the tiny bundle against his dark blue polo with one thick, corded forearm while a fire rages in his dark eyes, and is it possible for ovaries to melt? Because my mouth is dry and my knees are weak and I just had a flash of something that has nothing to do with my erogenous zones and everything to do with some deeper level of arousal than I’ve ever felt before.
Men with babies.
Men who tell off my grandmother with babies.
This is better than weekends in Bali with rock stars.
Oh, god.
My biological clock just gonged. Fuck.
Fuck.
“Where’s his nanny?” I ask. I’m breathless and desperate, and I need to latch onto something solid and familiar.
Westley snorts like that’s an inappropriate question.
“The nanny was fired the day before the accident for posting YouTube videos with him,” The Dame informs me.
“Oh? Because Julienne didn’t use him to help criticize baby wash and diaper cream from the minute she brought him home from the hospital.”
“So glad to see you’ve found the silver lining for Remington.” Belatedly, I realize she hasn’t started shapeshifting into a bull to ram a horn up West Jaeger’s ass over his insolence. But before I can dwell on it, she adds, “As for you, you can consider this the next family test.”
I suck in a sharp breath, because no, she didn’t.
Except she did.
She just threatened to disinherit me if I don’t raise Julienne’s baby.
This whole inheriting-a-baby thing might have me teetering on the edge of a major fissure while an earthquake still rocks around me, but I’m not an asshole concerned about getting a couple hundred million bucks when The Dame kicks the bucket.
It’s more that being disinherited means being fired from Carter International Properties.
It means failing.
I spent the first twenty-one years of my life being underestimated to the point that I didn’t believe in myself. I need this job. I actually don’t suck at it, and while I know my success is more because I have the Carter family name behind me than because I’m actually good at negotiating with people, she hasn’t fired me yet.
Helping run a real estate empire? I can do that.
Raising Julienne’s baby?
I. Am. So. Fucked.
“If you want to have your lawyers go ahead and draw up paperwork for Ms. Carter-Kincaid to surrender custodial rights to me, I’m happy to wait,” Westley offers.
I straighten and shiver as a glop of frozen yogurt slides down my ass. “The hell she will. How do I know you’ll be a good guardian?”
He lifts a brow, then looks down at his arms, at the bundle of sleeping baby with a little milk dribbling out the corner of his mouth.
The utterly innocent bundle of orphan that I haven’t touched yet, even though realizing he’s completely alone in the world makes me want to smother him in my arms and hug him tight and promise him he’ll be okay.
Oh my god.
I don’t know if Julienne ever hugged him.
No wonder he’s so comfortable in a stranger’s arms. He just needs to be loved. That is all babies need, isn’t it?
Or is it?
Fuck. I don’t know the first thing about babies.
Fuckaroni.
I need Westley. I need him to teach me how to hold a baby and how to know when Remy’s hungry and how to put him to sleep. Yes, Remy, because he’s so tiny and innocent and a cute little name just fits him better.
Oh, double fuck with cheese and bacon on top.
I really am having maternal urges. And ridiculous notions about dark-eyed, overprotective strangers. I have a full staff who runs my house, and I’m positive any of them could teach me the same things this man holding the baby right now can.
Except those maternal urges to kiss Remy’s little cheeks are getting mixed up with the hello, hot single dad vibes thumping in my ovaries, which I do not appreciate.
Mostly.
“Granny-kins, it’s late, and tonight’s been a real shit-show. I think it’s time for you to hit the road.” I smile, but holy fucking shit, how the hell am I going to do this mothering thing? “I got this.”
I most definitely do not got this.
But I have to get my grandmother out of here before she catches on to how closely I might be veering into panic territory.
Imogen Carter, The Dame of the Carter family, knows things. And she’s scowling at me like my position at Carter International Properties isn’t the only thing in danger.
But it’s the one thing she can take away that I care about. I can’t lose my job.
I can’t.