The Rancher's One-Week Wife (13 page)

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The Boss’s Baby Arrangement

by Catherine Mann

One

X
ander Lourdes had loved and lost his soul mate.

Parked in an Adirondack chair by the Gulf waters, he knew deep in his gut he wouldn’t find that again. Even after a year, his wife’s death from an aneurysm cut Xander to the core, but he’d been working like hell to find solace as best he could in honoring her memory every way possible.

By parenting their baby girl.

And by revitalizing a wildlife refuge in his dead wife’s beloved Florida Keys. He’d invested half of his personal fortune to revitalize this place. No great hardship as far as the executive angle went. He thrived on that part.

Although the fundraising parties? Like tonight? The endless schmoozing? A real stick in the eye. His preferred way to spend an evening was with his daughter, Rose, or in the office. These social gatherings tried his patience. For a moment his mind wandered back to how his wife had always stabilized and smoothed functions like this for him. She’d been a natural complement for him.

For his wife’s memory, he endured the beachside gala.

Xander drank tonic water, half listening to the state politician rambling beside him about a childhood pet parakeet. Small talk had never been Xander’s thing.

Waves crashed on the shore and a bonfire crackled at the high-end outdoor fundraiser. Tiki torch flames flickered, reaching toward the starlit sky as a steel-drum band played. Marshes
swooshed
with softer sounds in the distance, grasses and nocturnal creatures creating a night ensemble all their own.

A lengthy buffet table and bar kept the partygoers well stocked by the waitstaff currently weaving through the crowd of partiers talking or dancing barefoot on the sand, silk and diamonds glinting in the moonlight, tuxedo ties loosened. His brother—the head veterinarian—and his sexy-as-hell lady assistant led the dancing. The redheaded zoologist was just the sort to keep the party going.

Xander’s wife, Terri, hadn’t been much for dancing, but she’d loved music. When they’d found out she was pregnant, her first reaction was to track down a special device to play classical music for their baby in the womb. Music, she believed, could change a person’s life—convey emotions stronger than any other type of language. This belief had also prompted her to find compilations for the animals at the refuge to soothe them. Terri had been his calm and support since they were in first grade, when Xander had been labeled an outcast for already performing three grade levels above the others.

They’d been inseparable since she approached him on the playground that first day and he’d missed her every minute since she’d died.

His daughter—Terri’s legacy—meant everything to him.

Washing down the lump in his throat with another swallow of tonic water, he nodded at something or other the politician said about expanding the bird care portion of the refuge’s clinic. Xander tucked the info away for later. At least he had the executive power and the portfolio to make that happen, to control something in a world that had denied him control over so damn much.

There was no space tonight for thinking about that now. It wouldn’t help the cause his wife had devoted so much time and energy to.

Her volunteer work here had been important to her. When Xander’s brother had started at the refuge, Terri’s interest ignited. And then she’d discovered her passion, starting foundations to try to channel more funds into reviving the place.

His brother, Easton, oversaw the medical aspect of the refuge as an exotic animal veterinarian with a staff of techs and zoologists. Easton had worked here back in the early days, more concerned with animals than with the money he could make at a bigger, tourist-trap outfit. Xander had supported the refuge’s efforts with donations, but now his interest was more personal and yet also more professional. He’d been elected chairman of the board of directors. Terri had wanted him to take that role for years and now she would never know he’d fulfilled her hope that he could grow the refuge.

Damn.

He’d had enough of small talk.

Xander shoved out of his chair. “I appreciate your taking the time to chat and attend. If you’ll excuse me, I need to attend to some business, but my brother would thoroughly enjoy talking to you about those clinic additions. I’ll get Easton off the dance floor for you.”

Making a beeline for his brother who was still dancing with the fire-headed zoologist, Xander shouldered through the partiers, nodding and waving without stopping until he reached the throng of dancers. He tapped Easton on the shoulder.

“Mind if I cut in, brother?”

His eccentric younger brother turned on his heel, his forehead creased, a trickle of sweat beading on his brow. “What’s up?”

Easton wore the Prada suit Xander had made sure was delivered for the occasion, but his brother hadn’t bothered with a tie. No surprise. Dr. Easton Lourdes had always been more comfortable in khakis and T-shirts.

