Mia D’Angelo will not turn over her niece to the baby’s unsuspecting father until she knows the reclusive billionaire is daddy material. But when Adam Chase uncovers her ruse, he’s ready to make his own very personal demands…
The drive to Adam Chase’s estate was far too short. She reached his home in less than twenty minutes. Her nerves prickled as she entered the long driveway and pressed the gate button. After a few seconds, Adam’s strong voice came over the speaker. “Mia?”
“Yes, hello…I’m here.”
Nothing further was said as the wrought-iron gates slid away, concealing themselves behind a row of tall ivy scrubs. She drove on, her hands tight on the steering wheel, her heart pumping. She had half a mind to turn the car around and forget she’d ever met Adam Chase. If only she had the gumption to do that. He would never know he had produced a child. But how fair would that be to him or to Rose? Would she wonder why she didn’t know her father and try to find him once she grew up?
Mia parked her car on the circular drive near the front of the house. Adam was waiting for her, his hands in the pockets of dark slacks. Her breath hitched. A charcoal silk shirt hugged arms rippling with muscle, and his silver-gray eyes met hers through the car window. Before she knew it, he was approaching and opening the car door for her. His scent wafted up, clean and subtly citrus.
She took a breath to calm her nerves. “Hi.”
“I’ve been looking forward to the meal you promised.” He stretched his hand out to her and she took it. Enveloped in his warmth, she stepped out of the car. He spied the grocery bag on the passenger seat and lifted it out. “Ready?”
She gulped. “Yes.”
He walked alongside her, slowing his gait to match hers. As they climbed wide marble steps, he reached for the door and pushed it open for her. “After you,” he said, and once again she stepped inside his mansion.
“I’ve got wine ready on the veranda, if you’d like a drink before you start cooking.”
“You’re going to help me. If you can design a house like this, you can sauté veggies. I’m sure of it.”
He chuckled. “Sounds like a plan. What should I do?”
She scanned his pristine clothing. “For one, take your shirt off.”
A smile twitched at his lips. “Okay.”
He reached for the top button on his shirt. After unfastening it, he unbuttoned the next and the next. Mia’s throat went dry as his shirt gaped open, exposing a finely bronzed column of skin.
“Why am I doing this?” he asked finally. He was down to the fourth button.
Her gaze dipped again, and she stared at his chest. “Because, uh, the sauce splatters sometimes. I wouldn’t want you to ruin your nice shirt.”
“And why aren’t you doing the same? Taking off that beautiful dress?”
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