The Billionaire's Baby Plan / Marrying the Northbridge Nanny: The Billionaire's Baby Plan. Allison Leigh
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well enough thanks to my ex-wife.”
She’d been aware that he was divorced, yet her furtive research when she’d first met him hadn’t managed to unearth any details about the woman. He’d been paired with dozens of women—from famous models to actresses to heiresses. But there’d definitely been no details of his former wife. “How long ago were you married?” Maybe he was nursing a broken heart and taking it out on her because she was female.
“A lifetime.”
“Right.” He wasn’t that old. Only four years older than she. “What happened?”
“Nothing that concerns you.”
“It does if I’m going to be putting your ring on my finger,” she returned. “Since I assume, to go along with your other antiquated notions, that you’ll be wanting me to wear one.”
“You think it’s old-fashioned for a couple to exchange rings along with their vows?”
She wanted to stomp her foot. Because she didn’t think it was old-fashioned. She thought it was right and it was true and it was what people in love did. People who were committing themselves to each other for the rest of their lives.
Like Sara Beth and Ted had done. Like Paul and Ramona were going to be doing.
Certainly not for Rourke and her.
The very idea of it struck her as blasphemous.
“There is just one more detail,” he added.
Her nerves tightened until they vibrated at a screaming pitch. “What?”
“The terms of our arrangement are to be kept private. As far as the rest of the world will know—including your family and your friends as well as mine—this will be a traditional marriage. Entered into for all of the traditional reasons.”
She let out a disbelieving laugh. “Like what? Love? Who’s going to believe that we’re in love?”
His gaze suddenly focused on her mouth. His voice dropped. “I think we can be convincing enough.”
She felt scorched and wanted badly to blame it on her temper. On the impossible position he was forcing her into.
But she was fresh out of strength to even maintain that simple of a lie to herself.
“What if I have a problem carrying the baby?” She tossed out the possibility with a hint of desperation. The fertilization itself wouldn’t be a problem. Obviously. In vitro fertilization—IVF—was just one of the specialties at the institute.
But carrying the baby to term once it was implanted?
Her sister, Olivia, was proof that not every pregnancy made it to term. Who was she to say that she might not have Olivia’s tendency toward miscarriage?
But even as she thought it, her common sense rejected it. Physically, Olivia was as delicate as an orchid. Her sister’s body simply wasn’t built to bear children. Lisa was about as delicate as an oak tree.
“You’re in excellent health,” he said. “There’s no reason to believe you would have difficulty.”
“How do you know I’m in excellent health?” Her jaw tightened. “Maybe I…maybe I have an STD!”
He laughed softly. “How long has it been since you’ve been with a man?”
She flushed. There was no earthly way that Rourke could know that she hadn’t been involved with anyone—that way—since she’d been in college. Years. Followed by more years. “None of your business.”
“It is when you’re going to be carrying my baby inside of you.”
Her knees felt weak. She moved around him—uncaring that he seemed to find amusement in the distance she kept between them—and sat down on one of the carved benches.
“It’s academic, anyway,” he commented. He plucked a leaf from the hedge nearest him and twirled it between his fingers.
A distant part of her brain envied him that ability to look so calm when everything was going to hell in a handbasket.
“It doesn’t matter how many lovers you’ve had,” he went on. “Or haven’t had. You had your annual physical last month just like you’ve done for years. You’re as healthy as a horse. You don’t even have a prescription for birth control pills.”
Her jaw dropped. “How do you know that?”
He just continued watching her. Leaving her with mad scenarios of stolen medical files running rampant through her head. But that would have taken forethought, wouldn’t it?
She eyed him, not certain of anything anymore. “You’ve thought of everything, I guess.”
“And now it’s time for you to do your thinking.”
But she just shook her head and looked away from him. “There is no choice.” And he knew it.
“You’ll do what it takes to save the institute?”
He let go of the leaf. Her eyes watched it swirl around in circles until it landed on the gravel between them.
“Yes.” She looked up at him. “You’ve got a deal.”
Chapter Four
Rourke watched the limousine bearing Lisa in the rear seat drive away from the house.
A part of him was elated.
An equal part of him was disgusted.
Not with Lisa. She’d done exactly what he’d expected her to do. His personal dealings with her might have been counted on one hand, but he knew she was singularly dedicated in her goals where the institute was concerned. Agreeing to his terms had been her only option.
He wished that the elation could edge out the disgust if only for a moment or two.
“Where’d Lisa go?”
He looked over at Tricia, who’d walked around to the front of the house. “She has to catch a flight back to Boston.”
After she’d agreed, she’d asked him about the rest of his plans.
And even though he had more than a few, he hadn’t been able to heap them on top of her slightly bowed shoulders. So he’d lied. He’d told her that he would contact her later and they could iron out the details.
Her lips had twisted. But when she’d pushed off the bench, she’d stood tall and slender in front of him when she’d told him that she would use his limo then, after all.
Because she had work to get back to.
He knew there was no doubting that.
Even with him throwing money at the institute, it was going to take some real work to recover from the mess that Derek Armstrong had left behind.
He shoved his hands in his pockets, willfully pushing all thoughts of the man out of his head. He looked at Tricia. “What did you think of her?”
His sister—only two years his junior—looked up at him. “What do you think I thought? She looks like Taylor.”
He turned to look back at the curving drive, though the limousine had already passed from sight. That had been his first thought, too, when he’d seen Lisa in Shots. That she looked like his faithless ex-wife. But the next time he’d seen her—when Ted and Sara Beth had eloped—he’d realized how superficial that first, startling resemblance had been. Oh, Lisa was still slender and leggy. A blonde with brown eyes and a face that was arrestingly sculptured with a reserved demeanor that just begged to be smashed.
“She’s not Taylor,” he told his sister. She might be an ice princess, but Lisa had a brain. And dedication, which she’d proved just that afternoon.
The only dedication his ex had was