“What’s my body language saying?”

“It says you’re interested in throwing me over your shoulder and doing very wicked things to me upstairs.”

His eyes widened involuntarily. “Wow, you’re good. What is your body language saying? ‘Please hurry’?”

She laughed. “More like, ‘Please get over yourself.’”

He matched her grin. “Aww, come on. It’s not saying, ‘Maybe in a little while, after Mikey’s in bed’?” In one move, he landed on the same step with her and a whiff of female curled through his blood. He reached out to trace a finger across her perfect pink lips. “Are you sure?”

Her eyelids drifted halfway closed and she exhaled, leaning ever so slightly toward him. Drawn to him, as he was to her. “I’m … sure.”

Her heat wrapped around him, gliding along his nerves.

“Huh. It feels an awful lot like your body language is saying something more like, ‘Maybe I’m considering it …’ ”

About the Author

KAT CANTRELL read her first Mills & Boon® novel in third grade and has been scribbling in notebooks since she learned to spell. What else would she write but romance? She majored in literature, officially with the intent to teach, but somehow ended up buried in middle management at Corporate America, until she became a stay-at-home mum and full-time writer.

Kat, her husband and their two boys live in North Texas. When she’s not writing about characters on the journey to happily-ever-after, she can be found at a soccer game, watching the TV show Friends or listening to ‘80s music.

Kat was the 2011 Mills & Boon So You Think You Can Write winner and a 2012 RWA Golden Heart finalist for best unpublished series contemporary manuscript.

The Baby Deal
Kat Cantrell

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Stacy Boyd, editor extraordinaire.

Thanks for asking me to write this book and then

making it so much better, proving once

again that we’re a great team.

One

Juliana Cane hadn’t spoken to Michael Shaylen in eight years, not since the day she’d realized that if she was going to lose him, she’d rather do it on her terms.

And today, when she opened her front door to the man who’d once taken her to heights never experienced before or since, her brain deserted her. She’d practiced a highly appropriate “hello” and a lovely “nice to see you,” both suitable greetings for an ex-boyfriend who calls with no warning.

But obviously his brief and to-the-point “I need to talk to you” had knocked her upside down, and she hadn’t reoriented yet because all she managed was “You’re not on crutches.”

Like the last time she’d seen him. A broken leg did take less than eight years to heal.

“Day’s not over.”

A familiar, cloud-parting smile broke open across his stubbly jaw, its effect a forceful punch to a feminine place long forgotten.

Unbelievable. After all this time, both her brain and her body still reacted to him without her permission.

“How are you?” he asked. “It’s Dr. Cane now, right?”

“Yes.” She was a psychologist and thus well equipped to handle this unexpected visit, if the bongo drum in her chest would lay off. “But only my clients call me that. You didn’t mention on the phone if you’d be staying long. Do you have time to come in?”

“Sure.” He shot a glance toward the long, sleek car idling at the curb.

“Is someone in the car? Everyone is welcome.” Even a size-zero supermodel with photo-worthy hair and fourteen thousand dollars’ worth of dental work. His usual type, if the media could be believed. “I don’t want you to feel awkward about this visit, Michael.”

His name stuck in her throat. She’d never called him Michael.

His lips curved into a half grin. “Then stop first-naming me. I’m still Shay.”

Shay. His mega-watt personality engulfed the porch, too big to be reined in by skin. That chiseled physique honed by hours of brutally challenging sports hadn’t changed. A new scar stood out in sharp relief on his biceps, a long slash interlaced with crosshatches.

Stiches. Messy stitches, which meant he must have been sewn up by a third-world doctor after a zip-line accident in Off-The-Map City. Probably without anesthetic or antibiotics.

Still the same Shay.

She stepped back, refusing to dwell on scars—visible or otherwise—and nearly tripped over the Persian runner in the foyer. “Come in, please.”

With another glance at the idling car, cryptic with its rental tags and tinted windows, he followed her into the house. Where to put him? In the living room or the less formal family room? She decided on formality, at least until she got her feet under her and her brain functional.

How could Shay still wreak such havoc on her senses after eight years?

Maybe because he was still gorgeous and untamed and … She didn’t like that kind of man anymore, despite certain feminine parts trying to insist otherwise.

She ushered him into the living room and gestured to the plush navy couch. It was supposed to be big enough for two people but Shay’s six-foot frame dwarfed it. As he settled onto a cushion, she worried for a fanciful second that the metal webbing beneath the fabric would collapse under the weight of so much man.

Eric was six feet tall. The couch had never seemed small when her ex-husband sat on it. She opted for the armless Queen Anne chair at a right angle to the couch and didn’t allow a speck of self-analysis about why she hadn’t sat next to Shay.

“I’m sorry about Grant and Donna,” she said right away. The deaths of his friends and business partners was no doubt fresh on his mind. “How was the funeral?”

“Long.” Grief welled inside his sea-glass-green eyes.

She could still see clear through them, straight into the wrenching agony of having to bury his best friends. Her primal, unchecked reaction to his emotions was frighteningly unchanged as well—a strong urge to soothe, to heal. To hold on to him until the pain fled.

Instead of reaching for him, she clasped her fingers together in a tight weave. They were virtually strangers now, no matter how abnormal it seemed. No matter how convinced she’d been that time would surely have dimmed the shimmering, irrational dynamic between them.

It hadn’t. But she’d pretend it had.

Once, she’d been so drawn to his lust for life, to his powerful personality and his passion for everything—especially her—that he’d engulfed her, until she couldn’t see the surface anymore. It was too much. He was too much.

She’d never been enough for him.

So why was he here? Instead of jumping right into it, she went with a safer subject. “Tell me about the funeral.”

“We did both services together. Better that way, to get it all over with. Closed casket. It was easier. I didn’t have to see them.”

“Of course,” she murmured. It wasn’t like they’d had a choice.

Grant and Donna Greene had died in the explosion of an experimental ship designed for space tourism. News stations had continually replayed the clip, but Juliana couldn’t imagine the couple being inside the craft when it blew. It was too ghastly. Instead, she remembered Shay’s friends the way she’d last seen them eight years ago—standing on a bungee platform, sun beating down on the four of them as they waited to plunge into the unknown.

One by one, they’d jumped. First Shay, because he never failed to be first in line for whatever new thrill he’d conceived. Then Grant jumped, then Donna. They’d all jumped.

Except Juliana.

She couldn’t—couldn’t even peer over the edge. She’d just backed away with a wordless shake of her head, too overcome to speak. Too overwhelmed by the slippery darkness encroaching on her consciousness.

Shay was fearless. She wasn’t. They didn’t make sense together, and she’d known he’d eventually realize that, eventually grow bored with her at best, or resentful at worst.

She’d just realized the truth first.

She shook her head now and focused on the breathtaking mountains dominating the view through the floor-to-ceiling glass opposite her chair. She’d moved on, moved to New Mexico from Dallas for a reason. That hadn’t been her place, in a relationship with a man who thrived on the indefinite, with whom she couldn’t imagine a future. Or children. Or a normal marriage.

In New Mexico, she could find her balance in structure and order, the opposite of what her home life had been while growing up, the opposite of what she’d had with Shay. She could build a safe life firmly planted on the ground.

It just wasn’t happening quite like she’d planned.

“How are you coping?” she asked. Her Dr. Cane voice betrayed nothing of the sharp and vivid memories fighting for her attention.

Eric disliked her Dr. Cane voice, disliked it when she answered all his questions with questions. Shay didn’t seem at all bothered that she’d retreated behind her degree.

