A lightning storm of desire shot straight to her core, melting her, making her heart race and her thighs quiver.

      A snuffle from the crib penetrated her sensual high and shocked her back to awareness of where she was and with whom.

      She ripped herself out of Mitch’s arms. Gasping for air, she backed away, righted her clothing and cinched her robe around her waist like a tourniquet.

      How could she be turned on by Mitch Kincaid? She knew too much about him. None of it good.

      She swiped the back of her hand across her damp and still tingling lips. “That shouldn’t have happened.”

      Mitch’s nostrils flared on a sharply indrawn breath. The passion in his eyes turned to frost and his mouth twisted in derision. “Oh, c’mon, Carly. Don’t act like it wasn’t your plan to soften me with dinner and a sexy sundress. Screwing me is only the next step on your agenda.”

      “What agenda?” She had one. But it had nothing to do with sex.

      “Did you and your sister have a contest going to see who could land the richest sugar daddy?”

      Shock and fury and grief ripped through Carly like an explosion. She dug her nails into her palms to keep from slapping his face. “I was engaged, you moron, to an intern with student loans to rival the national debt. Not a sugar daddy. And don’t blame that kiss on me. I’ve done nothing to attract your attention.”

      “Haven’t you? What would you call the curve-hugging clothes, the braless sundress and the hypnotic walk?”

      She had a hypnotic walk? “I don’t dress suggestively.”

      “Give me a break. You have a damned good body and you display it like a trophy. Men probably fall at your feet.”

      Flattering, in an insulting kind of way. But wrong. “Are you deluded?”

      “Not deluded enough to fall into your trap. Cast your line somewhere else. Because you’re not landing this Kincaid.” He stalked toward the stairs.

      “If I landed you, Kincaid, I’d throw you back or use you