Secret Baby Santos. Barbara McCauley

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СКАЧАТЬ of all the people in the world to interview, fate had given her Nick Santos, the man who’d rescued her from Roger Gerckee when she was thirteen years old. She remembered every wonderful, glorious moment of that day.

      She’d been eating lunch alone, as she always did, in the back of the lunch area. Roger had singled her out that day and had been taunting her about her braces, big glasses and curly red hair. She’d managed to ignore him until he snatched her sandwich and threw it in the trash can, but then she hadn’t been able to stop the tears of humiliation and anger.

      Like a knight on a white horse, Nick Santos suddenly appeared. Vividly she could still remember the fury in Nick’s dark eyes, hear the deadly calm in his voice, when he’d told Roger that he shouldn’t be wasting food like that, then dumped the bully in the same trash can. The entire school had cheered, and she had fallen hopelessly in love.

      She’d never told anyone her feelings for Nick. She would have been the laughingstock of the school if she had. She was different from the other girls. They’d always known what to say, what to wear, how to act. She’d simply never fit in, and falling for a boy like Nick was absurd. Nick was not only older, he was part of the notorious Bad-Boy Trio. A girl had to be fast to hang with Nick, she’d heard in whispered rumors, not to mention gorgeous and ready for a little danger.

      Maggie had been none of those things, and the most dangerous thing she’d ever done was sneak in late to algebra class while Mr. Greenbaum, the teacher, had his back turned. She’d resigned herself that bad-boy Nick Santos would never, in a million years, look twice at a girl like her.

      So it had just simply been more comfortable, and definitely safer, to immerse herself in books and school projects, and keep her fantasies about Nick to herself. In those fantasies, she was fast, she was gorgeous, a femme fatale that stole his breath and heart and he wanted only her. She was as bad as he was, and damn good at it. Those fantasies had carried her through high school and college.

      Until that day five years, six months ago, when she either had to interview him or lose her job.

      She’d watched the race from the stands that day, cheered when Nick won his third national championship, driven to his hotel, then sat in her car forty-five minutes before she’d been able to work up the nerve to go up to his suite and actually knock on the door.

      The celebration party of Nick’s win was in full swing when she stepped—no, when she was dragged—through the door of the elegant suite by a large dark-haired man sporting a ponytail. People packed the room, laughing and talking, hard-rock music pounded from a stereo system, and a blond man dressed in a Hawaiian shirt circled the room pouring champagne. The women were all beautiful, the men rugged and handsome, and Maggie had never felt more out of place in her entire life.

      She couldn’t do this. She still hadn’t seen Nick, and even if he’d seen her, he wouldn’t remember her, anyway. He had a different woman on his arm every time the tabloids took his picture. If she left right now, she wouldn’t have to suffer the humiliation of him having no idea who she was.

      She was already turning to leave, already formulating the lie she’d tell her boss, when the Hawaiian man blocked her way and shoved a flute of champagne at her.

      “You here from the hotel?” he asked.

      Dressed in her tailored navy blue shirt and blazer, she could understand why he’d think she was hotel staff. “Well, actually—”

      “It’s in the bedroom bathroom. I thought someone should look at it, but you don’t need to send anyone to fix it until tomorrow.”

      She tried to explain she wasn’t with the hotel, but the noise level had risen considerably when two women grabbed Nick and started to dance with him, and the man leading her toward the bedroom couldn’t hear her explanation.

      She stumbled at the sight of him dancing with the women. Well, he wasn’t exactly dancing, he was sort of watching more than anything. Her heart pounded furiously. He was as handsome as ever, his hair as thick and dark as she remembered, his smile just as dazzling. She couldn’t find her voice when Hawaiian Man nudged her into the bedroom, then took off.

      Grateful for the quiet, Maggie slipped into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. She stared at the champagne in her hand, held her breath and took a big gulp. The bubbles lingered in her throat, tickling, and though she never drank much, she realized she liked the taste. She also liked the sudden shot of confidence buzzing through her.

      Setting her cotton workbag on the bathroom counter, she recovered her handheld tape recorder, turned it on and cleared her throat. “Testing, testing,” she spoke into the recorder, cleared her throat and said quietly, “Cottleston, Cottleston, Cottleston Pie, a fly can’t bird, but a bird can fly.” She listened to the recording, then flipped it off again and closed her eyes as she took another drink of champagne.

      When she opened her eyes again, she looked into the bathroom mirror and stared at herself. She could have at least put some lipstick on, tried to do something with her wild hair. She’d just never known what to do when it came to cosmetics and hairstyles. Or maybe it had just never mattered to her. Suddenly it seemed to matter very much.

      But there was nothing that could be done about it now. With a sigh, she removed her glasses and turned the faucet on, intending to splash cold water on her face. A stream of water sprayed up at her, drenching the front of her jacket. Gasping, she fumbled with the faucet handle and shut off the water. Looks like she found out what Hawaiian Man had wanted her to look at.

      Groaning, she removed her jacket and slipped it into her bag with her glasses, then mopped up the water on the counter and floor with a hand towel. This cinched it for her. She was leaving.

      She downed the remaining champagne, drew in a deep breath and slipped out of the bathroom.

      Someone had closed the bedroom door to the outside parlor and the bedroom was cloaked in darkness. Maggie had no idea where the light switch was, so she felt her way across the large bedroom. The corner couch, a desk chair, the edge of the king-size bed.

      A man’s chest.

      Startled, she stumbled back onto the bed with a strangled cry.

      “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” He sat down beside her on the bed. “I thought maybe you were in here.”

      It was Nick! Maggie could barely breathe. He’d actually seen her? And recognized her? His thigh nudged hers and her pulse turned erratic as a New York taxi driver.

      “You did?” Because she couldn’t draw air into her lungs, her words had a soft, breathless quality to them.

      He slipped an arm behind her. “I heard you wanted to see me.”

      “Well, I...ah, yes, actually.” How clever she was. How professional. Sophisticated, she thought with disgust.

      “I don’t want to keep you from your party,” she said, reaching for her bag that had spilled over somewhere on the floor. Why hadn’t he turned the light on? And why didn’t she suggest that he do so now?

      Because she liked it, she realized. Sitting on a bed in the dark with Nick, with champagne buzzing in her head and the masculine scent of his aftershave deep in her lungs.

      “They moved the party to the suite across the hall. There’s a football game on and that TV is bigger.”

      “Well,” she said, her voice strained, СКАЧАТЬ