Xander tipped his head toward the politician still knocking back mixed drinks. “Donor at your nine o’clock. Needs your expertise on possible additions to the aviary in the clinic.”

His brother’s forehead smoothed and his face folded in a smile, all charm. “Can do.” He clapped Xander on the shoulder. “Thanks again for this shindig. It’s going to pay off big for the place.”

Easton charged past like a man on a mission, leaving his dance partner on the floor alone.

Maureen Burke.

An auburn-haired bombshell, full of brains and energy. She was an Irish native who’d spent much of her life in the States, so her brogue was light. Her degree in zoology along with her rescue experience made her the perfect second-in-command for his brother. Lucky for them she’d received her work visa at exactly the right time. She was extroverted, but also all business. And a woman Xander didn’t have to worry was out to take advantage of the Lourdes family fortune passed down for generations. A portfolio Xander had doubled and that women were attracted to when it came to dating Easton.

Maureen was an individual guaranteed not to mistake Easton’s attention as interest and an invitation to leave ten voice mails. Maureen was much like Xander when it came to romance.

Not interested.

He’d learned she was divorced and, from her standoffish demeanor just beneath that plush-lipped smile, he got the impression it hadn’t been a pleasant split. No doubt the man had been an idiot to let such a gorgeous, intelligent woman walk out of his life.

Xander extended his hand. “Sorry to have stolen your dance partner. I had to send my brother off. Dance with me.”

“Dance? With you?” She swept her long red curls back over her shoulder, her face flushed from heat and exertion.

“Is that such a strange request?”

“I didn’t expect you to know how to dance, much less to know an Irish jig.”

He winced. “An Irish jig?”

She grinned impishly, gesturing to the stage with elegant hands, nails short but painted a glittering gold for the party. “Next up on the band’s request list. Your brother double-dog dared me.”

Double-dog dare? No wonder Easton had left the dance floor so easily and with a grin on his face. He’d set Xander up.

And Xander wasn’t one to back down from a challenge. “I’m a man of many talents. Our mother insisted we boys attend dance classes as teens.” He braced his shoulders. “Whatever I don’t know, you can teach me.”

“Good for your mama.”

“And that dance?”

She propped a hand on her hip, her whispery yellow gown hitching along curves as she eyed him with emerald-green eyes. Finally she shrugged. “Sure. Why not? I would like to see the big boss give it a try.”

“Remember, you’ll have to help me brush up on the steps.”

“We’ll keep the moves simple.” She extended an elbow. “Steel drums playing Irish tunes is a first, not too intricate but still fun.”

He bowed before hooking elbows with her. Damn. He’d forgotten how soft a woman’s skin felt. Clearing his throat, he mimicked her steps, mixed with a periodic spin. Her hair fanned across his chest as she whipped around.

His body reacted to the simple contact.

Had to be lack of sex messing with his brain.

But holy hell, the dance seemed to go on forever with his blood pressure ramping by the second until, thank God, the band segued to a slower tune. And still he didn’t step away. In spite of the twinge of guilt he felt over the surprise attraction, he extended his hands and took her into his arms for a more traditional dance. The scent of citrus—lemons and grapefruit—teased his nose like an aphrodisiac.

Maybe the Irish dance hadn’t been such a good idea after all.

He searched for something to say to distract himself from the gentle give of her under his touch, the occasional skim of her body against his. “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.”

“I enjoy anything that makes money for the refuge.” Her eyes glimmered in the starlight, loose curls feathering over the top of his hand along her waist. “I love my work here.”

“Your devotion is admirable.”

“Thank you.” Her face flashed with indecision.

“You don’t believe me?”

“It’s not that. But let’s not talk shop right now and spoil the moment. We can talk tomorrow.” She chewed her bottom lip. “I have an appointment to see you.”

“You do? I don’t recall seeing your name on my calendar.”

“Not all of us have a personal assistant to keep track of our schedules.”

“Am I being insulted?” He had a secretary, but not a personal assistant who followed him around all day like his brother did. Although his brother was known to be an absentminded-professor type.

