“I’m A Tarkenton, Meg. I Get Away With Everything.” Letter to Reader Title Page About the Author Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Copyright

“I’m A Tarkenton, Meg. I Get Away With Everything.”

“You won’t get away with Katie. I’ll take her to the ends of the earth to keep her away from you, Jack.”

“I’m one of the privileged few who has the resources to follow you there. You won’t be able to hide her, not from me. I have too much money and too many connections. And when I do find her, I’ll use your refusal to acknowledge me as her father against you, not only in a court of law, but in the court of public opinion.”

“You want to ruin her life by making this public? Is that it?”

“I’m her father. I am not going to go away. I laid out my proposal. You can either turn this into a public custody battle or marry me and keep Katie’s paternity private. Unlike you, I believe both her parents have Katie’s best interests at heart.”

Dear Reader,

This May we invite you to delve into six delicious new titles from Silhouette Desire!

We begin with the brand-new title you’ve been eagerly awaiting from the incomparable Ann Major. Love Me True, our May MAN OF THE MONTH, is a riveting reunion romance offering the high drama and glamour that are Ann’s hallmarks.

The enjoyment continues in FORTUNE’S CHILDREN THE BRIDES with The Groom’s Revenge by Susan Crosby. A young working woman is swept off her feet by a wealthy CEO who’s married her with more than love on his mind—he wants revenge on the father who never claimed her, Stuart Fortune. A “must read” for all you fans of Daphne Du Maurier’s Rebecca!

Barbara McMahon’s moving story The Cowboy and the Virgin portrays the awakening—both sensual and emotional—of an innocent young woman who falls for a ranching Romeo. But can she turn the tables and corral him? Beverly Barton’s emotional miniseries 3 BABIES FOR 3 BROTHERS concludes with Having His Baby. Experience the birth of a father as well as a child when a rugged rancher is transformed by the discovery of his secret baby—and the influence of her pretty mom. Then, in her exotic SONS OF THE DESERT title, The Solitary Sheikh, Alexandra Sellers depicts a hard-hearted sheikh who finds happiness with his daughters’ aristocratic tutor. And The Billionaire’s Secret Baby by Carol Devine is a compelling marriage-of-convenience story.

Now more than ever, Silhouette Desire offers you the most passionate, powerful and provocative of sensual romances. Make yourself merry this May with all six Desire novels—and buy another set for your mom or a close friend for Mother’s Day!

Enjoy!

Joan Marlow Golan

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire

Please address questions and book requests to

Silhouette Reader Service

U S - 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: PO. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

The Billionaire’s Secret Baby

Carol Devine

www.millsandboon.co.uk

About the Author

CAROL DEVINE lives in Colorado with her husband and three sons, including identical twins. When she’s not playing pickup games of basketball and hunting for lost Reeboks, she’s holed up in her office, dreaming of romantic heroes.

Her writing has won numerous awards, including the Romance Writers of America’s 1992 Golden Heart for Short Contemporary Series Romance. She has also served as president of Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers.

One

Meg Masterson Betz couldn’t believe it. The father of her child had dared come to her husband’s funeral.

Jack Tarkenton edged the crowd of mourners, standing a little apart, larger than life, richer than rich, his signature mane of lion-colored hair stirring in the fall breeze. Powerfully built and conservatively dressed, he looked so much like his late, great father, Meg recognized him instantly.

She wasn’t the only one. Near the line of limousines parked along the cemetery road, the paparazzi and media types had mobilized and were madly taking pictures of the latest Tarkenton arrival.

Grateful for the black veil concealing her face, Meg made sure she had a firm grip on her daughter’s hand. Katie was behaving extremely well for a four-year-old, but the last thing she needed was a dozen cameras in her face.

Unfortunately, that was the price of being related to the famous Tarkenton family, even if only by marriage. Like the Kennedys, the Tarkentons attracted attention wherever they went. And Jack, as his late father’s only son, namesake and heir apparent, was the most famous Tarkenton of them all.

Double-breasted Armani boxed his shoulders with the clean and proper lines of the classiest in charcoal wool suits. A pristine shirt and maroon tie echoed this concession to convention.

