Sun God Seeks…Surrogate? (Accidentally Yours #3)(21)
Author: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

“Wait! It’s you!” I pointed. “You’re…you’re…”

He bowed his head. “Andrus. So we meet again, Dorothy.”

Oh oh oh. This little traveler knew damn well she wasn’t in Kansas anymore. Because Kansas doesn’t have men who hex you with sleeping spells and then dress you like a kindergartner.

“Where am I? And where is that SOB, Nick?”

He smiled. “SOB? I see that you and I will get along famously.”

I narrowed my eyes and tightened my lips, waiting for my answers.

He cleared his throat. “Come with me.”

Fuming, I trailed behind him and his leather pants. As we rounded the corner, the wide-open living room came into view. It had floor-to-ceiling windows and the most breathtaking view of Central Park I’d ever seen. A chubby, blond baby sat in the middle of the floor on a large blanket next to a set of multicolored blocks.

My memory clicked. “That’s the baby you were holding at Cimil’s. Right?”

He nodded with a glowing smile.

“Dat sweet wittle baby,” he said in baby talk as he pranced over to her, “is our wittle Matty.” He plucked her off the floor and nibbled her ear. She instantly stopped crying and gave a little giggle.

Okay. That was weird. The large man appeared deadlier than sin—like he ate bullets for breakfast and drank gasoline martinis—but turned into a mindless ninny for this baby?

Oh stop! That’s totally adorable, and you know it!

No! You stop! You’re in deep shit and here you are judging the man’s domestic diva-ness. Enough! Focus, Penelope! Drive the car!

“So that answers one of my questions. Now, what about Nick?” I crossed my arms over my chest.

Andrus parked the baby on his hip. “Oh, the gwumpy lady wants to know where dat bastard of your uncle Kinich is,” he said again in baby talk to Matty.

“Baaa ba,” she cooed happily and latched onto his black tee with her chubby little hands.

“Yes. Right you are, Matty. It is time for your bottle.” He marched off.

“Hey! Now where are you going?” I chased after him.

By the time I caught up in the showroom-like kitchen, he had Matty strapped into a high chair.

He shot a scowl my way. “I don’t know where Nick is, but he left you here yesterday. You are in my care until he returns.” He glanced at my lower half. “And no. I didn’t bathe and dress you, if that’s what you’re wondering.” His stone-cold expression instantly melted into a dopey grin the moment he looked at Matty. “Cuz wittle Matty is the only lady I do that for. Isn’t that right, my little cupcake of darkness?”

Yes, he just called her “cupcake”—I swallowed—“of darkness.”

I hit the reality-denial button—I had been born with one in my brain—and moved on.

His head disappeared inside the extra-large stainless steel fridge. “Helena should be awake in a little while. She’ll be able to answer any other questions.”

“Okay. And this Helena person, whoever that is, will tell me what attacked me? Or how Nick put me to sleep?”

“Perhaps.”

“Is Helena your wife?” I asked.

His head darted out from the fridge, and he gave me a look that could cap a flaming oil well. “No. Helena is Matty’s mother. She is not mine.”

Ouch! Hit a nerve, did I?

“Helena is married to Niccolo DiConti. This is their home,” he elaborated.

My mind sputtered. “Wait. So you’re the…nanny?”

He slammed the refrigerator door and popped a bottle of red liquid into the microwave. “I prefer bodyguard and caretaker.”

He’s a manny!

Or a leather nanny?

Hee hee hee.

Stop that!

I bit the inside of my cheeks to smother a budding smile.

The microwave beeped. He plucked out the bottle and screwed on a cap before giving it a little shake. The baby held out her hands. He was about to pass it but froze. “If you don’t mind, I need to give Matty her bottle.”

He didn’t want me to see? Jeez. Maybe he wasn’t as comfortable with his role as he let on.

“I’ll just go use the phone. If that’s okay.”

“Help yourself.” He stared, waiting for me to leave.

I shrugged and returned to the living room where I found a phone off to the corner on a small table. I held it in my hand, staring at the white-and-black buttons.

What was I going to say to my mother? That I’d been attacked in our apartment by a monster and saved by a man who I may have slept with after being drugged by his lunatic sister who had offered me one million dollars to be the surrogate mother of his child, a child he had no interest in having? And that—here comes the giant cherry on my sucky-sundae—I might now actually be carrying this man’s baby! If we slept together at all, but who knew?

Aaah yes. Now there’s a story every mom wants to post on her Facebook timeline. “Oh! Lookie here what my daughter’s been up to!”

Like?

Click!

No. She needed to focus her energy on healing. I’d have to pretend everything was okay and save the truth for another day. Perhaps after my death.

I dialed, but her cell was once again busy. Maybe because she was overseas? I’d have to call the clinic in Sweden directly, but I didn’t have the number.

I returned to the kitchen, hoping Andrus wouldn’t be too offended by the intrusion. Maybe he just had to see that I was cool with the whole man-nanny-bodyguard thing.

“Andrus?” I called out.

He sat at the kitchen table holding Matty in his arms, the bottle filled with red liquid in her mouth.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Uhhh—cranberry juice.”

I’d done the babysitter gig for a few years in my early teens and never remembered giving anything other than apple juice, water, or formula to a baby that young. “And she likes to drink it warm?”

“She…um. She loves it. Lots of vitamins ’n’ stuff. Is there something I can help you with?”

Alrighty then.

“Is there a computer I could use?”

“In the study,” Andrus replied. “Just through the living room. Help yourself. The password is demilord.”

I thanked him, happy to escape his scathing sneer.

I found the study easily enough. And aside from the breathtaking view, nothing about it stood out: bookshelves, a few family photos on the walls, etc. But despite its normalcy, something about this entire home really struck me as, well…off. I couldn’t put my finger on it.