“Taking it day by day right now.” Shay coughed and stared at the ceiling for a long time. “Greene, Greene and Shaylen has some good people running the show and that’ll continue until I figure out some things.”

“I’m so sorry, Shay. Let me get you a drink.”

“First I have to tell you why I’m here. The will …” He cleared his throat. “Grant and Donna had a son. You probably heard. Their will named me as the guardian.”

Her lungs contracted. That poor, motherless baby had been shuttled around with little regard, no doubt, for the potential trauma. Instinctively, she cupped her own barren womb and swallowed. “The news did mention a baby, but I assumed he went to relatives.”

“I am a relative,” Shay shot back. “Not by blood, but Grant was my brother in every way.”

Juliana blinked at the fierceness clamping his mouth into a hard line. “Yes, I didn’t mean anything by the term.”

Shay backhanded a dark caramel-shot thatch of hair off his forehead. Almost every day of the two years they’d been together, he’d worn a baseball cap to keep that wavy mane out of his face. Had he traded the cap for something else or was he always bareheaded now?

“Sorry,” he said. “It’s been a hellacious couple of weeks. I’ll get to the point. I’m a dad now. I owe Grant’s kid the best shot at that I can give him. But I can’t do it by myself. I need your help.”

“My help? I haven’t seen Grant and Donna since college.”

Even then, they’d been part of Shay’s world, not hers. The three were always together, poring over some complicated schematic. Muttering about accelerants and a myriad of other baffling rocket science terms. Three of the best minds in a generation hashing out improbable solutions for the optimal way to get off the ground. Always in a hurry to leave the earth—and Juliana—behind.

“You’re a kid expert. That’s what I need.”

He’d been keeping tabs on her. Since she’d kept tabs on him, it shouldn’t have come as a shock. Except Michael Shaylen’s name graced the headlines every week, especially the past couple of years, once the cascade of government contracts awarded to GGS Aerospace catapulted its three founders onto the short list of billionaires under the age of thirty.

The story of her life was considerably less newsworthy. A dissertation arguing for more traditional child-rearing methods. Marriage to a compatible man. Four failed in vitro attempts. One quiet divorce and a year of floundering. But she was on track now, with a thriving psychology practice and the beginnings of a new parenting book. If she couldn’t have a baby, she’d help other parents be the best they could be.

Much better than her own parents had ever been. They didn’t know half of what had happened to her and didn’t care to know. They’d always been too caught up in moving to the next town one step ahead of creditors to notice their daughter’s problems, so she’d stopped telling them how rootless she’d felt. She’d stopped telling anyone.

All her angst, all her longing would be funneled into the book she’d conceptualized a few weeks ago. She’d birth a legacy instead of a baby.

“Yes, I’m a child psychologist. How does that make me what you need?”

“How do I raise him? How do I care for him?” Shay met her gaze and the strength of his plea hummed through the air. The years vanished as her flesh pebbled like it always had when provoked with that searing intensity. “Anyone can show me how to mix formula and change diapers. I’m asking you to teach me to be a father.”

With a shiver, she ordered her goose bumps to cease and desist. He wanted her help, as a professional advisor of sorts. Not a smart idea. How could she work with him so closely when he still had such a strong effect on her? “That’s a tall order. Hire a nanny.”

“I plan to hire a nanny. Help me pick a good one. Help me pick schools, toys. Grant entrusted his son to me and I have to do everything right.” The green tide pool of Shay’s eyes sucked at her, mesmerizing her, as he pleaded his case.

He meant it.

Never would she have suspected such a sense of responsibility lurked in the heart of the roller coaster ride sprawled on her couch.

Eight years ago, she’d ended their relationship because she’d wanted to have children with a man who would raise them by her side, not one who was likely to wind up in a broken heap at the bottom of a cliff after his rappelling rope failed. Not one who willingly sought to upset the status quo every five seconds.

How ironic that he was the one who had ended up with the baby.

“Please, Juliana.”

Shay fought the urge to clear his throat again.

He hadn’t said her name aloud in a long time. Hadn’t allowed himself to think about her. For the past eight years, he’d successfully avoided recalling what a mess she’d left behind when she’d walked out on him.

“Will you consider it? If the answer is no, I’ll be on my way.”

In the past twenty-four hours after making that phone call, he’d done nothing but think about Juliana Cane. The way her lips curled up in a half smile as she drew a bow across her violin. How she threw her head back while in the throes of pleasure. The exact shade of blue of her eyes.

Her still-gorgeous mouth pursed in thought, shifting the lines of her heartbreaker of a face. “What exactly are you proposing? I have clients. A practice. A life.”

A life. Well, so did he. Or he used to. These days, life had an aggravating tendency to be one way when he woke up and a whole other way by the time his head hit the pillow that night. If he slept at all.

He hadn’t closed his eyes once the night after Grant and Donna died. Too busy counting the if-onlys. Too busy shouldering blame and cursing himself for not double-checking that fuel line personally. Too busy figuring out that yeah, men weren’t supposed to cry, but after losing everything that mattered, rules didn’t apply.

Shay crossed his arms over the perpetual ache and scooted back against the fluffy, senior-citizen-approved couch cushions. “Sounds like the answer is yes.”

She straightened the perfectly symmetrical hem to her grown-up suit and crossed her mile-long legs. “Yes to considering it. Iced tea? It’s organic, and I only use stevia as a sweetener.”

“Sure.”

He hated iced tea and always had. What did it say that she didn’t remember? Likely that she’d moved on and rightly so. They’d had no contact for eight years, and without the accident and his resulting parenthood, they would have continued to have no contact. Yeah, he’d followed her career. He couldn’t help but wonder if she’d found the boring life she seemed to want.

Shay trailed Juliana into the neat kitchen, eyes on her heels. Nice. Did a lot for her already spectacular legs. Those legs dredged up crystal-clear memories of her smooth limbs wrapped around his waist, her hot torso heaving against his.

Their relationship had bordered on mythical. The sex had been awesome, too. Nearly a decade later, the heat between them was banked. But still there. He could feel it.

The kitchen told him a bunch about this new professional version of Juliana Cane. Canisters lined the immaculate counter, all labeled in precise script. No dishes in the sink, not even on a Saturday. Crayon drawings lined the refrigerator—the only visual difference between this kitchen and one set up in a pristine home décor showroom.

Seemed like she’d hit the boring jackpot. He’d hoped it would make her happy, but no one as passionate about music as Juliana had been would ever be happy with such a vanilla life. The sad lines around her mouth proved it.

“I’m proposing a job,” he said as she retrieved a glass from an overhead cabinet. “In case that wasn’t clear. A consulting gig. Name your price.”

“Still not much of a negotiator, are you?”

She tucked a lock of pale blond hair behind her ear. A simple gesture, but a familiar one. Back in the day, Juliana’s hair had always hung loose and sexy, curling along her shoulders, begging for a man’s fingers to sweep it back.

His fingertips strained to reach for those pale locks but that wasn’t the purpose of his visit. Mikey needed him. Juliana didn’t.

“Negotiation is for people who can afford to walk away if the terms aren’t agreeable. I’m not trying to bargain. If I had another choice, I’d take it. You’re the last person I expected to be asking for help.”

The iced tea she’d been pouring splattered on the counter, missing the glass by six inches.

Rattled. Good. He barely recognized the woman she’d grown into. She looked the same, made some of the same gestures, but her reserve bothered him. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t this polite stranger.

