The Billionaire's Secret Baby
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“You’re despicable.”
He chuckled. “I think it makes pretty good copy myself. Might even score a special on TV. You know how famous we Tarkentons are.”
“You think this is funny? You think you can come in here and destroy my daughter’s life?”
“I’m not here to destroy anything. I want to be a father to Katie.”
“Over my dead body.”
He eyed her over the rim of his mug, amused. “Meg, I’d forgotten your flair for the dramatic.”
“I am not being dramatic. Unlike you, I mean what I say.”
“Oh, I get it. The woman scorned. You believed me when I said I’d call you.”
Meg pointed at the door. “Get out. Get out of my house.”
He became deadly serious, zeroing in on her with an intensity of purpose she recalled all too well. “You’re right. This is neither the time nor place to make a grieving widow relive her past. Believe it or not, I thought long and hard about whether I should force myself on you today. But there may be another Allen waiting in the wings. You surprised me once, Meg. You won’t surprise me again. I want to know my daughter.”
“Do you have any idea what this will do to her?”
“I’m fully aware I don’t know Katie as well as you do. That’s why I need your help.”
“Oh, please. Do you think I’d actually help you? Do you really think I’d let someone like you anywhere near my daughter?”
“Our daughter, Meg,” he said gently.
“No! She’s mine, mine and Allen’s. He’s the only father she has ever known. I won’t let you take her away from me.”
“I don’t want to take her, not from you. You’re all she’s got. I know it and you know it. That’s your ace in the hole and you can bet it’s a winning card. The last thing I would do to her, or to you, too, is take her away from you.”
“I know you, Jack. Everybody does. You use people. I wouldn’t trust you no matter what you said.”
“That’s the beauty of my plan. You don’t have to trust me.”
“If that’s supposed to ease my mind, you’re sadly mistaken. In fact, I’m not interested in anything you have to say.” She headed for the door.
“You’d better be interested.” He blocked her way.
The quickness of his move flashed a memory of his body, lithe and naked, blocking her way. Except she’d liked it then. It meant he hadn’t wanted her to leave, and she’d allowed him to catch her and kiss her and carry her back to his bed. The memory heated her body as surely as it froze her soul. How could she? How could she have done that with him?
“Katie will be protected at all costs,” he said. “You can’t tell me that doesn’t matter to you.”
She backed away from him. “I will not let you use me to get to my daughter.”
“I’ll sweeten the deal. Out of the goodness of my heart, Allen retains his official title as father. You won’t have to break the news to Katie or anyone else that I’m her real father. It can be our little secret.”
Unable to tear herself away from what she saw in his eyes, half promise and half challenge, Meg felt the solidity of the kitchen counter against her spine. “I’m listening.”
“I can see that. But you know me, Meg. I need complete capitulation. I need to hear you tell me you’re ready and willing to hear me out.”
It was so like him to do this, to force her to bend to his will. Meg couldn’t believe she once let this man get close enough to burn her heart. She jerked a chair out from the kitchen table and, seating herself, wrapped her hands protectively around her coffee mug. “Well?”
He chuckled. “Before we start, how about a refill on the coffee? You look like you could use one.”
He refreshed their mugs, and she couldn’t help but notice his hands, long-fingered and well tanned, and the image rose of how dark they had once looked on her skin. Her most intimate skin.
She gulped the coffee, hoping to sear some sense into herself. The steaming liquid burned her tongue, her throat, burned all the way down, and still the mere sight of his hands caused the warmth to spread, the warmth and wetness that kept her immobile and ashamed. How could this be happening? How could she be physically attracted to this morally bankrupt man?
He took the chair opposite her and reached for her hand. She refused to give it, keeping stubborn hold of her mug.
He peeled her fingers away one by one, and she let him, God help her, she let him, for more memories sprang to life, memories of Allen doing the exact same thing once, the day she was at her most desperate, the day he asked her to marry him.
Except Allen’s hands had been stubby, tentative and damp. And she hadn’t been gripping her mug as much as playing with it, using it as ballast, as a focal point, as she spilled her tale of woe to the boy she once knew as Al-the-pal Betz.
And the overeager and earnest sheen of Allen’s eyes. would have been lost on Jack, lost in the darkness of his soul. For he was after her daughter, claiming to care, claiming to know. As he once claimed her.
Allen had not been able to break that claim, despite his kind and generous heart. The only thing Allen claimed was that he wanted to help her, if only she would let him. He claimed she didn’t have to confess the shame of her pregnancy or name the baby’s father to another living soul. He would be the baby’s father. He would raise it as his own. Say yes to his proposal, he told her, and she would make him the happiest of men. That’s when Allen got down on his knees and begged her to marry him.
Jack Tarkenton wasn’t one to beg, however. He had gone on his knees before her, though, the first time they made love. He’d kissed her and stripped her and knelt at her feet, and she was haunted by needs she never knew she had. Jack satisfied every one of them, leaving her lost to Allen, lost to any other man.
Even now, Jack dared her with his wicked smile, the smile that once enticed her to be wicked, too, and guilt billowed inside her. Guilt chased by a terrible drenching of shame.