Phoebe Slater brought a baby to the millionaire military
hero's seaside welcome-home gala.
Undoubtedly most of the guests plucking canapés and
champagne from silver trays at this high-profile affair
could afford nannies. Of course the Hilton Head Island
wealthy could also afford tailored tuxedos and sequined
high-end dresses as they mingled the evening away in the
country club gardens by the shore. Her basic little black
dress had been bought at a consignment store to wear to the
few mandatory cocktail parties related to her position as a
history professor at the University of South Carolina.
Of course she usually didn't accessorize with baby drool
dotting her shoulder.
Phoebe jostled the fractious five-month-old infant on her
hip, smoothing down the pink smocked dress. "Hang on,
sweetie. Just a few more minutes and I can feed you before
bedtime."
As waves crashed in the distance, a live band played oldies
rock, enticing guests to the dance floor with a Billy Joel
classic. Even South Carolina's governor was dancing under
the silver silk canopy with his wife. Darn near gawking,
Phoebe stumbled on the edge of the flagstone walkway.
Definitely this was a party for the movers and shakers in
the political world—as well as on the polished wood dance
floor planked over the sandy lawn. She untangled her low
heel from between two decorative rocks. She wasn't here to
socialize tonight. She'd come to find little Nina's father.
If only she had a better idea of what he looked like.
Her longtime friend and old sorority sister— Nina's
biological mother—had told Phoebe that Kyle Landis was the
baby's daddy a couple of months ago when she'd asked for
"just a little help" with Nina while she went on an audition
for a dinner-theater production in Florida. Bianca had been
so excited to get her prebaby body back, insisting this was
her chance to provide a better life for her daughter.
Who could have known Bianca wouldn't return?
Phoebe hugged Nina closer, all the more determined to make
sure this precious baby had a stable life. Which meant
finding Kyle Landis, a man she'd never met in the flesh.
She'd hoped to ID him by his Air Force uniform, but the
place was packed with tall, dark-haired guys decked out in
formal military gear. Medals gleamed in the moonlight.
Cupping the back of Nina's bonnet-covered head as the little
one finally dozed off, Phoebe scanned the sea of faces,
their profiles shadowy with only the illumination of moon,
stars and pewter tiki torches. She only had an older photo
to go by, a picture tucked deep in the bottom of the
flowered diaper bag slung over her clean shoulder. No way
was she going to disturb Nina by looking, not now that the
baby was nearly out for the count.
He used to appear in the newspapers frequently when his late
father had been a senator. Then his mother and brother had
stepped into the political spotlight, too. But the family
kept Kyle out of the media's scrutiny as much as possible
for safety's sake because of his tours of duty in war zones.
The crush of people grew thicker, faces tougher to see. As
much as she hated to draw attention to herself, she was
going to have to ask for help finding—
"Can I get you something?"
The deep voice rumbled from behind her as if in answer to
her very thoughts, jolting her with a clear shot of sexy
bass on the salty ocean breeze. Lordy, the waiter must rack
up tips with that bedroom voice of his. She glanced over her
shoulder to ask for a napkin—she'd forgotten the burp rag
again, damn it.
Her smile froze.
Captain Kyle Landis—in the flesh, all right.
His dark brown hair was trimmed military short, mellow blue
eyes creased at the corners from a deep tan she knew he'd
earned in a Middle Eastern desert. A broad forehead and
strong jawline gave him a masculine appeal just shy of harsh.
She should have realized the guy would be even better
looking in person. He was a lucky son of a gun from an
established old Southern family—handsome and rich, with a
smoky voice to boot. He'd even reportedly survived a crash
unscathed. His muscled chest in a blue uniform jacket
sported at least double the medals of most here, perhaps
only outdone by his stepfather, a general.
What were the odds of Kyle finding her tonight, instead of
the other way around? But then, as the guest of honor, maybe
he felt obligated to make sure everyone else was having a
good time.
"Can I get you something?" he repeated, a cut-crystal
whiskey glass cradled in his hand.
An older woman angled past, whipping a full, ruffled train
against Phoebe's leg. The scent of strong perfume made Nina
sneeze. She readjusted the baby, wishing they were at home
in her bentwood rocker rather than here with this man. "I
actually don't need help anymore, since I was looking for
you."
A dimple dug into his cheek with his one-sided smile. "I'm
sorry, if we've met before, I'm not remembering."
That dimple would have been charming if she hadn't already
heard from Bianca to be wary of his prep-school-polished
sense of humor. She might be out of her financial league
here, but she was a smart, determined woman.
Phoebe forged ahead, needing to say something before he
turned her over to a bouncer. "I'm not here for myself."
He glanced behind her quickly, then focused his full,
deep-blue-eyed attention on her face again. "Which one of my
pals are you with? We don't get many chances to meet the wives."
"I'm not married." But she had been. She shoved away even
the thought of Roger before the inevitable stab of pain
could steal her focus.
Kyle's gaze flicked briefly to Nina, then away. So much for
him recognizing his child on sight.
To be fair, he didn't even know about Nina's existence.
Bianca had insisted early in the pregnancy that, while she
wasn't sure if she wanted to keep the baby, she would inform
the baby's father. Then later said she'd chickened out, then
couldn't find him and certainly didn't want to send this
kind of news to him overseas through his family.
As if Bianca would've even gotten past personal assistants
to talk to anyone in his famous family. It had been a major
challenge to gate-crash this shindig, but no security could
outdo her determination.