With the baby’s welfare sitting like bricks on his shoulders, the last thing he should be thinking about was how to rattle Juliana some more. But he was.

“I see.” She wiped up the spilled tea without looking at him. “It seems we have some latent issues to address before we can enter a consulting arrangement.”

No. There was no way he was discussing what had happened in college. He grinned, the best form of deflection he had on him. “The past is the past. Let’s leave it there. Now it’s addressed. Name your price.”

She handed him the glass, blank-faced. “I’d hardly call that addressing it. But I’m willing to let it lie, at least until I decide if I’ll accept. There’s a lot to consider.”

Calling her had dug up difficult memories, but he owed Grant and Donna. Mikey deserved the best. Shay wasn’t leaving without Juliana’s agreement. “Allow me to play the sympathy card, then. Be right back.”

He left Juliana and the glass of revolting tea in the kitchen and let himself out the front door. He waved at the car and Linda stepped out with Mikey fast asleep in her arms. His admin carried the baby to Juliana’s porch. Gingerly, Shay took him. Such a little guy to have so much expectation attached to him, and no matter what anyone said, holding him was nothing like carrying a football.

Linda held the door open and retreated to the car. He’d really stretched her job description lately and the raise he’d already given her wasn’t nearly enough. If he could get Juliana’s help, his admin was due for a two-week, all-expenses-paid cruise.

As soon as he cleared the foyer, Juliana came out of the kitchen.

“Oh.” Juliana’s hand flew to her mouth. “I didn’t know you brought him.”

“Figured you could say no to me, but not to that face.” He grinned at the quiet baby. First time in God knew how long Mikey wasn’t screaming his head off. “This guy here is Michael Grant Greene. We call him Mikey.”

Juliana’s eyes filled. “They named him after you.”

It wasn’t a question but he nodded, his throat too tight to respond. That had pretty much been the way of things for two weeks. Lots of nodding. Lots of pretending that if he could run a billion-dollar company, raising a baby should be a snap. But Mikey wasn’t just a baby. Mikey was his kid now. He’d already started adoption proceedings.

Why hadn’t someone warned him a piece of paper didn’t automatically bestow parenting powers? He was doing what he always did—facing down the gaping jaws of challenge without blinking. So why wasn’t he getting to a place where it started to come together, where the thick coating of scared-out-of-his-mind didn’t strangle him twenty-four hours a day?

The sleek blonde peering at him from those earthy blue eyes was going to get him back on solid ground. She’d always had a way about her, as if she could carry the world on her shoulders without stumbling. Steadiness. He’d missed that.

Missed her.

Where had that come from?

The past was in the past, but it hadn’t been a very clean break. He’d done a lot of yelling and Juliana had cried a lot but ultimately, she stubbornly dug her toes into the ground and he craved the sky. Both of them had been unwilling to compromise.

He’d loved her. A lot. But not enough to take up knitting so she’d have a guarantee he’d be in one piece at the end of the day. So she’d dumped him because she couldn’t love him as is. He was an adrenaline junkie to the core, sure, but he’d channeled considerable energy into their relationship. Some women would have sacrificed limbs to be so fiercely loved. It still stung that she wasn’t one of them.

If he’d known being in her presence would stir all that up again, he’d never have picked up the phone.

Their voices—or whatever demons haunted the baby—woke Mikey and he let loose with a shriek. That was the kid he’d lived with for the past two weeks. Shay rocked his arms. “Shh. Shh.”

Stupid soothing noises never worked but neither did anything else.

“Let me.” Juliana gathered up the baby, her eyes lit from within as she focused on the bundle of blanket and bleating kid, and nestled him against her breast. Mikey buried his face in her shirt and miraculously shut up.

Humming. Juliana was humming. He’d never thought of that.

Early-morning floor-treading, night after night, gave birth to much insanity and calling Juliana obviously topped the list. But usually nothing worked to stop Mikey’s constant crying. Shay was at the end of his rope. Mikey needed more than what Shay could physically do, and late at night, all he could think about was how Juliana had once made everything all right.

“See?” Shay whispered. “That’s why I’m here. You’re perfect for this job. Say yes.”

The tremulous smile on her face sent a shaft of hope through him. Hope and warmth. Eight years was a long time. They’d both changed—Juliana clearly more so, with her professional reserve and grown-up clothes—but regardless, he’d spent a long time not thinking about her. How hard could it be to work together?

“Fifty thousand dollars. And I want to write a book about it. You agree to let me use the experience, and I’ll do it.”

Did she not know how much he was worth? He’d have paid a million without hesitation. “A book? Diapers and giraffe mobiles aren’t a very interesting story. Maybe you should add a vampire.”

“Non-fiction. About parenting.” She shifted Mikey higher on her chest and brushed her lips across his baby-fine hair with a tiny smile. “It’s a project I’ve been thinking about for a while and I need a good platform. Teaching a man to be a father is great in and of itself. The fact that it’s you will make it a bestseller.”

“You want to use my name in a book?” A half step away from selling the story to a tabloid, and partly the reason why he was here instead of interviewing someone from Nannies-R-Us. “That’s going a little far.”

“You asked my price. I’m not the one with the problem.”

Apparently it was a negotiation. One day, he’d learn to think before speaking. Before it was too late to take back his words. “Only if I get approval of the final version and you stay at my house so you can be on call all the time. That’s my price.”

Looked like today wasn’t the day he’d learn his lesson because he definitely could have thought of a better way to phrase that. He hadn’t meant that kind of on call. But now he was thinking about it. A beautiful, single woman would be in his house, eating, sleeping—did she still sleep naked?

Her expression blanked. “I’d prefer to do it via video conferencing. Virtual consulting is as good as in person.”

“Not to me. I want total immersion. Mikey responds to you. I barely know how to change diapers and I have no idea what else I don’t know. I want to be a dad who puts Band-Aids on his knee and throws a ball in the backyard. That doesn’t happen automatically.”

Not even when the dad shared DNA with his son. Shay’s own father had never done Band-Aids or ball-throwing. The first time Shay had picked up Mikey after being awarded custody, he knew instantly he would be a different kind of dad, the kind he’d always wanted. The best replacement dad he could be. He had every intention of living up to the confidence Grant had in him.

Softness stole across her mouth. “No. It doesn’t. It takes commitment and sacrifice and it starts in the cradle. Some parents don’t understand that. It says a lot that you do.”

“Thanks.” He shrugged, unsure why the compliment meant so much. “Will you do it?”

“What’s the time frame? The breadth of fatherhood is a lot to cover in a week.”

“Then stay for six months. A year. I’ll double the money.”

She shook her head and frowned. “I can’t leave my practice that long. Some of these kids are really damaged. They need me.”

“They can get another therapist. I can’t get another you.”

Their gazes crashed and she held him captive, drawing out a connection that pulled him in like a magnet. She felt it, too—he could see the sway of her shoulders. Was she remembering how good it had been? The idea fed his own memory, and he couldn’t shut off the video in his head.

He’d moved on because he’d had no choice. Didn’t mean he’d forgotten the curves now hiding under her prim suit or the way she kept a good hold on him as she blasted him into outer space. The way she’d been the only one he’d wanted waiting for him when he came back to Earth.

“Perhaps we should discuss the nature of the arrangement you’re offering.” Her dry tone left no doubt she’d been right there with him on the trip down memory lane. “It’s strictly professional or no deal.”

