Hot & Bothered. Susan Andersen

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СКАЧАТЬ through sheer physical intensity. “When he was little, he was always running up to Father saying ‘Watch this! Watch this!’ All he ever wanted was the tiniest bit of his daddy’s attention, and his expulsions were just a continuation of the same. They were a way to get Father to pay him a little regard, if only in a negative way.”

      “Tell me who his friends are.”

      Victoria sat back. “That’s one of those good news/bad news things,” she said. “He has a habit of falling in with the malcontents, which as you can probably imagine contributes considerably to his problems. The good news is, he didn’t do that this time. Since there were only a few months remaining in the semester when he was bounced from his last school, Father decided to enroll him locally to finish out the year. Jared joined a baseball team, discovered he really liked the sport, and actually met a couple of nice kids on the team. The bad news, though, is that whenever he told me anything about them, he only referred to them as Dan and Dave.”

      “That’s okay, just give me the name of the school.” He’d contact the coach and go from there.

      She told him, and he was keying the information into her file when the office door opened once again. Brows furrowing, he glanced up. Now what?

      A little girl with a long, wild, tangle of baby-fine brown hair that was held off her face by sparkling butterfly barrettes stood in the doorway. Casting him an intrigued glance, she ran over to Victoria. “Hullo, Mummy,” she said in a clear British accent, leaning into her. “Nanny Helen told me a ’tective was here to find Uncle Jared.”

      Mummy? John felt his jaw drop as he watched Victoria wrap an arm around the little girl and hug her close. She was a mother?

      “Yes, that’s true,” Victoria said. “So you really should run along, sweetie, and I’ll come see you just as soon as we’re finished.”

      That “something” he’d heard earlier was back in her voice and he narrowed his eyes on Victoria. What the hell was it? Alarm? Wariness? He couldn’t quite pin it down.

      “But, Mummy, I want to say hello.”

      There was an instant of dead silence. Then Victoria succumbed to her manners. “Very well. Sweetheart, this is Mr. Miglionni. He’s the private detective Nanny Helen was telling you about. John, this is my daughter, Esme.”

      His experience with little girls—or any kids her age, for that matter—was nil. But what the hell, a female was a female and John bestowed his warmest smile upon the little girl. “Nice to meet you, Esme. Love your butterflies.”

      Her little hand went up to touch one of her barrettes in an ageless feminine gesture. “Thank you. My mummy bought them at Harrods.” A pleased smile curved her rosebud mouth and she stared at him with big eyes as dark as his own.

      His stomach began to churn as a sudden suspicion splintered through him. Holy shit. Oh, holy, fuckin’ shit. It couldn’t be. Could it?

      Hell, no. They’d used protection.

      Which any fool knows is never one hundred percent fail-safe. He took a deep breath and got an iron grip on his emotions. “Harrods, huh? That’s a department store in London, right?”

      “Uh-huh.”

      “You look like you’re nearly grown up. Got your driver’s license yet?”

      She giggled. “No, silly. I’m only five and a quarter years old.”

      “Ah. I guess that is a little young.” The hot roil in his gut had turned to ice. He might not be the world’s greatest mathematician, but he could sure as hell add two plus two and arrive at the right answer. Especially when you factored in the kid’s eyes. Although it took every ounce of his self-control, he managed to keep the easy smile plastered on his kisser until the little girl skipped out of the room. But it dropped the instant the door closed behind her, and he swung to pin Victoria in place with furious eyes.

      “You’ve got some explaining to do, lady.”

      CHAPTER THREE

      DAMN! VICTORIA’S HEART pounded in her chest, and to her disgust every last drop of moisture in her mouth had turned to dust. Damn, damn, damn! She’d feared this exact situation ever since discovering her private investigator’s identity, and for a moment all she could do was stare at Rocket while a pool of churning acid tried to eat a hole in her stomach. But drawing on a lifetime of displaying composure even when it was the last thing she felt, she sucked in a quiet breath and leveled a gaze on him. “For what exactly do you believe I owe you an explanation?”

      “Don’t pull that ice princess crap on me, Tori. You know damn well what this is about.” He took a step that left him towering over her and Victoria swallowed dryly at the banked rage she saw burning in his eyes. “Esme. I want to know who that little girl belongs to and I want to know now.”

      “Me.” A healthy surge of anger roared through her and her back snapped straighter than a yardstick even as her heart settled down to a more manageable tempo. Tilting her chin up at him, she met his furious gaze head-on. “Esme belongs to me. She’s my daughter.”

      “And mine,” he snarled. “A not-so-minor little detail I never would have known about if I hadn’t come here today.”

      She might have categorically denied his parentage if she’d just had a moment to think things through. After all, they’d religiously used condoms that week. But over the course of the current past two weeks, her father had been murdered, her brother had disappeared and she’d packed up and moved everything she owned from one side of the world to the other. Add to that the father of her child dropping into her life from out of the blue and her mind had turned to chop suey. Besides, what was the point? She had a feeling he knew that her fling with him had been unusual enough. She’d sustained too many shocks and was worn to a nub—she simply didn’t have the wherewithal to pull off the pretense that she’d gone straight from his bed to someone else’s.

      Still, his gall made her gape and she had to snap her sagging jaw shut. “You’ll have to excuse me, Rocket, or John, or whatever you’re calling yourself these days, if I find your self-righteousness just a little hard to swallow. How do you suggest I should have informed you—sent a letter to the U.S. Marine Corps addressed to Rocket, last name unknown? And tell me, during the two months it took me to see beyond the fact we’d used protection to realize my flu-that-wouldn’t-go-away was actually the first stages of pregnancy, where were you? Sleeping with other women you knew only by their first names? Regaling your buddies with all the details of our time together?”

      “No. Dammit, Tori, I never said a word to anyone.”

      Ignoring the little surge of satisfaction she got from hearing him deny the charge, she clung grimly to her indignation. “Why not—that was your usual MO, wasn’t it? The night we met, one of your buddies made a point of warning me you liked to kiss and tell. That you were real big on sharing the particulars with your friends, right down to the last moan.” And the thought of him sharing the specifics of their time together had chewed on her for months after she’d cut and run.

      “Oh, let me guess—Bantam, right? The same guy who tried everything in his arsenal to get you to leave with him instead?” Hands thrust in his pockets, Rocket stared at her for a moment before essaying a curt shrug. “Still, it’s true enough. That was my MO…until you.”

      “Uh-huh.” Skepticism permeated СКАЧАТЬ