That drive—along with channeling some acting tips she'd
picked up from Bianca—and Phoebe had convinced them all she
was the caterer's assistant's wife. Easy enough to do, since
she was more the friend-next-door than the flashy-leading-lady.
Nothing could stop her, not now that Kyle had come home.
Somebody had to tell him about his new "little"
responsibility and since Bianca was MIA, that left it up to her.
Might as well get this over with. "Is there somewhere we can
step aside to talk?"
"I'm sorry, but my mother would haul me back in by my ear if
I tried to duck out of my own welcome-home party." He angled
closer, the fresh scent of his aftershave teasing her nose.
"Maybe later, though?"
Undeniable interest flared in his cobalt-blue eyes, his full
attention fixed on her.
Holy crap. Could he actually be hitting on her? She'd
prepared herself for any possible reaction from him—except that.
She jolted back a step, holding up one hand. "Wait, that's
not what I meant."
And even if he were interested enough to actually contact
her, what if it took him a week to call? She didn't have
another week to waste waiting for him to phone her back.
Nina didn't have a week.
Phoebe patted between the baby's shoulders, praying she
would stay asleep. The last thing she needed was a colicky
nuclear meltdown. "I have to speak with you for five minutes
out of earshot of everyone else. I promise I won't keep you
long and you can get back to your welcome-home party.
Perhaps you could just escort me to the door? Then you'll
know I'm truly on my way out of your hair."
"Fair enough." He set his drink on the bar behind him. "Do
you need some help with the kid?"
Instinctively, she backed farther away until her butt bumped
a column plant-holder, jostling the fern on top.
Laughing, he held out both hands. "Hey, no need to freak
out. I won't drop her. I've never been much of a kid person,
but I'm getting practice lately with my nephew."
Nina had a cousin. How wild to think about, and imagine them
playing together happily. Nina needed a life full of people
who loved her. And the sooner Phoebe cleared this up, the
sooner Nina would be settled. "We're fine, but thanks for
asking. Just lead the way and we'll follow."
"Let me know if you change your mind."
He turned his broad shoulders sideways to slide past a pair
of tuxedo-clad teens sneaking refills from the champagne
fountain. Kyle plucked the glasses from their hands on his
way by and passed them to a man from the catering staff.
He led Phoebe around a corner and stopped in a small, empty
alcove with a spindly iron bench and two more large potted
ferns on Grecian-pillar stands. The party noise muffled down
a notch, although the laughter of a nearby couple made her
itchy for a room with a door to close. The nook just past an
ivy-covered trellis wasn't totally private, but it would
have to do.
Stepping away from his towering presence for a bit of
breathing room, she eased the diaper bag down onto the iron
bench and rolled the kink out of her shoulder. "Do you
remember someone named Bianca Thompson?"
His eyes went from friendly to reserved. "Yes, why do you ask?"
Nearby laughter swelled as two trophy-wife types ducked into
the alcove, one with a silver cigarette case in her hands
and the other weaving tipsily behind her. "Oh," the woman
said, tucking her cigarette case surreptitiously behind her
back, "excuse me."
Kyle's easy smile came back. "No problem, ladies. I think
there's another bench just past the palmetto tree wrapped in
lights."
"Thank you, Captain." The woman flashed a smile back,
"advertising" with a length of too-tanned leg through the
gown's excessive slit.
Phoebe watched them disappear faster than the after-waft of
their cologne. She turned back to Kyle. "You don't deny
knowing Bianca?"
"This is getting strange here." He scratched the back of his
neck. "You need to cut to the chase… What was your name again?"
"Phoebe—" She paused as a uniformed waiter tucked into the
alcove, stopped short and then spun back around to leave,
apparently looking for a place to ditch work undetected for
a few seconds.
Good luck with that, buddy, because apparently there wasn't
a quiet place to be found at this crammed-to-the-gills gala.
She hefted Nina's limp—and growing heavier by the
second—body higher onto her shoulder. Her sweet weight and
baby-shampoo-fresh scent tugged at her heart with a reminder
of just how important this meeting was to both of their
futures. "Phoebe. My name is Phoebe Slater. Bianca and I
were sorority sisters, but we've stayed in touch over the
years."
Although not as much as she would have liked during the past
two months. She still could hardly believe Bianca would just
drop off her baby daughter and not look back.
"Nice to meet you, Phoebe," he said, one eyebrow arching up
with the implication his patience had about run dry.
Time was up. There wasn't ever going to be the perfect
setting for this kind of revelation. She resisted the urge
to clutch the baby tighter and bolt. This wasn't her child,
but she loved her as dearly as if they shared the same
blood. In fact, this would be her only chance at
motherhood—however brief. When her husband she'd loved more
than life had died, all hopes of being a mother had died
with him.
No blue eyes would distract her from protecting Nina, no
social brush-offs would dislodge her from her mission. She
would do anything, anything to secure Nina's future.
Phoebe braced her shoulders and her resolve to push forward
with her plan, even if it meant making a deal with a
blue-eyed devil. "Meet Nina, your daughter."
Damn.
Another gold digger.
Party noise droning behind him like the buzz of aircraft
engines, Kyle rocked back on his heels, his polished uniform
shoes squeaking. He'd worked in intel during his Air Force
career, but it didn't take an investigative mind to
determine something was way off with this woman.
The second he'd seen Phoebe Slater sidle past security, he
had been gut-slammed by her appeal.