Really, Meg thought. The briefest in beach attire was more his thing. Apparently, Jack wasn’t slumming today.

A pair of sunglasses cut the bronzed boldness of his well-known face in two. That disturbed her, to have him this close and not be able to see his eyes. The uncompromising set of his jaw, however, made her remember the aggressive self-assurance behind the sunglasses all too well.

Why was he here? He hadn’t known Allen. He certainly didn’t know her. Not really. The only connection she had to John B. Tarkenton Jr. was her brother’s marriage to his sister. That marriage and her child.

His child.

Meg flinched at the thought. Sometimes she hated her penchant for honesty. It cut like a knife to remember how stupid she had been. When Allen offered to marry her and raise the child as his own, holding back the truth was a discipline she had to constantly work at to maintain. Having a kind and decent husband like Allen helped, but Katie was the one who made her strong. That’s what came from having children.

You have a God-given chance to make things right, even when you started wrong.

Meg glanced at her daughter’s dark head. The coffee-brown curls matched her own. Katie’s brown eyes matched her father’s, however, and that was the one truth Meg would carry to her grave as Allen had carried it to his. Steadfast and loyal, he’d been Katie’s father in every way that mattered. Thanks to him, Jack Tarkenton would never know he had even fathered a child. He wasn’t going to get a chance to corrupt her little girl.

Shuddering, Meg turned her attention to the minister as he delivered the final prayer. By prearranged signal, he spread his arms wide and spoke to the entire assemblage. “And now the widow and daughter of Allen Betz would like a private moment. If you would kindly exit to the left, the burial site will be opened to the public in a few minutes’ time.”

Meg squeezed Katie’s hand. “You ready, sweetie? It’s time.”

Katie looked up with her big brown eyes and nodded, her long, dark curls glinting in the late-morning sun. Such a pretty child. Such a solemn child. Allen’s death had hit her hard.

Meg led the way past the mourners spilling out onto the lawn and halted at the casket. Kneeling, she placed her hand on the polished wood surface and bowed her head. Katie imitated every move.

The sight of the small hand on the polished wood brought a lump to Meg’s throat. All her instincts, maternal and otherwise, told her this was the right thing to do. Katie needed to grieve. But that was poor comfort to a mother’s desire to shield her child’s heart.

Meg thought of Allen, gentle Allen, and her sorrow twisted into a strange type of guilt. In the three days since the car accident that took his life, she had yet to shed a tear. All she knew was that she should have loved him better. She should have loved him more.

The click and whir of cameras—present only because of the Tarkentons—made her grief feel less than real, like it was put on for show. Meg put a shielding arm around Katie and pulled her close. Was nothing sacred anymore? The last thing either of them needed was to be the subject of prying eyes.

Upset with the photographers, with Jack, with herself, Meg helped Katie to her feet. Together they walked to the minister, and Meg thanked him for the service. Katie echoed the sentiment by silently offering to shake the elderly man’s hand.

“God bless and keep you, child,” he said.

Katie’s newest aunt, Sarah Masterson, came forward next. Despite her maternity dress and the swell of her belly, she held out her arms, her heartfelt hug steadying Meg. Sarah then knelt and offered her arms to Katie.

Katie walked right into them, taking to her new aunt like a fish to water, much as her Uncle Zach had done. Meg accepted his hug with gratitude, finding solace in his down-to-earth rancher’s strength. “You okay?” he asked, placing his black cowboy hat on his head.

Meg nodded to relieve the worry in his sky blue eyes. “Thank you for flying all the way to New Jersey from Wyoming, Zach. It means more than I can say. And to have Sarah here, too. I’ve never seen Katie accept anybody so readily.”

“Sarah and I thought we’d take Katie off your hands for a while. There’s a duck pond over yonder, in the middle of the cemetery grounds.”

“Yes, by all means. Please make sure she stays away from the photographers.”

“Will do.” He touched the brim of his hat, then knelt next to his wife and tweaked Katie’s nose. “Hey, bright eyes. Your Aunt Sarah and I are going to check out the ducks. Want to come?”

