The Baby Contract

She was kissing her boss.

More than that, she was making out like a crazed teenager with the very man judging her professionalism.

Maybe this was a test. It was probably a test. She'd passed weapons proficiency only to fail miserably at self-control. Mila scrambled to salvage the situation, seizing on the first idea she had. “What about me going to South America with the team?”

“Are you kidding me?”

She brazened it out, walking her fingertips up his chest. “I speak pretty good Spanish.”

Troy trapped her hand with his, squeezing it tight. “You're telling me that kiss was just about persuasion?”

She looked him straight in the eye. “Of course it was persuasion.”

“You're lying.”

* * *

The Baby Contract is part of Mills & Boon^>® Desire™’s No.1 bestselling series Billionaires and Babies: Powerful men…wrapped around their babies’ little fingers.

The Baby Contract

Barbara Dunlop

www.millsandboon.co.uk

BARBARA DUNLOP writes romantic stories while curled up in a log cabin in Canada's far north, where bears outnumber people and it snows six months of the year. Fortunately she has a brawny husband and two teenage children to haul firewood and clear the driveway while she sips cocoa and muses about her upcoming chapters. Barbara loves to hear from readers. You can contact her through her website, www.barbaradunlop.com.

For my daughter

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Extract

Copyright

One

Troy Keiser halted his razor midstroke, glancing to the phone on the bathroom counter.

“Say again?” he asked his business partner, Hugh “Vegas” Fielding, sure he must have misheard.

“Your sister,” Vegas repeated.

Troy digested the statement, bringing the cell to his ear, avoiding the remnants of his shaving cream. Sandalwood-scented steam hung in the air, blurring the edges of the mirror.

“Kassidy is here?”

His nineteen-year-old half sister, Kassidy Keiser, lived two hundred miles from DC, in Jersey City. She was a free spirit, a struggling nightclub singer, and it had been more than a year since Troy had seen her.

“She’s standing in reception,” said Vegas. “Seems a little twitchy.”

Last time Troy had seen Kassidy in person, he was in Greenwich Village. A security job with the UN had brought him to New York City, and the meeting was purely by chance. Kassidy had been playing at a small club, and the diplomat he’d been protecting wanted an after-hours drink.

Now, he glanced at his watch, noting it was seven forty-five and mentally calculating the drive time to his morning meeting at the Bulgarian embassy. He hoped her problem was straightforward. He needed to solve it and get on with his day.

“You’d better send her up.”

He dried his face, put his razor and shaving cream in the cabinet, rinsed the sink, and pulled a white T-shirt over his freshly washed hair, topping a pair of black cargo pants. Then he went directly to the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee, downing it to bring his brain cells back to life.

His and Vegas’s side-by-side apartments took up the top floor of the Pinion Security Company building in northeast DC. The first two floors housed the company’s reception and meeting areas. Floors three to seven were offices and electronic equipment storage. The computer control center was highly secured, directly below the apartments. The basement and subbasement were used for parking, target practice and storage for a vault of weapons.

The building was state-of-the-art, built after Troy sold his interest in some innovative security software and Vegas hit it big at a casino on the strip. After that, their company had grown exponentially, and they’d never looked back.

The buzzer sounded, and he crossed the living room, opening the apartment door to find the six-feet-four, barrel-chested Vegas standing behind his sister, Kassidy, who, even in four-inch heels, seemed barely half the man’s size. Her blond hair was streaked purple, and she wore three earrings in each ear. A colorful tunic-style top flowed to a ragged hem at midthigh over a pair of skintight black pants.

“Hello, Kassidy.” Troy kept his voice neutral, waiting to ascertain her mood. He couldn’t imagine it was good news that brought her here.

“Hi, Troy.” She slanted a gaze at Vegas, clearly hinting that he should leave.

“I’ll be downstairs,” said Vegas.

Troy gave his partner a short nod of appreciation.

“Is everything okay?” he asked as Kassidy breezed her way into the penthouse foyer.

“Not exactly,” she said, hiking up her oversize shoulder bag. “I have a problem. At least I think it’s a problem. I don’t know how big of a problem.”

Troy curbed his impatience with her roundabout speaking style. He wanted to tell her to spit it out already. But he knew from experience that rushing her only slowed things down.

“You got any coffee?” she asked.

“I do.” He cut through the vaulted-ceilinged living room, heading for the kitchen, assuming she’d follow and hoping she’d compose her thoughts along the way.