“I think you should stay here tonight,” Jo said, her tone suggesting that she not argue. “Judging by your career, I doubt you have any experience with babies—”
“Try none,” Tate interjected.
“—and I can, at the very least, help you through your first night with her.”
Oh, God, she’d love that. Tate knew she could figure it out, eventually, but being shown how to do the basics would make her life a hundred times easier. Then Tate saw Linc’s forbidding expression, and her heart sank. He didn’t want her in his house or in his life, and she couldn’t blame him. The last time a Harper female dropped into his life, she caused absolute havoc and a great deal of hurt. “That’s extremely kind of you but—”
“Where are your bags?” Jo demanded.
“Um, still at my company’s office,” Tate replied, suddenly realizing that if she wanted a change of clothes and to brush her teeth, she’d have to collect the suitcases she’d left in the care of Go!’s security. And she’d have to lug said luggage and a baby to whatever hotel she could find on short notice.
Damn.
Tate straightened her shoulders and injected steel into her spine. She’d faced down bigger challenges than this in cities a lot less sophisticated than New York. She wasn’t powerless and she wasn’t broke; she’d just have to get organized. “Thank you but no. I’ll be fine.” She forced herself to meet Linc’s stormy gray eyes. “I’m so sorry to have called you. I suppose I panicked.”
As Tate went to take Ellie, Jo turned her shoulder away and shook her head. “You’re not going anywhere, young lady. You are my grandson’s aunt, and I insist that you spend the night. It’s not as though we don’t have the room.”
“Mom—”
Tate heard the warning in Linc’s voice even if Jo didn’t.
Jo narrowed her eyes at her son. “Linc, arrange for the Ballantyne driver to collect Tate’s luggage and have it delivered here. One of those many interns you have hanging around at work can purchase some baby supplies. I’ll make a list, and it can be delivered with the luggage.”
Linc pulled his hands out of his pockets and lifted his hands in resignation. He looked at Tate and shrugged. “My mother has made up her mind.”
But you’re not happy about it, Tate thought. She looked at Jo, thinking that she’d try another argument, but Jo’s expression was resolute.
“Just for tonight,” she capitulated. “Thank you and I do appreciate your hospitality.”
Jo walked toward the kitchen, taking Ellie with her. When she was out of earshot, Tate gathered her courage to look at Linc. “I promise you, I won’t abuse your hospitality.”
Linc nodded, his face granite hard. “I won’t let you. Trust me, I have no intention of being played for a sucker again. So, fair warning, whatever you think you can get out of me, it’s not going to happen. One night, Tate. That’s it. Tomorrow, you’re gone.”
Tate wanted to explain that she wasn’t like her sister, but quickly realized that Linc wasn’t interested in her explanations and, worse, didn’t care. She was the dust on the bottom of his shoes, and the sooner he could shake her off, the happier he’d be. “Tomorrow, I’m gone,” Tate agreed.
“See that you are. My mother got her way this time. She won’t again.” Linc lifted his wrist to look at his expensive watch. “I’ve got to get back to the office. I’ll arrange to have your luggage collected if you give me the address. Amy’s working on finding that lawyer, and I will ensure that whatever my mother wants purchased gets delivered.”
“Thank you. I do appreciate your help,” Tate said, her back still straight and her eyes still clashing with his.
Linc surprised her when he stepped up to her and gripped her chin in his large hand. An inch apart, she could feel the heat of his hard body, smell his sweet breath. She could see the faint scar in the corner of his mouth, count each individual bristle of his sexy stubble. Her pulse raced. She wanted that mouth on hers...wanted to wind her arms around his neck, to push her aching breasts into his wide chest.
She wanted to know what he tasted like, how he kissed.
“I fell for the machinations of one pretty Harper woman before. I won’t do it again.” Linc’s gaze darted to her mouth and back up to her eyes again. She saw desire smoldering under his layers of anger and frustration. “So don’t get any ideas, Tate.”
“One night, Linc.” It was all she could think of to say, the only words she could force through her lips. “I promise.”
Derision flashed across Linc’s face as he dropped his hand and stepped back. “Sorry, but Harper promises mean less than nothing to me.”
Fair enough, Tate thought as he strode away. If her fiancé had bailed on her and her child two weeks before their much-anticipated society wedding, she, too, would still be furious and not inclined to play nice with his relatives.
And she most definitely wouldn’t have been as calm as Linc had remained with her. Tate placed her hands on her hips and stared at her feet.
She’d been granted a reprieve, and she’d use that time wisely to rest and pick Jo’s brain on the basics of childcare. Tomorrow she’d move on.
Between now and then the one thing she would not do was fantasize about Linc Ballantyne. Yes, he was insanely hot, but if she were to have a type, he wasn’t it. Within ten minutes she’d pegged him as a traditional guy, someone absolutely committed to his son and his family, to his stable, conventional life.
He was everything she was not. And that was perfectly fine with her, because in the morning she would be moving on.
After all, moving on was what she did best.
In the space of an afternoon, Tate had fallen in love.
She absolutely adored her niece, was partly in love with Jo, was pretty much there with Shaw and utterly entranced with the brownstone the three of them called their home. It was after midnight, and Tate, barefoot and dressed in a pair of yoga pants and a T-shirt, padded down the imposing wooden staircase, her hand sliding down the banister. How many hands had repeated the same action since the house was built in the late 1800s? How many guests had snuck down these stairs to head for the kitchen for a late-night glass of milk or a glass of wine to aid sleep?
Clutching a baby monitor, Tate stepped off the last tread and turned into the enormous room on the ground floor. Jo had taken her on a tour of the five-story home earlier in the day, and every room was a delight. The huge entrance hall opened up to reception rooms and formal living rooms, a library and a smaller sunroom.
The second floor was Linc’s domain, comprising a master bedroom, a home office/library and Shaw’s bedroom and playroom.
She was on the third floor, in the middle bedroom, which was linked by an interleading door to Shaw’s old nursery.
Jo occupied the top floor but this ground-level floor was already Tate’s favorite. As a food lover, she was delighted by the state-of-the-art kitchen. She loved the way the kitchen flowed into an informal dining area and then into a relaxed living space filled with books and toys and...mess. Magazines and coloring books and handheld computer games. The mess reassured her that a family lived here.
Oh, she did love the house but... What was it about it that made her feel out of place? It wasn’t the luxury; she didn’t care about the expensive furnishings and the exclusive address. It was the permanence of The Den, Tate realized, that made her feel twitchy. Like Ballantyne’s store on Fifth Avenue, their flagship store, it was an institution. It screamed tradition, solidity...everything she, the ultimate rolling stone, was not.