The Daughter He Wanted. Kristina Knight

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СКАЧАТЬ shrugged, the motion defining his upper arms—as if they needed more definition—and her heart seemed to skip a beat. “I always figured if I were to have a conversation like this it would be because of a drunken night in Cabo, not because a fertility clinic marked my, uh, sample, as ‘anonymous donor’ rather than ‘IVF candidate.’” He gave a chuckle, and the deep sound sent another hot zing across her nerve endings, as if her ears were now an erogenous zone.

      She was going to need a lot more than tea. Focus on the tea, she ordered herself. But the way his muscular arms filled out his short sleeves was an even bigger distraction. She focused on a picture of Kaylie on the back wall, her daughter smiling at the camera with Mickey Mouse ears atop her head.

      That did it. Seeing her baby’s smiling face did more for Paige’s focus than the past fifteen minutes of ordering herself around had. Kaylie was important—not Paige’s hormones.

      “So, you weren’t a donor?” Once more she cursed herself for not reading the clinic file on Alex. The lawyer merely told her that the man whose donation she’d used would like to contact her. Over the next ten minutes, which seemed to take ten hours, Paige had worried he was contacting her to tell her he had cancer or AIDS or some congenital disease that might affect her precious girl.

      Learning he only wanted to meet her was almost a relief until the implications hit her. He only wanted to meet her so that he could be part of Kaylie’s life.

      “No, my wife and I were IVF candidates. It was after the first embryos were implanted that we learned she had cancer.” Sadness flickered in his eyes. “The embryos didn’t result in pregnancy and we decided everything, even the precautionary donations I made, should be destroyed.”

      Thank God, he had a wife. Thank God she hadn’t made a move on him. Wait, a wife. And cancer. She sucked in a deep breath, ignoring the instinct pushing her to reach out to him.

      “I didn’t realize you were married.” There, her voice sounded normal.

      He smiled, but instead of crinkling his eyes, it left them bleak. “She died. Just over three years ago,” he said. Paige reached across the counter, brushing her hand across his and mentally castigating herself for the little snap of attraction at the contact. He was a widower, for crying out loud, and this was her kitchen, not the Low Bar. They were discussing the possibility of him creating a relationship with her daughter—not with her.

      And, damn it, why couldn’t she keep her hands to herself? This man was a stranger who would mess up the pretty, uncomplicated life she’d created. He didn’t need her pity and she certainly didn’t need to feel this overwhelming need to comfort him.

      She squeezed his hand. “I’m so sorry.” It was no wonder he’d come looking for her. No, for Kaylie. His wife died, then he learned his sperm was used and a child came of it. He was probably trying to recapture some of the joy he’d expected when he and his wife began IVF treatments.

      And she still didn’t want him to mess with her kid, but this wasn’t some frat guy who suddenly decided to see if he had any progeny. This was a man willing to go through IVF and who knew what else with his late wife so they could have a child.

      That was commitment.

      This time the clench in her belly was less attraction and more fear. How could she share her daughter with a virtual stranger? A stranger who was the antithesis of everything she had decided she wanted when she left home.

      “It was a long time ago,” he said, his deep brown eyes focused on her, as if he could see through the paint-splattered tee to the heart beating erratically beneath. Paige shifted, suddenly uncomfortable in her favorite tee.

      “What is it that you want from me? Us?”

      “Honestly, I don’t know. I couldn’t not try to find you, not after the clinic called.”

      Not what she wanted to hear. Or was it? If he didn’t know what he wanted, maybe this one meeting would be enough. Maybe her world didn’t have to change.

      “You work in the parks?”

      “Ranger, so most of my days are spent hiking. Making sure the streams aren’t overfished. That kind of thing.”

      “That explains the tan, then.” Paige’s eyes widened. “Not that I thought you were lazy or anything. I mean, you’re here in the middle of the afternoon but—” There was no way to recover. Alex laughed.

      “Not even my closest friends call my job a ‘job.’ And the best part of it is that I’m not stuck behind a desk and I rarely have to wear a suit.”

      “Both definite pluses, I suppose.” Paige laughed with him. Laughing got her through a lot of days, especially those when Kaylie was whiny or needed every second of attention Paige had. “I’m a teacher, so no suits, either. Although I regularly come home with paint or chalk all over me.”

      “What grade?”

      “Elementary school, art, actually. So I get to hang with the kids for an hour, do fun stuff and then send them back to homeroom.”

      “You don’t look old enough to be a teacher.” Was that appreciation in his gaze? He watched her for a moment and Paige forgot to breathe. Then, the look was gone and he was just a guy sitting in her kitchen. A gorgeous guy, but just a guy. He cocked his head to the side and a half smile spread across his face, stretching that tiny scar near his mouth until it almost disappeared. “From what I remember all my teachers, kindergarten on, wore orthopedic shoes, had gray hair and liked to smack at my hands with a ruler.”

      Nope, not just a guy. Alex Ryan was dangerous from the tips of his tawny hair to the soles of his booted feet. And all the muscled, tanned areas in between.

      “I assure you twenty-nine is old enough to be a teacher. For the record, you don’t look like those grumpy old guys in the Smokey the Bear hats, either.” He scrunched his eyes together, as if searching for something. Some kind of common ground, maybe. She would certainly like to find some.

      “I’m thirty-two. Born and raised in Park Hills.” He mentioned a town only a few miles from Bonne Terre. Paige had driven through it many times in her life. “I’m surprised we’ve never run into one another.”

      Paige wasn’t. Her parents had sent her to a private school near St. Louis when she was ten, telling her she deserved a better education than she would find in a small town. Then, at sixteen, they’d tired of her antics altogether and sent her to a Swiss boarding school known for discipline and year-round school. During the rare summer or winter breaks when she was allowed to come home, she made sure her parents knew she was there. Dating the wrong guys, ignoring curfews, whatever it took to make them notice her. But that wasn’t the conversation that would get them on more even footing.

      “My parents sent me to boarding school. I was rarely here as a teenager.” It wasn’t a lie, just an omission of all the facts that might leave Alex with a bad impression of her. Paige reached for another glass. “Are you sure you don’t want tea? A soda?”

      “Water?”

      Paige nodded and filled the glass with ice and water, adding a slice of lemon at the last moment. Alex plucked the lemon from the glass and sucked it between his full lips, drawing out the juice. Her belly clenched at the action and Paige swallowed hard.

      He sat up a little straighter and dropped the wedge back into his glass. “Sorry. СКАЧАТЬ