Katie nodded with her usual gravity. Zach scooped her up, setting her burgundy dress swinging like a bell. Meg mouthed a thank-you to Sarah and the three of them set off together, creating a picture of what was to come in a few months’ time when Zach and Sarah had a child of their own.

Allen had wanted a child of his own, too.

Meg hid her distress at the thought and turned to greet the other mourners. She pressed their hands in sincerity, moved to speak personally to the many who had come. She even managed a smile when her oldest brother, Bram, slipped a strong and supportive arm around her waist. “You holding up?”

“I’m fine.”

“Now, Meg, tell the truth.” Amanda, Bram’s blond wife, touched Meg’s hand. “This is your big brother, remember? The Master of all Mastersons. You can tell him anything.”

Hesitating, Meg sighed. “The truth is, I am a little worn. But that’s to be expected, isn’t it?”

Amanda murmured in sympathy and pressed Meg’s hand. The circle of family widened as Meg was embraced by her other brother, Joe, and her sister, Elizabeth. Last came her mother, Mary Masterson, who pressed fresh tissues into Meg’s hands. “Can I do anything else for you, honey?”

“You’re doing it, Mama.” Meg reached to bring the entire family into a shared embrace. “You’re all doing it.”

Elizabeth smiled through her freely flowing tears. “Hey, I’m the big sister here. I’m the one who is supposed to be bucking you up.”

“But you are.” Meg gave Elizabeth a squeeze. But Meg’s gaze inevitably strayed to Katie, safe with Sarah and Zach at the pond.

“Hard to believe our baby brother is going to be a father soon,” Bram commented.

“I know,” Meg replied, relieved at the change of subject. “I thought he would be the last to settle down. But once I met Sarah and saw how special she is, I began to understand.”

“I hear she’s been his saving grace.”

Meg startled at the distinctive, deep voice of Jack Tarkenton. To her dismay, he joined the family throng as though he belonged. To see him casually appraising her, sans sunglasses, caused Meg to shrink inside.

The personal nature of his comment startled everyone else as well. Even his sister Amanda appeared taken aback. “Jack, I didn’t realize you even knew who Sarah and Zach were.”

“It would be difficult to miss the newest member of the Masterson family. Zach ought to be congratulated on his good taste.”

“I wouldn’t congratulate him too much if I were you, Jack,” Bram warned. “He knows your reputation with the ladies.”

“Speaking of ladies...” Jack offered a handshake to Meg. “I wanted to express my sincere sympathy for your loss. I know it’s a cliché, but if there is anything I can do to help you or your daughter, please don’t hesitate to call.”

Aware of the clicking cameras, Meg steeled herself and took the hand. He pressed a card into her palm, a business card, of all things. As though he had a real business.

Meg knew she was supposed to politely nod and thank him. Instead, she crumpled the card in her fist and reached for Bram’s arm, leaning on his big build and brawn. “I think it’s time for Katie and I to go home.”

Jack Tarkenton was easy to avoid after that. The limousine was reserved for immediate family only. When he showed up at her house later that afternoon after she started receiving guests, Meg announced she and Katie needed to go upstairs and rest for a while. Even someone as callous as Jack Tarkenton couldn’t argue with that.

She figured wrong, however. He intercepted her at the base of the stairs. “When you’re free, I’d like a moment with you—alone.”

Speechless at his gall, she fled up the stairs with Katie in her arms. When Meg gained the landing, she stared down at him, letting her disapproval show. But he continued to follow her with those eyes, gleaming brown as the finest dark chocolate.

Katie’s eyes.

Hugging her daughter close, Meg hurried into Katie’s room and locked the door behind them. “It’s nap time, sweetheart.”

“But I don’t want to take a nap.”

“Of course you don’t,” Meg soothed, setting her down on the edge of her pink ruffled bed. “But we’ll change your clothes, anyway. You don’t want to get wrinkles all over your pretty dress.”

“It’s Daddy’s favorite.”

“I know.” Meg undid the buckles on Katie’s patent leather shoes and slipped them off. “I’m sure he was glad to see you wear it today.”

“Mommy, when can I go to heaven to see Daddy?”

