Scandal: His Majesty's Love-Child. Annie West

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      Ridiculous. His leaving was what she wanted. She mustered a cool, professional smile. “How long will you be staying in town?”

      Connor tucked his hands in the front pockets of his jeans and rocked on his heels. “Well, now. That question implies I’m only visiting.”

      Nora stiffened, her heart hammering wildly, the blood humming in her ears. “What do you mean?” she asked as casually as she could manage. “Aren’t you just passing through?” She almost shrank back under the burning challenge in his eyes.

      His tone, though, was chillingly calm. “No. I’ve come back to stay.”

      The humming became a roar. He was staying.

      The door to the shop slammed.

      A tall slender girl, poised on the edge of her teens, rushed outside. “Hey, Mom! Do you know where my jersey is? I’ve looked everywhere.” Close behind her were Eve and Christina, both looking anxious.

      Nora’s gaze locked with Connor’s. “Have you tried the laundry room? It’s folded on top of the dryer.”

      Her daughter threw her arms around Nora’s neck and gave her a quick peck. “Mom, you’re the best.” Turning, she noticed Connor and immediately trotted out her practiced smile, designed to slay the male population. “Hi, I’m Abby.”

      Nora saw the stunned but puzzled look in Connor’s eyes as he shook the proffered hand. Relief flowed through her. Her sisters gripped her arms, keeping her from sagging.

      He didn’t know.

      He had not known.

      Standing before Connor was Nora, a girl again. But not Nora.

      Her daughter. He could barely form the word mentally. The girl was the spitting image of her mother, all coltish long limbs. Connor blinked and took a closer look at Abby. No. There were some physical differences. Abby’s black hair was wavy; a hint of a dimple winked at the right corner of her mouth when she smiled; her eyes were the blue of a tropic sky, not the wintry gray of her mother’s.

      Did she have her father’s eyes? Jealousy sliced through Connor. Nora had a child by another man. During all those long Florida nights, filled with restive dreams of Nora, he’d never once envisioned her as a mother.

      Weary from fending off all the emotional punches he’d sustained in the space of thirty minutes, Connor rotated his shoulders. It wasn’t the first time he’d had to cut his losses and move on, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. The memory of the special gift Nora had given him was only that—a memory.

      Connor realized Abby was studying him with the same intense concentration that her mother displayed, right down to the identical furrowing of dark brows. Despite himself, he smiled. The girl’s responding grin yanked loose one of the knots in his stomach.

      “I’m Connor Devlin. I knew your mother when she looked just like you.” He waited a beat. Yep, here came the trademark McCall rolling of eyes. No one else had ever been able to do it with the same expressiveness as Nora. “And she was the prettiest girl in her class,” he smoothly continued. “So were your aunts. All major babes. Boys stumbled over themselves to catch sight of a McCall in the hallway.”

      Abby turned and looked incredulously at the woman standing behind her. “My mother? A babe?”

      Grimacing, Nora stepped away from her sisters and ran a hand over her daughter’s cheek. “Connor, hush. You’ll spoil my daughter’s image of me as a proper old woman.”

      He looked at Nora’s open jacket, revealing her subtle curves. If she was old, then someone needed to put him out of his misery right then and there. The sudden need to feel the cool silk of Nora’s shirt against his chest before he explored the warm flesh beneath left him on edge. He’d thought his need for Nora had died years ago, yet the slow heat in his groin had him shifting his stance.

      “Oh, Mom!” Abby straightened, all teenage righteous indignation. “Come on!”

      Eve’s mouth curled. “Babes, huh?”

      Connor stepped forward and pulled on one of Eve’s curls. “Babes then, babes now.” Eve flushed and jerked her head away. He winked, and Eve’s jaw dropped.

      Pleased, Connor moved to Christina and lightly pressed her hand. “Good to see you, Christie.” His reward was a lightening of the haunted shadows in her eyes.

      He next tugged Abby’s ponytail. “Nice to meet you.” Warmth unfurled in him when she smiled.

      Connor then stood before Nora and took her injured hand. A test, for old time’s sake. Just a harmless test. When he turned it over and kissed the pulse at her wrist, the soft flesh jolted. Hot triumph burned through him—she still reacted to his touch.

      Unfortunately his body reacted in kind.

      Stepping back, he nodded. “Ladies, it’s been a pleasure.” He turned and strolled down the sidewalk.

      He had reached the next line of stores when Nora called out, “You weren’t serious about staying here permanently, were you?”

      His step almost faltered. Everyone’s anxiousness to see him gone, especially Nora’s, angered him. He should set the record straight.

      He looked over his shoulder. Did he imagine the flicker of panic in her eyes? He still felt contrary enough to let the half-truth stand—for now. “Very serious.”

      He reached his pride-and-joy, a gleaming Harley-Davidson Fat Boy motorcycle, and straddled it. As he cinched on his helmet, he delivered his parting shot. “I’ll be seeing you around.”

      Nora gaped.

      After a careless salute, Connor revved the bike’s engine and roared off down the road. Next up, his meeting with the devil.

      Chapter Two

      The old church hunkered on the windswept hill at the west end of Maple Street. A third-generation building, it stood on the foundation of its predecessors. When the first two structures had succumbed to fire, no one had dared to move the location of the First Community Church of Arcadia Heights.

      No minister had guarded the First Community Church tradition more zealously than its current minister: the town’s first female pastor.

      The first thing that struck Connor as he sat on his motorcycle in front of the church was how little it had changed. Its clapboard still glared pristine white under the late-morning sun. Its steeple was a stark pillar thrusting upward to pierce the blue plane of the autumn sky. The steeple could be seen for miles. When its bells clanged on Sunday morning, few could escape their imperious summons.

      Connor kicked down the bike stand and slung his helmet over the handlebar. He ran his fingers through his hair and tucked in his T-shirt. He walked along the bricked sidewalk. At the path’s split, rather than taking the steps to the church’s entrance, he veered to the right. At this time on Saturday, if the keeper of the faith maintained her ritual, she’d be polishing her Sunday sermon in the cottage’s study. His practiced eye noted the stern, cropped lines of the viburnum hedges along the perimeter of the church. He СКАЧАТЬ