He’d also never forgotten what had happened after he’d broken his leg snowboarding. She’d said sayonara and left his heart in pieces that never fit back together quite the same way. There was no worse pain than being told you weren’t okay exactly the way you were. Her love was conditional, available only if he became someone else, someone safe and acceptable.

He could hire a nanny tomorrow. Ask his mom for advice. But he wanted the best and he’d pay the emotional price for it.

“Of course. I’m interested in you for your expertise,” he said, but it was only half the truth.

He was also, suddenly, perversely, interested in proving to Juliana she’d made a big mistake by walking out on him. In proving he could get under the skin of this buttoned-up Juliana who was clearly willing to ignore the humming vibe between them. By the time he was through, she wouldn’t be ignoring anything. And she’d admit she wanted him. As is.

“I’ll help you,” she said, leaving him rabidly curious about why she’d agreed. Because of Mikey, the book or that trip down memory lane? He’d never been able to read her and the mystery intrigued him. “For a couple of months. I have to make arrangements for my clients and it’ll take a week or so. I’d like to see each of them personally to explain my absence.”

It was done. Relief flooded that empty place hollowed out by the explosion. The most qualified consultant money could buy would help him become the father Mikey deserved. If he was smart, he’d leave it at that.

He’d rather rattle Dr. Cane than play it safe.

Two

Two months. She should have her head examined.

The baby had won her over and Juliana wasn’t ashamed to admit Shay had played her like a maestro. How had he known Mikey’s sweet face would be the clincher? Lucky guess? Calculated offensive?

Either way, here she was in West Texas, descending a set of metal stairs locked to the hatch of a GGS Aerospace jet, a mere five days after Shay had showed up on her doorstep. Fate and a great assistant had seen to fitting all fifteen of her clients into a two-day block, and then she’d had no more excuses.

What was it about Shay’s proposal that set her on edge like the screech of an out-of-tune string?

The book deal would make this experience well worth her while. The yearning to nurture flowed through her veins, sometimes so fast and thick she feared they would burst, and she couldn’t let all that love for babies go to waste. She wanted to share everything she’d learned.

The money would be welcome, too. Half a year’s salary for two months’ work was highway robbery but Shay hadn’t fluttered an eyelid at the figure. In vitro procedures and student loans for a PhD certainly did not come cheaply, and she’d appreciate a faster decline in her debt.

So why did it feel like the bottom would drop out from under her at any moment?

A low-slung maroon Acura sat on the tarmac a healthy distance from the plane. Shay leaned against the rear end, his hip resting against the car casually, arms crossed. Today he’d opted for the trademark ball cap. Backward, as always.

So he did still wear caps. The sight threw her back in time for a moment, reminding her of when she’d mostly seen him without it. In bed.

She shuddered and willed away the punch to her abdomen.

He was one big chunk of vibrant, testosterone-filled man. So not her type. A younger and stupider Juliana had thrown caution to the wind, ignoring how incompatible they were, reveling in the wild buzz of his no-holds-barred approach to everything. She’d never do that again.

“You have Tony Stark’s car?” she asked by way of greeting. “And they let you drive it onto the runway?”

“Comes with owning the runway.” He grinned that whole-face grin she’d never been able to take her eyes off of. “I bought my NSX before The Avengers came out, by the way. How do you know what kind of car Tony Stark drives?”

“Three of my clients are teenagers. Girls with movie-star crushes.” Gritty wind blew across the open space of GGS Aerospace, stinging her skin with its sandy teeth. “So is this where all the magic happens?”

“Some. There’s a hangar around back for the jet and the office is about a half mile away.” He nodded to the sleek glass-and-marble building at the edge of the tarmac. “This will eventually be the commercial hub once we get the space tourism division up and running. Once I get it running.”

Stylish sunglasses hid his eyes but the catch in his voice said he still hadn’t fully internalized the loss of his partners. Or, likely, what he’d gained. Some people would feel incredibly blessed to be given a child. Did he? Or was it a responsibility he’d accepted, but would never see as more than that?

“GGS is largely a military aircraft supplier,” he continued after a minute of heavy silence. “The manufacturing division is outside of Fort Worth and we have a high-rise in downtown for operations. I go back and forth by helicopter. Land’s cheaper out here and you need a lot of it to run a space tourist business.”

“Uh-huh.” She wasn’t here to learn the ins and outs of a company that designed and built the most dangerous flying machines known to man. She and Shay weren’t old friends catching up over a casual conversation. He was a client, and she had a job to do. “I assume your house is close by?”

“A couple of miles. Ready?” Shay grabbed two of the three suitcases the crew had deposited on the concrete and tilted his head to the remaining one. With his arms uncrossed, she could read his shirt—My Parents Were Abducted by Aliens and All I Got Was This Lousy T-shirt.

As if she needed additional clues that he was still mentally fourteen. Shay’s Peter Pan syndrome had been part of his charm, part of the reason she hadn’t brushed him off when he’d called out to her at the library that fateful day in September when they’d first met. She’d feared then that he’d never grow up and hated discovering she’d been right.

Success and newly acquired wealth had clearly afforded him a bigger playground for his dangerous toys instead of instilling a good dose of reality. People depended on him, more so now than ever. What would they do if he got seriously hurt? If he died?

The less she dwelled on that, the better. She had only one responsibility here, and Shay wasn’t it.

She hefted the suitcase into the car and sank into the leather passenger seat. The dash sported a variety of gizmos and dials well suited for a driver who liked to know every last statistic of an engine’s performance.

Shay stomped the accelerator and hit Mach 1 in about a minute. She resisted the urge to grab something and bit back the “slow down” fighting to be voiced.

“Tell me more about Mikey,” she said instead over the wail of strings piping from the speakers.

Classical music and Shay seemed incongruous—until she remembered how he’d come to her performances, front row center for every one. How he’d told her so many times what a thrill it was to watch her play the violin. He’d endured it for her—or so she’d assumed. In hindsight, it seemed he’d just liked the music.

“He’s a baby. What else is there?”

The flat, ugly landscape flew by, barely allowing her to register the dotting of cacti. Shay’s hands were solid on the wheel, in full command of the machine under them.

“A lot. How old is he? Start there and we’ll get to all of it eventually.”

Watching his curled hands set off a hot flush in her long-forgotten places. Mortified, she jerked her head toward the window and focused on the mountains. She wasn’t twenty-two anymore and over the years sex had become a utilitarian mechanism necessary for pregnancy. Now it was unnecessary entirely.

“Almost six months. I think. Maybe five.”

“I need to know exactly. Babies start on solid food at six months. He should already be on rice cereal.”

“My conversations with Donna started and ended with engines.”

Not a surprise. Juliana remembered Donna as someone more likely to recite a complicated equation than the date her son had first rolled over. Motherhood might have changed Mikey’s mother, but Juliana doubted it. After all, what kind of mother got into an experimental spaceship without any regard to the potential consequences? Like leaving her baby to the adrenaline junkie behind the wheel of a car suited for a superhero.

“She never talked about her child? What about Grant?”

“They talked about him all the time. I didn’t pay a whole lot of attention, I guess. When they talked about a breakthrough on the liquid oxygen alternative, that’s when I tuned in. It’s weird to think about Donna as a mother instead of an engineer. The failed prototype was Donna’s. She designed it from the ground up. Worked on it for three years.”

That explained a lot. “Sometime today, call Mikey’s pediatrician. I’ll give you a list of things to ask.”

“Uh, okay.”