Meg drew Katie’s dress off, feeling how hard this was going to be on both her and her daughter. “You miss him already, don’t you?”

She nodded, and her large eyes pooled with tears. “I want my daddy.”

“Oh, baby, I know.” Meg kissed the top of Katie’s head and helped her change into her pajamas. “I wish he was here, too.”

“You do?”

“Oh, yes. He was a wonderful daddy, a wonderful daddy to us both.”

“When can I see him?”

Meg gave her the plush toy rabbit she always slept with. and picked up Allen’s framed photograph on the nightstand. “Remember what I told you this morning? Daddy’s picture will stay right beside your bed. Then you can see him whenever you want.”

“Forever?”

“Forever.”

Meg helped Katie set the picture safely on the nightstand. Clutching her rabbit, she lay down and stared at Allen’s picture with such studious concentration, it broke Meg’s heart. “Mommy, can I have the light on? I want Daddy to see me.”

“I’ll leave the light on, and the light in the bathroom, too. If you get scared or need anything, you call me, okay?”

“Okay.” Katie opened her arms for a hug. “I love you, Mommy.”

“I love you, too, sweetheart. Daddy does, too.”

Meg tucked the covers around Katie and kissed her forehead. “Sleep tight.”

“Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

Exiting swiftly, Meg drew the door closed to the point where she could still hear any sounds in the room, if need be. Standing in the hall, she wiped her eyes and listened the way all mothers listened, to make sure her child was settling down.

How many times had she done this? How many times had she kissed Katie good-night? Hundreds of times. And how many times had she kissed Allen good-night?

Hardly ever.

“Is she asleep?”

Jumping, Meg spotted Jack Tarkenton’s broad-shouldered silhouette standing in the shadows at the end of the hall. “I need to talk to you,” he said, his voice hushed. “Now.”

She advanced on him, using her most forceful whisper. “I think I’ve made it abundantly clear that I have no desire whatsoever to talk with you.” She stabbed a finger at the stairs. “Please leave.”

“Don’t make this harder than it already is, Meg. I only want a few minutes of your time.”

“How dare you,” she whispered furiously. “How dare you come to my husband’s funeral. How dare you come to my house. How dare you come anywhere near me.”

“Katie’s mine, Meg. I know it and you know it, so stop the righteous-sounding speech and take me to someplace private where we can talk.”

Meg stared at him, seeing his coldness while feeling her own anger drain into the well of her deepest fear. No, this could not be happening. He could not have said—

“You heard me. I know I’m Katie’s father.”

“No,” she breathed. “You’re not.”

“I was there when she was conceived, remember?”

She pushed past him. “ ‘Remember’ is the last thing I want to do, especially with my husband barely cold in his grave. He’s Katie’s father. Not you.”

Jack caught her arm. “I’m warning you, Meg. There are plenty of people downstairs. We can do this in private or we can do this in public. It makes no difference to me.”

She wrenched her arm from him. “Get away from me.”

“Not until you hear me out.”

“No.” She ducked to make her voice heard on the level below. “Bram?”

“Yeah?”

“I need you upstairs.”

“I’ll be right there, Meg.”

Triumphant, she turned to find Jack leaning against the wall, hands slung in the trouser pockets of his impeccable suit. “Big brother doesn’t know about us, does he? If he knew, my sister would know, and she would have come straight to me. I wonder how Bram and Amanda will feel when the two of them find out precisely what we were doing on the sacred occasion of their wedding day.”

“Amanda’s your sister. You wouldn’t do that to her.”

“Try me.”

Meg heard Bram’s tread on the stairs. “Meg?”

“Here,” she called, wishing she could rip the smugness off Jack’s face. Or have Bram rip it off.

“Hey, Jack,” he greeted. “I didn’t know you were up here, too.” Bram turned to her. “Meg, what can I do for you?”

Jack’s challenging look of inquiry told Meg he wasn’t about to retrieve the gauntlet he’d thrown down. She checked her brother’s strong, familiar face. All she had to do was tell him the truth. He would forgive her. So would the rest of her family.

The truth shall set you free.

