Long-Lost Mom. Jill Shalvis

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      Laughter bubbled as a small foil-wrapped package fell into his hands from the envelope. The stick-it note attached read: “Hey, Buddy—thought you might appreciate my latest in the high-tech world of prophylactics.”

      Stone lifted the note off and gaped. The condom was plaid.

      Grinning, Stone tossed the thing in his drawer and forced himself to concentrate on his telephone conversation. “Should I ship to the individual schools, or do you want them all to go to you?” he asked, and then immediately shook his head. “No, I can’t deliver them in person. Sorry.”

      He refused to travel because it meant leaving Sara, something he couldn’t bring himself to do. Yes, they had Mrs. Potts, who would be happy to fill in for him. But Sara hated it when he left. She became weepy, difficult. Clingy.

      Stone considered himself pretty tough, but he caved in like putty when it came to Sara. Watching her regress because of his own actions tore at him. No doubt Sara was afraid of losing him, the only real solid presence in her life, something Stone understood all too well. He hated the thought of being separated from her for days at a time, hated what it did to her, so would do just about anything to ensure it didn’t happen. It hadn’t been difficult to come to an important business decision.

      If people wanted his educational products in their schools—and he had to believe they did, since they constantly clamored for him to hurry up and build more—then they had to agree to his terms.

      He didn’t travel.

      Which didn’t ease his ever-growing fear.

      What if something did happen to him? Auto accident, illness—it could be anything. And when he was gone, Sara would be all alone. He’d started to lie awake nights worrying about it, and he knew he had to come up with a plan. A will.

      He had to guarantee Sara’s safety and care.

      He’d put it off for too long now, simply because he hated to admit that he didn’t know what to do. Turning to his family was out of the question.

      Ten years ago, when Jenna had gotten pregnant, his family had surprised and shocked him by refusing to believe Sara was his child.

      Though Stone tried to tell them the truth, they turned a deaf ear. Jenna’s trouble, they’d said.

      Look at the scandal, they’d said.

      You’re a fool, they’d said.

      Stubbornly he’d stood by Jenna, knowing the truth.

      Sara was his child.

      Though Jenna had put on a tough front, she’d let Stone see past her wild ways. She’d shown the real Jenna to him, and Stone had loved that frightened, uncertain, self-conscious Jenna with all his heart.

      She’d been a virgin the night she and Stone had first made love, and though they’d used protection, somehow she’d gotten pregnant—with his child.

      Stone’s family refused to listen to reason. They were wealthy, disdainful of scandal of any kind, and though he’d once thought of them as loving giving people, the truth was, they were snobs. It’d been a huge shock and major disappointment to Stone, but they’d stood firm. If he kept the baby, he’d be disowned. Stone had loved Jenna, loved their unborn baby, but even if he hadn’t, he wanted to be responsible for his actions. He’d kept his baby, for he could do nothing else.

      And he ended up with no family, no Jenna, no money. Just Sara. Somehow they’d made it, and God, he didn’t want to remember those first months, how nightmarish they’d been, but he’d done it. They’d done it.

      He and Sara were a family now, and it rankled like hell that he, after all this time, needed his parents.

      They didn’t need him in return. They had Richard, and Stone knew his brother had never married. He’d never had any kids.

      Which meant Sara was the only grandchild his parents had.

      How could they ignore that?

      How could they ignore her?

      Stone continued to listen with half an ear as his client rambled on about the product he was buying, watching with detached interest out his window as two doors down from him, a moving truck pulled up.

      A new neighbor.

      The back of the truck opened, and two beefy men started to unload. An oak desk and chair. An elaborate computer system. An expensive-looking couch and matching chairs. A huge bulletin board, filing cabinet.

      And Cindy Beatty.

       Chapter 4

      Cindy Beatty?

      Stone set his feet back on the floor, made quick excuses to his client before hanging up and left his office.

      His heart thundered uncomfortably. Truth was, he’d not stopped thinking about this woman since they’d met, which was enough to make him wonder what the hell was wrong with him.

      Rarely, if ever, had he let one woman intrude so on his private life. Driven by a need to see if their crazy attraction was real, he walked toward her, his gaze soaking in the first sight of her in days.

      She looked the same—irresistible, and any hopes he’d held that he’d be able to turn and walk away were dashed.

      Her black jeans outlined her thoroughbred legs to perfection. Her lightweight sweater clung to her soft curves in a way that made him ache, and he came to the uncomfortable realization that he was hopelessly attracted to her.

      And he had no idea why.

      Never one to run from his fears, he continued toward her. He wanted to see her face, watch her lips curve into a shy smile. He wanted to know her innermost thoughts.

      But she was wearing those damn dark glasses, hiding herself from the world. Absorbed in watching the truck unload, she didn’t look up when he stopped next to her. “Hello,” he said. “What’s this?”

      She gave a startled little jump. “Oh!” With her hand to her chest, she offered him that tentative smile he’d wanted to see. “Uh...hi.”

      “Hi.” She could still do it, he discovered. Still make his heart skip a beat.

      “You scared me.”

      Vulnerable but determined, hesitant but brave. Such a contradiction, and yet it had been so damn long since he’d wanted to touch anyone quite as badly. Like a hormone-filled teen, he had to slip his hands in his pockets, or he would have actually reached for her. “What are you doing?”

      “I’m moving in.” Her smile brightened, and on the surface she appeared to be fine. Great. Mouthwateringly beautiful, actually.

      But only an idiot could miss the quivering tension in every line of her body, the delicate purple circles beneath her eyes makeup had not successfully covered. Truth was, tension shimmered off her in waves, and even as he looked СКАЧАТЬ