Or what if they picked up on the attraction between her and Rowan?
There was still time to back out, write it all off as simple gossip. The urge was strong to put back on that Christmas hat and slip away, to hide in her lab, far, far from the stress of being on show and always falling short. She craved the peace of her laboratory and cubbyhole office, where she truly reigned supreme. Here, in Rowan’s suite, she felt so off-kilter, so out of control.
A coo from the other room reminded her she needed to hurry. She stepped away from the mirror and slid her feet into her low, blue pumps. She pulled open her bedroom door, then sagged to rest against the doorjamb. The sight of the little one in a ruffled pink sleeper, resting against Rowan’s shoulder, looked like something straight off a greeting card. So perfect.
Except that perfection was an illusion.
Even though Rowan had the baby well in hand, the child was helpless outside their protection. Issa had no one to fight for her, not really, not if Mari and Rowan gave up on her. Even if Mari left and Rowan stayed, he couldn’t offer the baby everything Mari could. Her fame—that fame she so resented—could be Issa’s salvation.
The baby would get an exposure the police never could have provided. In these days of DNA testing, it wasn’t as if fake relatives could step forward to claim a precious infant. So Mari wasn’t going anywhere, except to give her presentation at the medical conference, then she’d take the baby for a walk with Rowan.
Looking around the suite strewn with baby paraphernalia, anyone would believe they were truly guardians of the child. Rowan had ordered a veritable nursery set up with top-of-the-line gear. A portable bassinet rested in the corner of the main room, a monitor perched beside it. He’d ordered a swing, a car seat, plus enough clothes, food and diapers for three babies for a month.
He knew what an infant needed, or at least he knew who to call.
Hopefully that call had included a sitter since he was dressed for work as well, in a black Savile Row suit with a Christmas-red tie. God, he was handsome, with his blond hair damp and combed back, his broad hand patting the baby’s back. His face wore a perpetual five-o’clock shadow, just enough to be nighttime sexy without sliding over into scruffy.
He filled out the expensive suit with ease. Was there any realm that made this man uncomfortable? He’d taken care of the baby through the night and still looked totally put together.
His eyes searched hers and she shivered, wondering what he saw as he stood there holding Issa so easily. The man was a multitasker. He was also someone with an uncanny knack for getting into a person’s mind. He’d found her vulnerable spot in one evening. After all of her tense and bicontinental Christmases, she simply couldn’t bear for this child to spend the holidays confused and scared while the system figured out what to do with her—and the other thousands of orphans in their care.
She couldn’t replace the child’s mother, but she could make sure the child was held, cared for, secure. To do that, she needed to keep her mind off the charismatic man a few feet away.
He looked over at her as if he’d known she was there the whole time. “Good morning. Coffee’s ready along with a tray of pastries.”
And some sweet, sticky bouili dipping sauce.
Her mouth watered for the food almost as much as for the man. She walked to the granite countertop and poured herself a mug of coffee from the silver carafe. She inhaled the rich java fragrance steaming up from the dark roast with hints of fruity overtones. “Did she sleep well?”
“Well enough, just as I would expect from a baby who’s experienced so much change,” he said, tucking the baby into a swing with expert hands. “The hotel’s sending up a sitter for the day. I verified her references and qualifications. They seem solid, so we should be covered through our lecture presentations. Tonight we can take Issa out for dinner and a stroll incognito, kill time while we let the cops finish their initial investigation. If they haven’t found out anything by tomorrow, we can go public.”
Dinner out? Revealing their plan to the world? Her heart pounded with nerves, but it was too late to go back now. The world would already be buzzing with leaked news. Best to make things official on their own terms.
If Issa’s family wasn’t found by tomorrow, she would have to call her parents and let them know about her strange partnership with Rowan. First, she had to decide how she wanted to spin it so her parents didn’t jump to the wrong conclusions—or try to interfere. This needed to be a good thing for the baby, not just about positive press. She would play it by ear today and call them tonight once she had a firmer idea of what she’d gotten herself into.
Maybe Issa would be back with relatives before supper. A good thing, right?
Rowan started the baby swing in motion. The click-click-click mingled with a low nursery tune.
Mari cleared her throat. “I’ll check on Issa during lunch and make sure all’s going well with the sitter.”
“That’s a good idea. Thank you.” He cradled a cup in strong hands that could so easily crush the fine china.
She shrugged dismissively. It was no hardship to skip the luncheon. She disliked the idle table chitchat at these sorts of functions anyway. “No big sacrifice. Nobody likes conference lunch food.”
Laughing softly, he eyed her over his cup of coffee. “I appreciate your working with me on this.”
“You didn’t leave me much choice, Dr. Guilt Trip.”
His smile creased dimples into his face. “Who’d have thought you’d have a sense of humor?”
“That’s not nice.” She traced the rim of her cup.
“Neither is saying I coerced you.” He tapped the tip of her scrunched nose. “People always have a choice.”
Of course he was right. She could always walk, but thinking overlong about her compulsion to stay made her edgy. She sat at the table, the morning sun glistening off the ocean waters outside. “Of course I’m doing this of my own free will, for Issa’s sake. It has absolutely nothing to do with you.”
“Hello? I thought we weren’t going to play games.”
She avoided his eyes and sipped her steaming java. “What do you mean, games?”
“Fine. I’ll spell it out.” He set down his cup on the table and sat beside her, their knees almost touching. “You have made it your life’s mission to tear down my research and to keep me at arm’s length. Yet you chose to stay here, for the baby, but you and I both know there’s more to it than that. There’s a chemistry between us, sparks.”