Except where Jack Tarkenton was involved. With his wealth and name, the only thing the truth would set free was a battalion of lawyers. She wasn’t ready to have that happen, not yet. Not unless it was the only way to protect Katie.

“I’m sorry, Bram,” she. said. “Jack heard me call and came up himself.”

“Katie just needed an extra good-night kiss,” Jack explained, straightening, rising to the occasion with impressive ease. “I’m not her uncle like you, Bram, but considering the circumstances, I thought it was a good sign that Katie was willing to accept one from me.”

Chills raced down Meg’s spine. She had forgotten how well he lied. She’d also forgotten how incredibly breathless she got when he flashed that celebrated smile of his.

Bram responded to it, too. “It’s good to see you here, Jack. It meant a lot to Amanda to have you at the burial service. Meg, too, I’m sure. The more a family comes together in times of crisis, the stronger it will be.”

Sickened by the irony in that little speech, Meg plunged down the stairs between them. What family? With Allen dead at the hands of a drunk driver, hers was destroyed. Now she had to deal with Jack Tarkenton. How in the world had he found out the truth? Other than to Allen, she had never breathed her secret to anyone.

Thankfully, the only mourners who lingered downstairs were members of her own family. Gathered on the backyard patio, they were enjoying the warmth of the dying sun while Bram and Amanda’s three-year-old son, J.J., played on the swing set.

Meg decided if she was going to have a showdown with Jack, the kitchen was the place to do it. The heart of her house was cozy and filled with the many small touches that made it her own. Herbs grew on the windowsill and copper-bottomed pots hung from a rack above the stove, matching the warm tones of terra cotta and eggnog. More important to Meg, the kitchen overlooked the backyard, within calling distance of her family.

At the approach of male voices, she hid her serious attack of nerves by starting a new pot of coffee and busily laying out fresh cookies on a plate. She addressed her brother when he and Jack entered. “Bram, would you let everyone know out back there’s more coffee on the way?”

“Sure. I wanted to check on Amanda and J.J., anyway.” Bram pecked her cheek and stole one of the cookies as he headed for the door. “Keep Meg company, will you, Jack?”

“What’s a brother-in-law for?”

The moment the door closed, Meg folded her arms and turned on him. “I want to know why you think you’re Katie’s father.”

“I don’t think—I know. I had you followed.”

“Followed! When?”

“After our passionate weekend,” he replied, helping himself to coffee. “All the women I sleep with have to pass muster, you see. I use the services of a private investigator, an extremely discreet one, I might add. Saves me from some nasty surprises. Like yours, for example.”

“Katie was not a nasty surprise.”

“Your marriage was.” He sipped from his mug, inspecting her with interest as he lounged against the counter, completely relaxed in his thousand dollar suit and hundred dollar tie.

Meg hid the tremor of her hands by wrapping them around her mug. “You must have heard about it. I asked Amanda to tell your side of the family.”

“She did, a week or so after the fact. Amanda also mentioned it wasn’t like you to be so secretive, Meg. All of a sudden you up and eloped, without one word to anybody. It created quite a stir, even in my family.”

“It shouldn’t have. Allen and I had known each other since childhood.”

“Yes, I understand he lived in the same neighborhood when you were kids. My investigator informed me, however, that the two of you lost touch with each other soon after you won that scholarship to the Sorbonne and moved away. Any truth to the rumor that good old Allen showed up on your doorstep at the precise moment you most needed a man to marry?”

“How can you say that? He was my husband. I loved him.”

“The question is, did you love him before you found out you were pregnant or after? My sources tell me he came into the picture after your positive pregnancy test. Several weeks after, in fact.”

He did know everything. Stunned, Meg braced herself against the kitchen counter. Through the window above the sink, she saw the tree Allen had planted in the backyard the day Katie was born. “What do you want?”

“Katie.”

Meg stared at him. “You must be out of your mind.”

“I don’t think a judge will think so, not in this day and age. Not when the rights of both biological parents are considered more or less equally. And since my daughter has been deliberately kept from me by her mother for almost five years, the judge may give my custody petition special consideration. Who knows what might happen?”

