Busted. Although he felt compelled to defend himself. “I would be asking for help with the kid even if Mari wasn’t here.”
“Mariama Mandara?” Salvatore’s stunned voice reverberated. “You have a thing for a local princess?”
Funny how Rowan sometimes forgot about the princess part. He thought of her as a research scientist. A professional colleague—and sometimes adversary. But most of all, he thought of her as a desirable woman, someone he suddenly didn’t feel comfortable discussing with Salvatore. “Could we get back on topic here? Can you help me investigate the baby’s parents or not?”
“Of course I can handle that.” The Colonel’s tone returned to all business, story time over.
“Thank you, sir. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.” Regardless of his attraction to Mari, Rowan couldn’t lose sight of the fact that a defenseless child’s future hung in the balance here.
“Just send me photos, fingerprints, footprints and any other data you’ve picked up.”
“Roger. I know the drill.”
“And good luck with the princess,” Salvatore said, chuckling softly before he hung up.
Rowan drew in a deep breath of salty sea air before returning to the suite. He hated being confined. He missed his clinic, the wide-open spaces around it and the people he helped in a tangible way rather than by giving speeches.
Except once he returned home in a week to prepare for Christmas, his window of time with Mari would be done. Back to business.
He walked across the balcony and entered the door by the picture window, stepping into the sitting room. Mari didn’t look up, her focus totally on the baby.
Seeing Mari in an unguarded moment was rare. The woman kept major walls up, giving off a prickly air. Right now, she sat on the sofa with her arms cradling the baby—even her body seemed to wrap inward protectively around this child. Mari might think she knew nothing about children, but her instincts were good. He’d watched enough new moms in his career to identify the ones who would have trouble versus the ones who sensed the kid’s needs.
The tableau had a Madonna-and-child air. Maybe it was just the holidays messing with his head. If he wanted his half-baked plan to work, he needed to keep his head on straight and figure out how to get her on board with helping him.
“How’s Issa doing?”
Mari looked up quickly, as if startled. She held up the empty bottle. “All done with her feeding.”
“I’m surprised you’re still sticking around. Your fans must have given up by now. The coast will be clear back to your room.”
Saying that, he realized he should have mentioned those overzealous royal watchers to Salvatore. Perhaps some private security might be in order. There was a time he didn’t have the funds for things like that, back in the days when he was buried in the debt of school loans, before he’d gone into partnership with a computer-whiz classmate of his.
“Mari? Are you going back to your room?” he repeated.
“I still feel responsible for her.” Mari smoothed a finger along the baby’s chubby cheek. “And the police will want to speak to me. If I’m here, it will move things along faster.”
“You do realize the odds are low that her parents will be found tonight,” he said, laying the groundwork for getting her to stick around.
“Of course, I understand.” She thumbed aside a hint of milk in the corner of the infant’s mouth. “That doesn’t stop me from hoping she’ll have good news soon.”
“You sure seem like a natural with her. Earlier, you said you never babysat.”
She shrugged self-consciously. “I was always busy studying.”
“There were no children in your world at all?” He sat beside her, drawing in the scent of her flowery perfume. Curiosity consumed him, a desperate need to know exactly what flower she smelled like, what she preferred.
“My mother and father don’t have siblings. I’m the only child of only children.”
This was the closest to a real conversation they’d ever exchanged, talk that didn’t involve work or bickering. He couldn’t make a move on her, not with the baby right here in the room. But he could feel her relaxing around him. He wanted more of that, more of her, this exciting woman who kept him on his toes.
What would she do if he casually stretched his arm along the back of the sofa? Her eyes held his and instead of moving, he stayed stock-still, looking back at her, unwilling to risk breaking the connection—
The phone jangled harshly across the room.
Mari jolted. The baby squawked.
And Rowan smiled. This particular moment to get closer to Mari may have ended. But make no mistake, he wasn’t giving up. He finally had a chance to explore the tenacious desire that had been dogging him since he’d first seen her.
Anticipation ramped through him at the thought of persuading her to see this connection through to its natural—and satisfying—conclusion.
Pacing in front of the sitting room window, Mari cradled the baby against her shoulder as Rowan talked with the local police. Sure, the infant had seemed three months old when she’d looked at her, but holding her? Little Issa felt younger, more fragile.
Helpless.
So much about this evening didn’t add up. The child had been abandoned yet she seemed well cared for. Beyond her chubby arms and legs, she had neatly trimmed fingernails and toenails. Her clothes were simple, but clean. She smelled freshly bathed. Could she have been kidnapped as revenge on someone? Growing up, Mari had been constantly warned of the dangers of people who would try to hurt her to get back at her father, as well as people would use her to get close to her father. Trusting anyone had been all but impossible.
She shook off the paranoid thoughts and focused on the little life in her arms. Mari stroked the baby’s impossibly soft cheeks, tapped the dimple in her chin. Did she look like her mother or father? Was she missed? Round chocolate-brown eyes blinked up at her trustingly.
Her heart squeezed tight in her chest in a totally illogical way. She’d only just met the child, for heaven’s sake, and she ached to press a kiss to her forehead.
Mari glanced to the side to see if Rowan had observed her weak moment, but he was in the middle of finishing up his phone conversation with the police.
Did he practice looking so hot? Even in jeans, he owned the room. Her eyes were drawn to the breadth of his shoulders, the flex of muscles in his legs as he shuffled from foot to foot, his loafers expensive but well worn. He exuded power and wealth without waste or conspicuous consumption. How could he be such a good man and so annoying at the same time?
Rowan hung up the phone and turned, catching her studying him. He cocked an eyebrow. She forced herself to stare back innocently,