Juliana sighed. “Call Donna’s admin and get the name and number from her. Then start taking notes. If you want to be a father, then you have to know these things. What would you have done if Mikey developed a fever?”

“Called Linda. My admin,” he clarified before she could ask. “I must not have been clear back at your house. I need help. Not judgment.”

She unclenched her teeth. “I’m sorry.”

Shay needed her on his side. Knowing how to care for a child wasn’t innate, not even for females. Her own mother wouldn’t have won any awards; in fact, she’d thoroughly failed at instilling a sense of security in her daughter, the most important aspect of childrearing.

Most women—women who were interested—used all nine months to learn everything they could, breathing baby books until their water broke. Shay would have to do it in eight weeks and without benefit of a highly motivating nesting instinct.

He was trying. She should be trying, too, not jumping down his throat because he was still outrageously sexy and she’d just received the very nasty wake-up call that she wasn’t immune to it. She had to find an inoculation quickly because she wasn’t leaving this job without solid notes for her book and she wasn’t falling back into Shay’s crazy.

“We’re here.”

Shay hit a button on the visor and the wrought-iron gate connecting a stone wall swung open. He drove onto the property, and she got her first glimpse of a billionaire’s life.

“What are all those cranes for around the lake?” she asked and noted they were connected to a wire line circling the water.

“It’s a wakeboard cable system. You should try it while you’re here. I’ve already called my architect to come enclose the lake and the outdoor pool with something a kid can’t get through. Made his year with the dollar signs I waved under his nose.”

See, she assured herself, Shay wasn’t completely clueless. That meant her job wouldn’t be as difficult as she’d envisioned.

The house—a term which could only be applied in the loosest sense to the enormous glass-and-steel structure—straddled the center of the estate, unfolding in both directions with multiple floors, balconies and sharp rooflines. “All this for one person?”

“Eight people,” he corrected immediately. “Me, Mikey and the staff.”

Not a house. A home. He and Mikey would be a family. A sharp spike behind her rib cage reminded her she’d left Shay to find a stable man who could give her a stable life, complete with children, and now she’d be creating exactly that with Shay after all.

Only she’d have to walk away in a few short weeks, leaving a gap wide open for someone else to slide into.

“You said outdoor pool. There’s an indoor pool, too? Never mind. I have plenty of time to acquaint myself with all the goodies.” Private jets, indoor pools and an extreme athlete’s body she’d been very careful not to notice. She almost offered him an aspirin for the sore arm he must have from beating off the women with a stick. “I’m not here to act as your glorified babysitter while you jet off to Paris with this week’s playmate, am I?”

She’d assumed when they’d split that he’d find a girl better suited to being flung off a cliff—emotional and actual—but his love life after her had always been a nebulous, murky idea. Now it was real and she swallowed against the sudden burn in her throat.

He shot her a sideways scowl and threw the car into Park. “Yeah, I’ve got dates lined up out the door. A different woman every night while Mikey cries himself to sleep. My social life is nonexistent. Thanks for the reminder.”

He barreled out of the car. When he opened her door, she stepped out onto the stained concrete circular drive and grabbed his hand before he could turn away. Something needed to change but she wasn’t sure what. She hated being unsure.

“Should I scrawl ‘I’m sorry’ across my forehead with a Sharpie? I’m bound to get laryngitis as many times as I’ve had to say it.”

He chuckled and it spread through her abdomen with a tingle.

“How about a truce instead?” He flipped her hand and shook it. “We used to get along pretty well. Let’s see if we can find a way back to that.”

The weight of his fingers against hers took on a whole new meaning. “That sounds suspiciously like the opposite of professional.”

“Hmm, you think so?” His hand tightened and a thumb brushed over her knuckle in a long stroke. The sparks submerged her senses with the kind of quick heat she’d done her best to forget, but it came rushing back in a torrent of memory.

“Uh-huh. The opposite.”

“You said that already.”

He was watching her with intense, impossible-to-look-away-from focus, leaning into her, a slight tilt away from something irreversible. Crazy. Dangerous and frightening.

“We should go inside,” she rasped and cleared her throat, breaking the connection and sweeping her hair off her shoulders in a poor attempt to reorient, which surely didn’t fool Shay. “Will you show me to my room?”

“Sure. I’ll send someone out for your bags.”

No catch in his voice, because she’d never affected him the way he did her, as if her legs would collapse at any moment. Firm, solid ground, that’s what she needed.

He mounted the patterned steps lined with twenty-foot palm trees and exotic flowers that shouldn’t grow in the desert but did because they belonged to Shay. He created magic from nothing, an alchemy she’d never been able to analyze until it made sense.

She reminded herself that she didn’t need to understand him. She only needed to do her job, get research notes for her book and get out.

Forty-seven hallways later, her head spun from trying to take in the luxurious room Shay had ushered her into. The four-poster bed presided over the room from a raised dais, leading to an inviting seating area to the left that shared a flat-screen TV mounted on a swivel arm between them.

One whole wall was clear acrylic, enclosing a tank full of colorful, darting fish, coral and glowing anemones. The remaining walls were painted a purple so dark, it should have closed in the space, but actually worked well to unite the separate areas. Raw silk in lighter purples, off-white and black covered the bed and was repeated in the fabrics of the seating area and window treatments.

It was difficult to reconcile all this wealth and opulence with the rough-around-the-edges man she’d known in college. “Your home is beautiful.”

“My mom.” He twisted his mouth into a self-deprecating grin. “She and the decorator were texting each other within two days. I figured why ruin her fun? So I let her have free rein.”

Juliana recalled Mrs. Shaylen being a very proper, nervous woman who taught English at a private high school in Dallas. They’d never gotten along well, though Juliana couldn’t fathom why not. They shared a strong desire to see Shay live until his next birthday and he’d ignored both of them equally well.

“I’ll unpack later. We should start right away with Mikey. What does he usually do in the afternoons?”

“Different stuff. I temporarily reassigned one of the maids to Mikey. Maria. She raised five kids but has no interest in long-term child care. He’s with her now. She watches him if I have to go into the office or do a conference call from home.”

“Maybe that’s where we should start. What are the next two months going to look like? What are you hoping to accomplish? Total immersion means there won’t be a lot of going into the office. We should organize a list of goals and then assign blocks of time to—”

“Whoa, Schedule Police. Is all that necessary?”

“Yes, extremely. We have a limited amount of time and a lot to cover. We need a plan of attack. Additionally, it’s important to note children thrive on schedules. They like to know what’s coming next. It’s comforting. Schedules are now a part of your life.”

In the time she’d taken to explain the most fundamental concept Shay needed to learn, he’d edged into her space. The fine lines he’d grown around his eyes were deeper than she’d realized, aging him. He wasn’t twenty-two anymore, either, and it fit him nicely.

If only the inside had aged as well as the outside.

“Hey, Ju?” His gaze flitted over her and the atmosphere tangibly shifted, growing dense and tight. “Danged if I don’t like this new you. That high-brow tone you get when you’re being all consulty-like, it’s really sexy.”

She narrowed an eye at him. “Say what?”

“Yeah. I like it. Give me some more.” His cheekbones drew upward as he smiled wolfishly.

“Um.” Now she had a really keen awareness of exactly how close Shay was and exactly how far away the door was. The clean freshness of his soap frayed her senses. It wasn’t what he used to smell like. “That was all I had to say.”

“Too bad. What should we do now?”

“Unpack.” Hadn’t she just said she could do that later? She took a step backward, hoping the movement would jar her brain into functioning again. “Then we can go over some basics.”