“If you wanted Katie so much, you should have come forward long before now.”

“And break up your little family? I’m much too noble for that. But now that Allen is gone...” Jack let the sentence hang, then smiled in cynical fashion. “Everybody in the country knows I lost my father at an early age. How can I allow my own flesh and blood to grow up without a father, too? What do you think, Meg? Will the tabloids buy it?”

“You’re despicable.”

He chuckled. “I think it makes pretty good copy myself. Might even score a special on TV. You know how famous we Tarkentons are.”

“You think this is funny? You think you can come in here and destroy my daughter’s life?”

“I’m not here to destroy anything. I want to be a father to Katie.”

“Over my dead body.”

He eyed her over the rim of his mug, amused. “Meg, I’d forgotten your flair for the dramatic.”

“I am not being dramatic. Unlike you, I mean what I say.”

“Oh, I get it. The woman scorned. You believed me when I said I’d call you.”

Meg pointed at the door. “Get out. Get out of my house.”

He became deadly serious, zeroing in on her with an intensity of purpose she recalled all too well. “You’re right. This is neither the time nor place to make a grieving widow relive her past. Believe it or not, I thought long and hard about whether I should force myself on you today. But there may be another Allen waiting in the wings. You surprised me once, Meg. You won’t surprise me again. I want to know my daughter.”

“Do you have any idea what this will do to her?”

“I’m fully aware I don’t know Katie as well as you do. That’s why I need your help.”

“Oh, please. Do you think I’d actually help you? Do you really think I’d let someone like you anywhere near my daughter?”

“Our daughter, Meg,” he said gently.

“No! She’s mine, mine and Allen’s. He’s the only father she has ever known. I won’t let you take her away from me.”

“I don’t want to take her, not from you. You’re all she’s got. I know it and you know it. That’s your ace in the hole and you can bet it’s a winning card. The last thing I would do to her, or to you, too, is take her away from you.”

“I know you, Jack. Everybody does. You use people. I wouldn’t trust you no matter what you said.”

“That’s the beauty of my plan. You don’t have to trust me.”

“If that’s supposed to ease my mind, you’re sadly mistaken. In fact, I’m not interested in anything you have to say.” She headed for the door.

“You’d better be interested.” He blocked her way.

The quickness of his move flashed a memory of his body, lithe and naked, blocking her way. Except she’d liked it then. It meant he hadn’t wanted her to leave, and she’d allowed him to catch her and kiss her and carry her back to his bed. The memory heated her body as surely as it froze her soul. How could she? How could she have done that with him?

“Katie will be protected at all costs,” he said. “You can’t tell me that doesn’t matter to you.”

She backed away from him. “I will not let you use me to get to my daughter.”

“I’ll sweeten the deal. Out of the goodness of my heart, Allen retains his official title as father. You won’t have to break the news to Katie or anyone else that I’m her real father. It can be our little secret.”

Unable to tear herself away from what she saw in his eyes, half promise and half challenge, Meg felt the solidity of the kitchen counter against her spine. “I’m listening.”

“I can see that. But you know me, Meg. I need complete capitulation. I need to hear you tell me you’re ready and willing to hear me out.”

It was so like him to do this, to force her to bend to his will. Meg couldn’t believe she once let this man get close enough to burn her heart. She jerked a chair out from the kitchen table and, seating herself, wrapped her hands protectively around her coffee mug. “Well?”

He chuckled. “Before we start, how about a refill on the coffee? You look like you could use one.”

He refreshed their mugs, and she couldn’t help but notice his hands, long-fingered and well tanned, and the image rose of how dark they had once looked on her skin. Her most intimate skin.

She gulped the coffee, hoping to sear some sense into herself. The steaming liquid burned her tongue, her throat, burned all the way down, and still the mere sight of his hands caused the warmth to spread, the warmth and wetness that kept her immobile and ashamed. How could this be happening? How could she be physically attracted to this morally bankrupt man?

He took the chair opposite her and reached for her hand. She refused to give it, keeping stubborn hold of her mug.

