Baby on the Billionaire's Doorstep (1 of 2 free samples)

COPYRIGHT
Baby on the Billionaire's Doorstep by Emily McKaskle. Copyright 2008 by Emily McKaskle.
All Rights Reserved. Sharing not permitted.

BABY ON THE BILLIONAIRE’S DOORSTEP

Emily McKaskle

To my partner in crime, Robyn DeHart. My dear friend, without your help I’d be unable to write a book. Without your friendship, I probably wouldn’t want to.

AUTHOR'S NOTE
http://www.dailylit.com/books/baby-on-the-billionaires-doorstep/authornote

ONE

As the taxi pulled to a stop in front of the sprawling monstrosity his brother called home, Dex Messina pinched the bridge of his nose. Man, he was tired.

He was getting too old for this. He’d just spent a week in Antwerp working sixteen-hour days getting ready for the opening of Messina Diamonds’ new diamond-cutting branch. On top of that, the seventeen-hour flight from Belgium—complete with a six-hour delay in New York—had taken its toll.

“This the place?” the cabbie asked from the front seat.

“Home sweet home.”

Since the renovations on his own urban loft had hit yet another snag, Dex was living with his brother, Derek, a situation that suited neither of them and had been going on far too long. Only the amount of time Dex spent out of the country and the fact that he stayed in the detached guesthouse made it bearable.

Dex handed the driver a fifty, pulled his bag from the seat beside him and climbed out of the car. He swung the rugged canvas duffel over his shoulder and walked up the curved path. The towering oaks and clusters of shrubbery were perfectly manicured to hide the house from the road while creating the impression one had left the exclusive Dallas neighborhood of Highland Park altogether.

Ivy crept up the far corner of the building. A low stone retaining wall crumbled at one end. Both gave the impression of gently declining nobility.

Everything in Derek’s life was like that. Perfect. Controlled. Pretentious.

It set Dex’s teeth on edge. Made him want to take his motorcycle out of storage and pop some wheelies on his brother’s plush green lawn.

Not that he would. He was a respectable contributor to the family business these days. A damn pillar of society.

Why he even—

Dex stopped short just shy of the mahogany double doors.

“What the—”

He stared for a long moment at the object blocking his path before he convinced himself he wasn’t hallucinating.

It was an infant car seat.

Next to the car seat sat a bag decorated with smiling cartoon bears. Far more disturbing than the car seat itself was what appeared to be in it. A pile of blankets, out of the top of which rose a tiny pink stocking cap.

Dex crouched down to get a closer look, then thought better of it. Instead, he yanked his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed his brother’s number.

“Derek here.”

“You at home?”

“Yes. Don’t tell me you missed your flight. I need you in the office to—”

“No. I’m at the front door. You might want to join me.”

“Then why are you calling me?” A note of frustration crept into Derek’s voice.

Dex was too shocked to be annoyed by it. “Just get your butt down here.”

He flipped his phone closed. Sitting back on his heels, he rubbed his hand along his jaw, staring at the car seat and its bundle of... joy or whatever.

Five minutes later Derek swung open the front door. He had clearly been working. He’d lost his jacket and tie and the sleeves of his white dress shirt were rolled up. “This better be good.”

Dex said nothing but looked up at his brother with a quirked eyebrow, waiting for Derek’s reaction. If he hadn’t been so completely thrown for a loop himself, the situation might have been amusing.

Derek looked down at the car seat. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“If it is, I’m not in on it.”

“You didn’t bring this thing home with you?”

Dex chuckled despite himself. “No. I didn’t bring home a baby from Antwerp. I’m guessing that would be illegal.”

“What’s it doing here?”

“It was here when I drove up.” Feigning a flippancy he didn’t quite feel, Dex reached into the car seat and pulled aside the blanket to reveal the tiny head of a sleeping infant. The baby’s skin seemed impossibly pale in the moonlight, its delicate rosebud of a mouth the only color in its face.

The infant was so still, he couldn’t even tell if it was breathing. Feeling a burst of panic, he pulled loose the pink blanket and pressed his palm to the tiny cotton-covered chest.

The infant drew in one shuddering breath, then exhaled slowly. As he felt the warm breath drift across his hand, he felt something tighten inside of him, even as relief rocked him back on his heels.

“It’s alive?” Derek asked.

“Thank God.”

“What’s that?” Derek asked.

Dex looked to where Derek was pointing. When he’d untucked the blanket, he’d dislodged a note. He picked it up and stood.

Derek took it from him and stepped out of the shadow of the doorway so that the landscape lighting from the yard shone on the note.

D—

Her name is Isabella. She’s yours. You’ll have to take her for a while.