“Or,” he said, wrapping his tongue around the r in a thoroughly suggestive way, “I could put some Shay in your sway, baby.”

Her eyes shut for a brief, insane second. The first time he’d laid that line on her, she’d laughed and let him take her to dinner. After an appropriate period of dating, he’d sweet-talked her clothes off and she’d spent forty-eight hours in his bed losing all sense of time and place. His full-on masculine quicksand had sucked her under and kept her there. Pulling free had been the hardest thing she’d ever done.

“My sway is A-Okay, thanks.” Dr. Seuss instead of Dr. Cane. Shay yanked her out of academia, yanked her out of reasonableness. He had to stop. “We agreed it was best to have a professional association only.”

When he reached out and fingered a lock of hair, she almost jerked out of her skin. With a perplexed once-over, he dropped his hand, allowing her to breathe again.

“No. I said I was hiring you for your expertise. I did not agree to the distance between us. Feels wrong. That line worked once to get your attention. Figured I’d try it again.”

Distance. She wished she didn’t know precisely what he meant. In college, they’d talked about everything, joked and flirted without censor. There was a strange edge now that cut in ways she hadn’t anticipated. “Well, I’m not falling for it again.”

“Maybe I’ll find a different line, then.” When she cocked a brow, he shrugged and said, “It’s weird to be dancing around our past, trying to avoid land mines.”

“So you figured you’d step on one deliberately?”

“Hey, it’s easier to deal with an explosion you know is coming than one you don’t.”

Shay’s straightforward approach was a far cry from textbook psychology and he seldom followed conventions anyway. Her doctorate wouldn’t get much traction here and they did have to spend time together. “Let’s ditch the explosives and try something else, like really putting the past behind us. We’re different people now. Maybe this time around, we can be friends.”

His grin could have melted butter. “Can we have a sleepover and watch scary movies? I haven’t had a good midnight pillow fight in ages.”

She laughed. “Sorry, sport. Your future includes diapers and bottles. But I’ll gladly stay up late with you for that.”

The pages of Shay’s life were turning so fast, he barely had time to read the words, let alone absorb them. If everything slowed down, he might catch up.

He should be asleep. Instead, he was watching the digital clock. Mikey woke up between one-fifteen and one-twenty pretty much every night, like the kid’s stomach had an alarm. Shay usually woke in cold panic right before the witching hour, terrified he’d missed the opening wail, effectively forcing a helpless baby to lie there crying while Shay slept.

The video monitor on Shay’s nightstand showed an immobile lump in the middle of the crib. On cue, the lump stirred and let out a yowl. Shay hit the carpet and threw on a shirt before trudging to the connecting door between his bedroom and Mikey’s. He wanted to bond with Mikey and this was part of it, but some nights he wished they could bond through the mutual act of sleep.

“Shh. I’m here.” He scooped up the baby and gathered him against a shoulder. He carried the mewling bundle to the kitchenette he’d paid double to have installed in the corner of the nursery within twenty-four hours of the reading of the will. Murmuring nonsense words, he went through the rote motions of heating water and mixing formula for the hungry bottomless pit snuffling against his shirt.

A whiff of female filtered in underneath the strong sour of formula.

“Hey,” Juliana whispered behind him.

Every nerve lit up as if he’d crested a mountain in his Cessna and an endless valley fell away under the wings. It’d be nice to blame his reaction on lack of sex. Or sleep. But he’d gone without both many times and it had never caused spontaneous bursts of poetry and awareness.

She thought they should try to be friends. Screw that. She’d have to get used to the idea that he wanted her in his arms, naked and shuddering with pleasure.

He grabbed the full bottle and shot her a smile over his shoulder. “Welcome to my world.”

She smiled back, tousled and gorgeous in her just-out-of-bed state. “Can I feed him?”

“Is the dark side of the moon cold?”

One eyebrow crinkled. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

He waited until she settled into the rocking chair and positioned the baby against her thighs, his fingertips tingling where he’d brushed her. The kid went after the bottle like an alcoholic with a fifth of Jim Beam.

Shay slumped against the wall and slid to the carpet. Tomorrow he’d order another chair. Should have already done that. It hadn’t registered there’d be two people in the nursery taking care of Mikey at the same time.

In record time, Mikey drained the bottle. She set the empty bottle on the low table beside the rocking chair and lifted Mikey up to burp him. Here came the really fun part.

Mikey cried. And cried. No matter what Juliana did, he cried more. Worry lines popped up around her eyes as she patted and rubbed Mikey’s back.

“Yeah, you might as well settle in and get comfortable,” he advised. “He’ll do that for about another hour.”

“Shay, that’s not normal. How many days has he cried more than a few minutes after eating?”

“All of them. Babies cry a lot, don’t they?” Unease trickled across his shoulders. Was something wrong with Mikey and he’d been too clueless to connect the dots?

Juliana shot off a round of questions, which he did his best to answer. If nothing else, he’d found the right person to help—she was something, asking things he’d never have considered, like if he’d spoken to Donna’s nanny about whether Donna used a different brand of formula or if she’d been breastfeeding. Yeah, that was a conversation he was dying to have. He scrubbed at his jaw, bristling the short hairs sideways. What kind of dad balked at saying breastfeeding out loud?

“He probably has reflux. We’ll get it fixed, won’t we, honey?” she murmured in Mikey’s ear and started humming, rocking the chair simultaneously. When that didn’t work, she laid him across her knees, facedown and rubbed his back.

“How do you know to do all these things? Your grad school professors must have loved you.” His professors had hated him, as they tended to when a student could ace a test without reading the textbook or showing up for lectures. Mind-numbing stuff. He and Grant had dropped out of MIT’s graduate program and started GGS Aerospace while Donna finished her PhD. Best move he’d ever made.

Second best had been hiring Juliana to turn him into a father. She was doing exactly what he’d hoped—making everything all right.

She stood and walked with Mikey, pacing around the nursery with swaying steps. Mikey was slung over her shoulder, head hanging down her back. Finally, he burped and quieted down.

“I didn’t learn about babies in grad school,” she said once she’d wrapped Mikey up in the blankets mummy-style. But when she didn’t elaborate, his curiosity was piqued. They’d split in their senior year at SMU and she’d had eight years’ worth of life since then.

“Watch a lot of baby videos online?” That’s what he’d done. Learned enough to get by and enough to know he needed far more help than five-minute snippets posted by internet wannabe-stars.

“I read a few books.” Mikey was nestled in her arms peacefully and she kept her eyes on the baby, then busied herself with placing him back in the crib.

Shay crossed his fingers. Sometimes the baby went to sleep and sometimes, the second he hit the mattress, he started screaming again. Tonight was a back-to-sleep night. Thank God.

Shay’s already lit-up nerves weren’t faring well with the dual punch of Juliana and screaming baby.

They tiptoed out of the nursery, parting to retreat to their separate bedrooms. And met again inside the nursery at 4:05 a.m., the second hour engrained in Mikey’s stomach.

Bleary-eyed, Juliana shuffled a step closer. “He’s still waking up twice a night?”

“That’s not normal, either?”

Man, was anything about this kid right? Genetically speaking, he should be well ahead of the curve. Maybe it was Shay’s fault—corrupting the baby with his lack of experience.

When he moved toward the crib, she tugged him back with a hand to his elbow. “We’ll let the baby cry it out this time.”

Let the baby cry on purpose? He eyed the bawling lump and then eyed Juliana. She nodded toward the door and left. Mystified, he followed her back into his bedroom, Mikey’s wails grating down his spine.

