The Vicar's Daughter. Betty Neels

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СКАЧАТЬ to find out. “My memory can be jogged,” he told her.

      “I—I still don’t understand,” she stammered.

      “Jog my memory,” he challenged her, as he cupped her shoulders and pulled her closer.

      Her eyes widened even more as she stared up at him. “Me? You want me to jog your memory?” she asked. “How?”

      “Kiss me.” But he didn’t wait for her to take his bait; he reeled her in first. He tipped up her chin and lowered his mouth to hers.

      Instead of jogging his memory, the kiss proved to him that he had never kissed her before—because it was all new. The silkiness of her lips, the warmth and sweetness of her breath as she gasped. He took advantage of that gasp to deepen the kiss, to slide his tongue inside her mouth.

      His pulse raced and his head grew light again, but he didn’t blame the concussion for that reaction. He blamed her. Because now she was kissing him back, her tongue sliding over his, her lips pressing against his. If her goal was just to distract him, she was doing a damn good job.

      He skimmed his hands up her face to that frustrating knot on top of her head. And he tugged her hair free so that it tumbled down around her shoulders. When he had first seen her, he must have still been half-blind from the concussion. Because there was no other explanation for how he hadn’t realized how beautiful she was....

      She was every bit as beautiful—maybe even more beautiful—than any other woman he had ever dated. But he’d never dated her before.

      It wasn’t just the first kiss with her—it felt bigger than that. More monumental. It was as if the earth was shaking beneath his feet.

      Or at least the building. The structure rumbled, and the windows rattled. There were no earthquakes in Michigan—so it had to be another explosion.

      Someone had set a bomb inside the hospital? Someone was so desperate to kill him that they were willing to risk the lives of more innocent people?

      Of this woman? And her baby?

      Smoke alarms blared, but the warning was too late. The bomb had already gone off. How many people had been hurt? And would more people be harmed trying to escape the hospital?

      The commotion in the hall was so loud that it affected his throbbing head. Voices rose in fear and confusion. Footsteps pounded as if people stampeded in their panic. He glanced toward the window that had rattled. Flames reflected back from the glass. Was it too late to escape?

      Or were they already trapped?

       Chapter Three

      The flames rose from the burning scraps of metal...of what used to be Sharon’s car. She remembered where she’d parked it—between the Mini Cooper that had rolled over from the force of the blast and the SUV that was already blackened from the heat of the explosion.

      She gasped as she peered out the window around Parker’s broad shoulder. Her heart pounded erratically. Well, even more erratically than it had when he’d kissed her. She couldn’t think about that kiss right now.

      She could think only about what could have happened to Ethan and her if they had been in that car. She pressed her hand over her mouth to hold back a scream of terror. The little boy was so smart and so sweet and affectionate. His life had barely begun; it could not be lost now.

      She had already determined that she would do whatever was necessary to keep him safe. But bringing him here had been a mistake. She turned away from the window and headed toward the hall.

      But Parker caught her arm, stopping her. “Where do you think you’re going?”

      “I need to find Ethan,” she said.

      She needed to hold him, to make certain that the baby boy was all right. Loud noises terrified him; so did too many people, especially strangers. It was a miracle that he’d gone so willingly into Mrs. Payne’s arms, but that had been before the explosion and the chaos.

      “I need to be with—”

      “Here he is,” Mrs. Payne said as she walked back into the room with her grandson.

      Just as Sharon had feared, he was crying. Tears streamed down his chubby cheeks. His screams must have escalated to hysteria because all he was doing now was gasping for shaky breaths.

      She reached for him, and he nearly leaped into her arms, snuggling into her neck. His hands clutched her hair, pulling it around him. And she didn’t even care. Her eyes stung with tears at the thought of losing him. She loved this little boy so much; she couldn’t love him any more if he was actually hers.

      * * *

      “IT WAS HERS.” Logan confirmed what Parker had already suspected when he’d realized that the explosion had been a car in the parking lot blowing up.

      At least it hadn’t been inside the hospital or close enough to the building to cause any structural damage. The windows had rattled and the floor had shaken, and the smoke from the parking lot had set off some of the alarms.

      Logan added, “And the kid is yours.”

      Stunned, Parker tensed and paused with his hand on his gun. That baby was his? But that made no sense. Unless...

      Like a hostage at a bank holdup, Logan lifted his arms. “Don’t shoot me. I’m just the messenger.”

      Parker slid his gun into the holster he had strapped under his arm. God, it felt good to be out of that hospital gown. And in a few minutes, he would be out of the hospital, too. After the explosion in the parking lot and all the media trying to get past security, he doubted that the doctor would protest his leaving early.

      “The tests came back already?” he asked as he tried to slow the rapid beat of his heart.

      It had been just as she’d said—just a simple cheek swab. From the baby. And him. And Logan and Cooper.

      “Mom sweet-talked someone in the lab into rushing the results,” Logan replied.

      Only a couple of hours had passed since the car exploded. The paternity test had been taken before the police arrived to talk to them. An officer had taken Sharon into a separate room, no doubt to question why and when someone would have put a bomb on her car. The police would have run the registration or vehicle number, if nothing had been left of the plate, to find out who owned it.

      Parker had wanted to hear Sharon’s answers, too. But those weren’t the only answers he wanted from Sharon Wells.

      “So who is she?” Logan asked.

      “I have no idea,” he replied honestly.

      Logan gestured around the hospital room. “It’s just you and me, Park. Tell me the truth.”

      “I have no idea,” he repeated.

      “So she was just a one-night stand?”

      His temper rising, Parker grabbed the front of his twin’s shirt. “She’s not a one-night stand.” Not his, and he doubted, СКАЧАТЬ