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

blonde. “Sorry, Ingrid. Nothing personal. But Rhett just lost his mother, and he’s moving into a strange house. That’s enough changes for one little guy to make right now.”

      “He’ll adapt,” Mitch snarled quietly.

      Carly tipped her head back and held his gaze without blinking. “The way I see it, Kincaid, I hold all the cards. I have nothing to gain by moving in here and you have everything to lose if we don’t.”

      Of course, Rhett would lose, too. But his safety was her primary concern. Not even a billion-plus bucks would make her overlook his well-being. She wasn’t going to leave him in the care of Mitch’s horny, dragon-clawed girlfriend.

      She felt a bit unfair for judging the woman by her looks, but after interviewing dozens of day-care providers with Marlene, Carly had learned to tell almost instantly which ones had a rapport with children. Ingrid did not. She was almost as cold and detached as her boss—until she looked at Mitch. Then she looked ready to get XXX-rated hot.

      Mitch’s nostrils flared and his lips flatlined. He looked angry enough to bend horseshoes with his bare hands or maybe his clenched teeth. “Ingrid, please wait for me in the living room. I’ll join you after Ms. Corbin and I have discussed your qualifications.”

      38-24-34. Oh yeah, those were serious qualifications.

      But not for child care.

      “I’ll show you to your room.” Mitch turned and stalked across an Italian marble foyer almost as large as the entire first floor of Carly’s house.

      He hadn’t agreed to her terms, but Carly, curious to see more of the mansion and where Mitch intended to put them, followed him anyway. The staircase rose from the center of the polished flagstone floor like a water fountain arching in opposite directions at the top. Carly’s gaze stuck to the flexing muscles of his butt like a fly to flypaper as he climbed.

      No way. She couldn’t find him attractive. Not after all Marlene had told her. She was merely one athlete admiring another’s well-toned physique. Right?

      Shifting her gaze from the glutei maximi ahead of her, she trailed her host. The walk through the gallery, past antique furniture and paintings that looked as if they belonged in a museum, seemed to take forever. “Good grief, how big is this place?”

      “Fifteen thousand square feet,” he replied, turning down a long hall. A set of double doors marked the end, but he stopped short of them and pushed open a door on the right.

      “Your suite.”

      Carly brushed past him. Her shoulder grazed his chest. She cursed the frisson of goose bumps the small contact caused.

      Surprised, she turned a slow circle, taking in the tasteful lavender, white and mint decor that included a curtained four-poster bed, ornate French furniture and plum-colored rugs. The room looked like a decorating magazine snapshot. Perfect down to the last detail. As much as Kincaid seemed to resent her presence, she’d expected to be stuck in a closet somewhere or maybe the servants’ quarters.

      “Me down,” Rhett demanded and squirmed in her arms.

      “Not yet, buddy.” Not until she’d moved the expensive-looking breakables out of his reach.

      She crossed to the bay window and knelt on its cushioned window seat to look into the backyard. Her mouth dropped open. People actually lived like this?

      The formal gardens between her window and the opposite side of the U-shaped house looked elaborate enough for a government monument or a movie set, and whoever had designed them had been fond of rulers. All straight lines. Not one single curve. The roses probably even grew square petals.

      An expansive tiled patio stretched across the base of the U, complete with a square water fountain and spouting Poseidon statue. The grassy area immediately off the patio contained, of all things, a koi pond. Beyond the fish, rigid rows of shrubs flanked an Olympic-length pool that reached all the way to a seawall, boat dock, yacht and what looked like two hundred feet of waterfront.

      “We’re going to have to keep Rhett away from all that water.”

      “I’ll order fencing and safety locks immediately.”

      Crossing to a door, she pushed it open to reveal a luxurious bathroom straight out of a hedonist’s fantasies. A glass shower. A tub big enough to accommodate four. A marble-topped vanity as long as a bed. Shaking her head at the opulence, she returned to the bedroom and opened a second door to reveal a closet the size of her bedroom back home. But she didn’t see a crib or connecting door to a nursery.

      She rejoined Mitch. “Where’s Rhett’s room?”

      He nodded toward the window, indicating the opposite wing of the house. “In the east wing.”

      “I won’t be able to hear him from here.”

      “That’s why we have Ingrid.”

      “We don’t have Ingrid. You have Ingrid.”

      His eyes narrowed to green slits. “What are you implying?”

      “Your girlfriend is not looking after Rhett.”

      “She’s not my girlfriend.”

      “Oh please. She almost slipped her hand in your pocket for a quick grope downstairs.”

      His chin jacked up. He closed the distance between them in three long strides and stared down at her with what would have been intimidating ferocity if she didn’t work with professional athletes on a regular basis. She’d become immune to the psyche-out glare.

      “I don’t keep mistresses in my home.”

      “But you do keep them. Or in this case, her.”

      Before he could argue, Rhett launched himself at Mitch, startling Carly so much she almost dropped the imp. Kincaid’s only choice was too catch him. Rhett clamped his hands around his half brother’s neck and planted a slobbery kiss on his cheek.

      The horror in the lord of the manor’s eyes made Carly snort with laughter. Okay, so that had been a wet kiss. A little disgust was warranted. She released Rhett’s lower half and her nephew shimmied up his brother like a monkey does a tree.

      Mitch closed his eyes. The muscles in his jaw knotted—along with every other muscle group she could see. What was going on? He acted as if he couldn’t bear to hold the child.

      “Take him.” He ground out the words.

      Confused by his weird behavior, Carly hesitated. Rhett couldn’t possibly be more adorable. And he was clean. He didn’t even have a dirty diaper.

      Mitch thrust Rhett back at her. Frowning, Carly took him. “You want to be his guardian? How are you going to do that when you can’t even handle holding him? What is your problem, Kincaid?”

      Boy, did she have her work cut out for her in bringing these two together.

      Mitch scowled. “I don’t have a problem other than a stubborn guest. I’ll show you the nursery.”

      Carly shook her head and stood her ground. “Rhett and I are not sleeping a football field apart. Either you bring his crib in here or I’m staying in the nursery.”

      “Don’t be ridiculous.”

      Carly held Mitch’s gaze. After a moment’s standoff, he huffed an aggravated breath, crossed the room to an intercom system imbedded in the wall and punched a button. “Mrs. Duncan, please have the nursery furniture transferred to the blue suite.”

      Mitch turned and scowled at Carly. “Satisfied?”

      “That depends. Let’s see the blue room.”

      He stalked across the hall and threw open the opposite door. Carly followed more slowly, making sure not to brush against him this time when she entered. Mitch made it easy by staying out of Rhett’s reach.