LITMIR.BIZ

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leather sofa in front of built-in library shelves of warm oak, but Kyle kept watch for the updates that had been coming in from the private investigator over his Black-Berry throughout the night, while doing some checking on his own. Money and the Internet provided a wealth of fast information.

      So far, everything about Phoebe Slater’s story checked out. She did, in fact, work at the University of South Carolina. She’d been a history professor on campus for three years, but for the fall semester had abruptly shifted to teaching only online classes—right about the time Nina would have entered her life full-time.

      Bianca Thompson had indeed gone to school with Phoebe, and Bianca had given birth to a daughter named Nina.

      He cradled his BlackBerry in his hand, staring at the latest report. The one that had surprised him.

      Phoebe was a widow.

      The circumstances of how her husband had died were simply listed as accidental drowning. That explained the haunted look that never left her eyes, even when she smiled, which was only when she looked at the kid.

      This was getting complicated.

      He shoved restlessly to his feet, pacing, farther and farther away from the desk until he found himself making his way through the halls, toward the nursery where Marianna had said both Nina and Phoebe were staying. The door was cracked slightly open. The baby slept on in the crib his mother had set up for her grandchildren. They’d expected Matthew and Ashley’s baby, due this winter, to be the next addition.

      Who could have foreseen this?

      He stepped deeper into the room—and stopped short.

      Phoebe sat curled up in a corner of the daybed, asleep with her cheek resting against the windowsill. The sheet and coverlet twisted around her, attesting to a restless night. She still wore her little black number from the party, but she’d kicked off her strappy heels. The delicate arches of her bare feet called to him to stroke up her legs, explore the softness of her skin.

      Her white-blond hair streaked over her face, the silver clasp discarded on the bedside table. Given they both wore the same clothes from the night before, they could have been a couple ending a long, satisfying night together.

      Except she wasn’t here for him. He started to back out and his uniform shoe squeaked.

      Phoebe jolted awake. She shoved her silky blond hair away from her eyes, blinking fast, adding to her sultry morning-after appeal. “What? Nina?”

      Kyle held a finger to his mouth. “The kid’s still sleeping,” he said softly, striding closer. “No need to get up yet, unless you want to go to shower and change.” He really didn’t need an image of her showering seared in his brain. “I can, uh, keep an eye on her.”

      He had his BlackBerry. He could still work from here.

      She tugged a strap back up her arm. “I only meant to close my eyes for a second after I put on her pj’s, and then I was going to unpack and put on something else. I must have fallen asleep.”

      “You have reason to be tired after yesterday, traveling with a baby on your own, then sleeping sitting up.”

      She shifted free of the tangled covers. “I didn’t want her to wake up in a strange place and be scared.”

      An image of the little tyke’s face scrunched up and crying sucker-punched him. Damn. And he didn’t even know if she was his yet. “I really, uh, don’t mind staying here with the kid while you sleep or shower.”

      “Her name is Nina.”

      “I know.”

      “You keep calling her ‘the kid’ or ‘rug rat’ or other generic things.” Phoebe swung her slim legs from the bed, her simple black dress rucking up to her knees. “She’s a person—Nina Elizabeth Thompson.”

      “I know what her name is.” He dragged his eyes away from the enticing curve of Phoebe’s legs and back to her equally intriguing face. “I saw her birth certificate. She’s Nina.”

      Nina. A person. His eyes went to the crib where the little girl—Nina—slept on her back in fuzzy pink, footed pj’s, sucking on one tiny fist in her sleep. A plastic panda teething toy lay beside her head.

      For the first time in a crazy-ass night, he stood still long enough to think beyond the weekend. What if Nina turned out to be his? What if—as Sebastian had warned him—the courts still opted to put her in a foster home for even a short period of time? No. Freaking. Way. He had to stack the odds in his favor, in Nina’s favor, just in case this little girl belonged to him.

      Damn. He was actually considering Phoebe’s proposal.

      His hand fell to rest on the crib railing. He glanced over his shoulder at Phoebe. “You’ve given this paper marriage thing some thought.”

      “I haven’t thought of much but that.” She stood, her eyes wary. “Does this mean you’re thinking about it, too?”

      “I won’t turn my back on my responsibility.” He gripped the railing tighter. “We still have to wait for the paternity test. If she’s not mine, marrying me won’t help you. Bianca could have lied to you.”

      “She didn’t.” Phoebe crossed to stand beside him and rested a hand on top of his. She squeezed his fingers lightly. “Nina is yours. I know it.”

      Her touch sent a jolt through him, just a simple touch, for Pete’s sake. But her soft skin and light vanilla scent along with the pooling gratitude in her eyes had him downright itchy. He needed distance. Fast.

      He stared at her hand pointedly and scrounged up some sarcasm. “I don’t want you to do something stupid like fall in love.”

      She jerked her hand away and shook it as if it burned. “With you?”

      “Who else have you asked to marry you?”

      She laughed, then laughed again until her giggles tripped on a snort. The baby stirred and Phoebe went silent in a flash. He gripped her elbow and guided her back out into the hall, the doorway to the nursery still open.

      She sagged against a wall alongside framed portraits of generations of baby Landises. “Don’t worry.” She gasped through a final laugh. “There’s not a chance in hell I’ll fall in love with you, but thanks for helping to lighten the mood for me.”

      What he’d meant as sarcastically funny suddenly didn’t seem quite so humorous. “You’re quite a buster there.”

      “I feel certain your, uh, man parts and ego will survive any potential busting.”

      “You seem mighty confident,” he pressed, not even sure why, since she appeared so damned confident in her ability to keep her distance. “We’ve barely met. What have I done to make you dislike me so much? Not to sound egotistical, but I happen to have a lot of money. I’ve been told I have a pretty decent sense of humor, and I haven’t noticed my face scaring off small children or animals.”

      “Other than the money part, the same could be said of me,” she pointed out logically. “So since you already have plenty of money and don’t need more from a wife, should I worry about you falling in love with me?”

      Damn. She was good.

      He couldn’t stop a begrudging smile of respect at how she’d taken him down a notch. “Touché.”

      “I’ll take that as a no.”

      “It’s nothing personal. You’re a beautiful, smart woman.” A hot, sharp woman, a distinction that was even more pulse throbbing.

      “Of course. Just as it wasn’t personal when I laughed at you.”

      “Point well taken. I’m years away from being ready to settle down.” He had his hands full launching his new life and career outside the military. “What about you?”

      “I was married before.”

      He

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