“We’ll watch him for a while.” Juliana sank onto the bed between his pillow and kicked-away sheets and motioned to the monitor.

Her face glowed in the pale moonlight spilling from the window opposite the bed. Middle of the night, yet in tailored pajamas and robe, she exuded classiness.

If he’d known a woman would be in his bed, he might have requested silk sheets. What a flat-out disgrace it wasn’t that kind of late-night party. He snapped on the bedside light. No point in maintaining ambiance.

As he moved away from the bed, his toes curled against the hardwood floor. It was cold, but the carpet only stuck out about a foot around the bed frame. With all the hands-off Dr. Cane had been throwing around, it seemed like he should keep a respectable distance from the consultant in his bed.

At least until he figured out how to bridge it.

“All these books you read to learn about babies. You read those recently?” he asked.

The whole concept of ignoring a crying baby stuck in his craw. If something needed attention, you handled it. But he was paying for expert advice. How much sense did it make to second-guess the doctor?

“In the last few years,” she said.

“So, not as preparation for this job.”

“I reread some on the plane. You hired me to teach you to be a father. Caring for a baby is part of that but it’s not my primary field of expertise. Child-rearing as a whole is.”

“I know.” Mikey was still sobbing with no signs of stopping. Every muscle in Shay’s body stood tensed, ready to spring toward the door, but she remained calm, grounded. He’d missed having ready access to that strength. “I read your dissertation.”

Juliana jerked her gaze away from the monitor to stare at him. “You did? All of it?”

“You think I called you up for old times’ sake? I did my research.”

“I’m just surprised. It’s dry, pure academics. Most people would fall asleep after two paragraphs.”

“I didn’t. You wrote it. I was always fascinated by your mind.”

She processed that, blank-faced. While he often blurted out exactly what was on his mind without restriction, she spoke very carefully, then and now. “You can’t still find me interesting.”

“Yet I do.” And he grew more interested by the minute.

She’d always turned him on but this grown-up version of Juliana was something else. A challenge and a half. What was it going to take to break through her resolve to keep things professional between them?

The only way to find out was to rattle her some more and see what was what.

They stared at each other for a long time and he realized his muscles had relaxed. Mikey was still crying but intermittently. The restless urge to move had stabilized and for the first time since the explosion, he didn’t want to go climb something or fly something or jump off something to beat back the weight of life.

“Hey, Ju, do you still play the violin?” The question flew from his mouth in hopes of keeping her in his bed for a while longer. He wanted to talk some more. And he liked the view.

“No. I haven’t played since college.”

The forlorn note in her voice tightened his chest. He’d loved listening to her play with the campus chamber group, could still see her in his mind, bow raised, her elation flying through the air with the notes. “You were good. Why did you quit?”

She shrugged. “Busy. It’s hard to take time for something frivolous when you have so much going on.”

Somehow he’d moved toward the bed, knees bumping the mattress. Since he was already here, he might as well sit. “But you loved playing. If you love it, it’s not frivolous.”

No wonder she seemed so unhappy—she’d stopped letting the music feed her soul.

With a wry smile, she lay back against his pillow and a flash of memory overlaid the present—one of her reclined exactly like that, but naked, eyes hot with anticipation as she waited for him.

“Says the man who builds spaceships in his spare time. Not everyone gets to do whatever they want with their life.”

And with that bucket of cold water, the memory extinguished. Yes, he was lucky to get to follow his passion. A passion that had killed the most important people in his life. Juliana had once been on that list and all of a sudden, the list felt really blank.

“What would you be if you could be anything?”

“A mom,” she said softly. “Not in the cards.”

“Your ex didn’t want children?”

He shifted, brushing a hand across her leg accidentally-on-purpose. She jolted as if she’d taken a slug to the torso.

“You knew I’d been married?”

After she’d agreed to help him, a discreet P.I. out of Dallas had done exhaustive research on her and Eric Whittaker, the accountant she’d been married to for three years. “I came across it.”

Her ex was a dweeb with vacant eyes, who’d obviously sucked in bed if Shay’s casual touch caused such a visible reaction. If Mikey took a few days to adjust, this late-night-rendezvous deal might work in his favor. He could do some more rattling. A hot and thick flood drained into his lower half at the thought of the reaction he might get with a few better-placed touches.

She sighed with a heavy lift of her chest. “He wanted children. We tried the natural way, then the artificial way. Science isn’t good enough to overcome the defects of nature.”

“I’m sorry. That’s when you read all those baby books, isn’t it?” Her tight nod said everything she didn’t. “Is it hard to be here, with Mikey?”

Surprise flitted across her face. “I’m a professional. I’ll do my job.”

“Hey.” He leaned forward and took her hand. She’d extended the olive branch of friendship and he’d done nowhere near enough to pick it up. Of course, he didn’t intend to stop there, but it was a good start. “I’m asking because you interest me. Not because I think you’ll shirk your responsibilities.”

Some pretty major stuff had happened in her life. Rattling his way past the professional barrier she’d erected was going to be harder than he’d expected. But he’d find a way.

She looked down at their joined fingers and faked a yawn. “Mikey’s asleep. Good night.”

Then she slipped away.

Three

Mikey’s pediatrician diagnosed him with reflux, as Juliana had suspected he would. Funny how being right did little to boost her energy or her mood. Cry-it-out had only worked the first night. A week later, the reflux medicine and several different kinds of formula hadn’t worked at all. Since Maria worked only during the day and Shay hadn’t specified his nanny requirements, they split nighttime baby duty.

Fuzzily, she peered at the hands of the elephant clock on the nursery wall. 5:00 a.m. or 5:00 p.m.? A glance at the dark window answered the question. Did it matter? Time ceased to have any meaning when on call every day. She patted the screaming bundle of baby propped up on her shoulder. He’d been crying for nearly an hour.

How had Donna done this, over and over, and still functioned?

Regardless of whose turn it was, Mikey never smiled, or gurgled or did any cute baby things. Regardless of who claimed to be an expert, the result was the same. Failure.

Wiggling baby woke her. She blinked hair out of her eyes and sucked in a breath at the stab of pain through her neck and shoulders. Daylight poured through the nursery window, washing over the cartoon giraffes, lions, hippos and zebras painted on the walls. Mikey peered up at her from a nest of blankets across her thighs, uncharacteristically quiet.

She’d fallen asleep in the rocking chair with an unsecured five-month-old baby on her lap. He could have rolled off or she might have flipped him off accidentally. His head could have gotten stuck between the cushions.

His mother would never have been so irresponsible.

Of course, no matter how much she’d come to care about Mikey, Juliana was just a consultant. One who couldn’t get her brain jump-started when around the baby’s father.

The connecting door between Shay’s room and the nursery opened. Shay buzzed through and in the split second before he shut it, the door frame outlined Shay’s bed.

His mattress was soft and fluffy, with warm, inviting sheets, and she’d been very careful not to think about it. That first night, they’d been talking and it had been so familiar she hadn’t thought twice about sitting on his bed. Until he started looking at her with those Shay eyes, as if her respectable tailored pajamas and robe were transparent and he liked what they revealed.

There went that hot flush in a place that had no business flushing. Knowing his way around a woman’s body didn’t begin to compensate for lack of maturity and addiction to danger. Her well-educated brain shouldn’t have so much trouble remembering.

“Hey, Ju,” he said. “Did you get some sleep?”

