The Baby Contract

The Baby Contract
Barbara Dunlop

One little baby highlights the fine line between duty and desire…from New York Times bestselling author Barbara Dunlop!Troy Keiser won't hire a woman, no matter how skilled–or beautiful–for the dangerous work of his elite security firm. Plus, there's no way he could keep his hands off Mila Stern! But when his sister and infant nephew need protection, Troy offers Mila a job…as a caretaker for them both.Mila doesn't know much about kids, but she'll learn if it means Troy hiring her for more than this assignment. But as she falls for the baby–and her sexy boss!–she uncovers a secret about the boy in her care that could change everything…

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 (http://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 (http://www.barbaradunlop.com).

For my daughter

Contents

Cover (#u281dc431-05de-5fff-a947-a66e003dc541)

Introduction (#u2ae14744-7ec1-5af1-a678-827adab39db0)

Title Page (#u0c2569e2-310d-578f-b1ac-c5087e50d840)

About the Author (#u6a3a4faf-d013-5b76-b546-dd531f402815)

Dedication (#u6a4bd173-5edb-5c6f-bdfb-f301d5635627)

One (#ulink_ea9c8609-6127-5640-9bf4-6e219d46c06c)

Two (#ulink_b67f7b96-8c66-5984-a446-76499d44d83c)

Three (#ulink_f31b430a-4939-5a3c-b339-133b8b146044)

Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

One (#ulink_686e5ace-b976-561c-a8a9-5d1581cff294)

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.