“No insult meant at all. You’ve made a great future for yourself and for Rose. It’s clear you didn’t ride off your family fortune, but increased it. That’s commendable.” She shook her head, sending her curls prancing along his hand again. “I’m just frustrated. Ignore me. Dance.”

Her order came just as the band picked up with a sultry Latin beat.

* * *

Maureen Burke danced with abandon.

Throwing herself into this pocket of time, matching the steps of this leanly athletic man with charismatic blue eyes and a sexual intensity as potent as his handsome face.

Brains. Brilliance. A body to die for and a loyal love of family.

Xander Lourdes was a good man
.

But not her man.

So Maureen allowed herself to dance with the abandon she never would have dared otherwise. Not now. Not after all she’d been through.

She breathed in the salty air mixed with the scent of fresh burning wood from the bonfire. What a multifaceted word.
Abandon.
She danced with freedom. But she’d also been abandoned and that hadn’t felt like freedom at all. The pain. The grief. Being given up on for no good reason other than the fact she wasn’t a good fit for her ex-husband’s life after all she had put up with. After she’d ignored the urgings of so many friends to leave him and his emotional abuse.

Rejection.

She’d known they had problems. Maureen was always willing to work at broken things. Hell, her never-say-die nature made her compatible and adept in a wildlife refuge. Vows meant something to her. She’d always expected if she ever got divorced it would be because of a major event—physical abuse or drugs. But for nothing more than “I love you but I can’t live with you”? Like she’d filled their home with some toxic substance.

More of that negative thinking born of years of his tearing her down until finally—thank God, finally—she’d wised up and realized he was, in fact, the toxin.

So she’d let him go and left their home full of insults and negativity. Hell, she’d left County Cork to get as far away from him and the ache as possible. It wasn’t like she had family or anything else holding her back. Her parents were dead and her marriage was a disaster. There’d been nowhere else for her to go except to the US and accept the job in a field of work she loved so much.

She allowed herself to be swept away by the dance, the music and the pulse of the drums pushing through her veins with every heartbeat, faster and faster. Arching timbres of the steel drums urged her to absorb every fiber of this moment.

Too soon, her work visa was due to expire, and officials had thus far denied her requests to extend it. She would have to go home. To face all she’d run from, to leave this amazing place where
abandon
meant beauty and exuberance. Freedom.

The freedom to dance with a handsome man and not to worry that her husband would accuse her of flirting. As if she would run off with any man who looked her way. How long had it taken her to realize his remarks were born of his own insecurities, not her behavior?

She was free to look now, though, at this man with coal-black hair that spiked with the sea breeze and a hint of sweat. His square jaw was peppered with a five-o’clock shadow, his shoulders broad in his tuxedo, broad enough to carry the weight of the world.

Shivering with warm tingles that had nothing to do with any bonfire or humid night, she could feel the attraction radiating off him the same way it heated in her. She’d sensed the draw before but his grief was so well known she hadn’t wanted to wade into those complicated waters. But with her return to home looming...

Maureen wasn’t interested in a relationship, but maybe if she was leaving she could indulge in—

Suddenly his attention was yanked from her. He reached into his tuxedo pocket and pulled out his cell phone and read the text.

Tension pulsed through his jaw, the once-relaxed, half-cocked smile replaced instantly with a serious expression. “It’s the nanny. My daughter’s running a fever. I have to go.”

And without another word, he was gone and she knew she was gone from his thoughts. That little girl was the world to him. Everyone knew that, as well as how deeply he grieved for his dead wife.

All of which merely made him more attractive.

More dangerous to her peace of mind.

* * *

As the morning sun started to spray rays through the night, Xander rubbed the grit from the corners of his eyes, stifling a yawn from the lack of sleep after staying up all night to keep watch over Rose. He’d taken her straight to the emergency room and learned she had an ear infection. Even with the doctor’s reassurance, antibiotics and fever-reducing meds, he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Still wearing his tuxedo, he sat in a rocker by her bed. Light brown curls that were slightly sticky with sweat framed her face, her cherubic mouth in a little cupid’s bow as she puffed baby breaths. Each rise and fall of her chest reassured him she was okay, a fundamentally healthy sixteen-month-old child who had a basic, treatable ear infection.