“A little.” She clutched Mikey against her chest. He needed her, and it was her job to keep him safe. “I dozed off in the rocker.”

What a waste of a degree. What did she know about child rearing? A bunch of rhetoric from textbooks. The real thing kept kicking her in the teeth, minute by minute. How many parents had she sanctimoniously lectured about their mistakes, as they nervously perched on their seats in her office? How had not one of them denounced her as a fraud?

Yet she arrogantly presumed to write a book about this.

He nodded. “Been there many a time, my friend.”

“Well, it’s not advisable. We can’t keep up this middle-of-the-night marathon. Today, we need to figure out the nanny plan.”

With a nanny in place, Juliana would have distance from day-to-day care and regain her professional perspective. Then maybe she’d figure out how best to care for him. He was depending on her.

“I have a better idea. You need a break. I have a few things to take care of in Fort Worth this morning. Come with me. You can go shopping and I’ll take you to lunch. Maria will watch Mikey and we’ll be back by two or three at the latest.”

A break? If he’d said Godiva chocolate dipped in twenty-four-karat gold it couldn’t have sounded better. “Really?”

In response, he scooped Mikey from her lap with one hand and pulled her to her feet with the other. “Really. Go get ready and meet me downstairs in an hour.”

She showered in record time and slipped into a halter dress. A break was precisely what she needed to get on terra firma again. Then things with Mikey would start clicking.

Poor baby. He probably couldn’t figure out why he suddenly lived in a new place with new people. Everything familiar had been ripped away from Mikey and all she wanted to do was provide stability. Give him a sense of connection and of being cared for.

Maybe she should cancel Fort Worth.

No, she needed time away to recharge and it was the perfect opportunity to move forward with giving Shay parenting lessons.

She’d taken a seat in the sunroom when Shay strolled in and set off a new round of hot flushes.

She was tired. If she could get some decent sleep, Shay walking into a room wouldn’t affect her at all. She’d never noticed when Eric came into a room. When she was absorbed in research or a case study, he’d shake her shoulder to get her attention. Eric possessed a fine list of qualities—he was unassuming, quiet and easy to ignore when she needed to concentrate. Everything she wanted in a man, and not a frustrating, stubborn, vibrating-with-masculinity boy wonder.

Eric and Shay were barely from the same planet and comparing them had grown into an unproductive habit. The two men she’d once cared for were nothing alike. Intentionally.

“Ready?” he asked.

She nodded and it wasn’t until they arrived at Shay’s airport that she thought to ask a really, really late question. “How are we getting there?”

“Helicopter. It’s only a couple hours there and back, depending on the wind.”

And how many hours if the pilot didn’t fly like a kamikaze bat out of hell? She bit her lip. He understood the importance of Mikey’s welfare and wouldn’t take unnecessary risks. Not anymore.

“Can’t we fly in a plane?”

“Sure, but then I have to land at a municipal airport. I can put the bird down on the roof of GGS. Saves me a lot of time and trouble. I fly planes to relax, not for work.”

Relax. Really?

The helicopter sat on the runway like a giant black-and-glass insect. Its blades threw huge shadows on the ground and she swallowed. People rode in helicopters all the time. Nothing to worry about. Helicopter crashes were rare. Except in combat, but those crashes were due to being shot down. Weren’t they?

This one had doors. Thankfully. She sat in the passenger seat and shut her eyes as Shay did whatever pilot checks were necessary and talked to people through the radio in his headset. His voice settled her and she peeked out from under her lashes.

She could do this. He’d had a license to fly everything under the sun since before she’d met him ten years ago. Surely he was even more practiced now.

Thwack, thwack, thwack.

The blades spun and, as if by magic, the helicopter lifted into the air, guided expertly by the magician at the controls. Shay’s fingers wrapped firmly around the lever between their seats and he performed innumerable other sleight-of-hand tricks in rapid succession. The ground rushed away and the sky opened in a burst of blue.

The ground was so far below the flimsy metal cage between her and a free fall. The ground was completely unreachable, except through Shay’s wizardry.

Her stomach did the tango and her eyes slammed shut again. Had he said two hours?

Miraculously, they did not crash, her eyelids eventually opened and about a kajillion white-knuckle deep breaths later, Shay touched down with a light bounce on a giant X. He helped her down from the high seat and she sucked oxygen into her lungs in a cleansing sigh as her shoes flattened against the roof of GGS.

“Not so bad, right?” Shay’s hand settled into the small of her back and she leaned into the support gratefully. Illogically so, since it was his fault she needed steadying.

“Not so bad in comparison to jumping out of it with a parachute, perhaps.”

Shay laughed and no, it wasn’t so bad. Downtown Fort Worth spread out beyond the lip of the roof, twinkling in the morning light, and a much-needed break was in her future. She’d try to forget about the looming second helicopter ride, sure to come right after lunch.

Juliana took her time exploring the shops in Sundance Square and tried to enjoy a couple of hours without responsibilities, but Mikey wasn’t far from her thoughts. She sent a cowboy hat to her dad and a pair of lovely turquoise earrings to her assistant. Her mom hated everything so Juliana had given up buying her gifts a long time ago.

A push-button toy decorated with music notes caught her eye. She pressed one of the squares and smiled as Mozart floated from the hidden speaker. Mozart had been her favorite to play and she suddenly missed feeling the music flow through her. Shay’s casual mention of the violin the other night had shaken loose forgotten memories and since then, with greater and greater frequency, she recalled how much she’d loved to play.

She purchased the toy. Her throat tightened with a twinge of sadness because it would probably be the only gift she’d ever give Mikey. If she did her job, Mikey would have an amazing parent in Shay. She had no business dissolving into melancholy over the end of her consulting job.

Near noon, she walked the four or five blocks to the steak house Shay had suggested for lunch. Before the words “reservation for Michael Shaylen” completely left her mouth, the maître d’ whisked her to a cozy corner table with multiple apologies for the apparent crime of being forced to seat her alone. Poor man. She’d adjusted to Shay-Standard-Time long ago.

He blew in fifteen minutes later and she experienced yet another difficult-to-reconcile change. Oh, he was still Shay in his T-shirt sporting a graphic of the Milky Way galaxy and an arrow pointing to the center, with the words You Are Here printed above it.

But he was also Michael Shaylen, the billionaire entrepreneur.

Every waiter in the place snapped to attention. Other diners whispered behind their hands or stared at him as he sauntered across the room. He’d always turned heads but this was different, as if the balance of his bank account also bestowed a particular mystique.

To her, he was Shay and always would be. At least his fortune would ensure Mikey would never have to make new friends in a town where his parents’ creditors hadn’t located them yet. Mikey would have the stability so critical for his well-being, and by the time Juliana finished with Shay’s lessons, Mikey would have a good father, too.

Shay followed the maître d’, oblivious to everything in the room except Juliana.

The flush hit higher in her chest this time. He could be doing a lot of other things with his day but he wasn’t. His intense gaze could be fixated on a million issues surely competing for his attention. But it wasn’t.

His gaze was on her.

How had a quiet, violin-playing psychology major caught the attention of such a man? He deserved someone who could match him, crazy step for crazy step.

Every nerve in her body ruffled. She didn’t want to be the center of so much concentration, so much focus, so much Shay. Already she could feel it sucking at her, drawing her into the whirlpool. Speeding up her pulse, causing the ground to rush away.

Like in college, but worse—it was somehow more powerful now.

Shay slid into the opposite seat and smiled. “Did you have a good day?”

Breath rushed out of her lungs.

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