He peeled her fingers away one by one, and she let him, God help her, she let him, for more memories sprang to life, memories of Allen doing the exact same thing once, the day she was at her most desperate, the day he asked her to marry him.

Except Allen’s hands had been stubby, tentative and damp. And she hadn’t been gripping her mug as much as playing with it, using it as ballast, as a focal point, as she spilled her tale of woe to the boy she once knew as Al-the-pal Betz.

And the overeager and earnest sheen of Allen’s eyes. would have been lost on Jack, lost in the darkness of his soul. For he was after her daughter, claiming to care, claiming to know. As he once claimed her.

Allen had not been able to break that claim, despite his kind and generous heart. The only thing Allen claimed was that he wanted to help her, if only she would let him. He claimed she didn’t have to confess the shame of her pregnancy or name the baby’s father to another living soul. He would be the baby’s father. He would raise it as his own. Say yes to his proposal, he told her, and she would make him the happiest of men. That’s when Allen got down on his knees and begged her to marry him.

Jack Tarkenton wasn’t one to beg, however. He had gone on his knees before her, though, the first time they made love. He’d kissed her and stripped her and knelt at her feet, and she was haunted by needs she never knew she had. Jack satisfied every one of them, leaving her lost to Allen, lost to any other man.

Even now, Jack dared her with his wicked smile, the smile that once enticed her to be wicked, too, and guilt billowed inside her. Guilt chased by a terrible drenching of shame.

For if he proposed what Allen had, if Jack asked her to be his wife, Meg wanted, in her heart of hearts, she wanted, to her great and everlasting shame, to say yes.

Two

The day had taken its toll.

Subtle blue bruised Meg’s skin, especially under the eyes, those ocean blue eyes Jack had worked long and hard to forget. The ebony of her dress brought out the depth of their color, as did the mahogany frame of her hair.

Even in deepest mourning, she radiated an ethereal beauty. It showed in the elegance of her bearing, in the finely wrought bones of her face. Her milky skin heightened the bold contrasts in her coloring, emphasizing the lush rose of her lips set against the cool white of her smile.

Except she wasn’t smiling. And once he got through with her tonight, she wouldn’t be smiling for a long time to come.

Jack crushed the prickling of his conscience, the conscience he thought he’d lost on his first go-round with the lovely Meg Masterson. But her beauty had blossomed in the five years since he had last seen her, when she’d been fresh-faced, and willowy of body, packaged in a style and sophistication that came directly from Paris, France.

Later he learned that she had studied art there, and was as poor as she was proud. But when they first met, all he knew was that he must have her, and he targeted her like a hunter would, swift of speed and hard of heart.

And he did have her, that very night. Despite the family and festivities that surrounded them, she allowed him to woo her and lure her, until he spirited her to his hotel room where she stayed with him until dawn. He seduced her the next night, and the next, breaking his most cardinal of rules to not get too involved with any woman. Nobody on this earth had a right to expect a thing from John B. Tarkenton Jr.

Jack reached inside his jacket and pulled out the black velvet ring box. The sight of it made Meg feel something, that much was certain, but the expressive narrowing of her eyes told him it was anger more than anything else.

He couldn’t blame her. He’d done plenty of underhanded things in his life, but proposing marriage to his intended on the day of her husband’s funeral topped the list. Yet it couldn’t be helped. He’d wasted enough time as it was.

He opened the box, revealing the diamond solitaire ring inside. To her credit, her gaze never faltered, never even dropped to see what he offered.

“A gift,” he said, placing the open box on the table between them.

“No, it’s not. It’s a bribe. You want me to marry you.”

Baldly stated like that, he wanted to throw up his hands and say, Hey babe, you got it all wrong. But she wasn’t wrong. Meg had done more than grow up. “I’m impressed,” he admitted. “You took the words right out of my mouth. Does that mean you approve?”

“I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on earth.”

It stung. Not much, but enough to put him into attack mode. He left the box in the middle of the table and lounged back in his chair. “You do realize what the alternative is.”

“You take me to court and sue for custody of Katie? Given your reputation, that’s a chance I’m willing to take.”

“Ah, yes. The familiar ground of my reputation.” He gave her his laziest smile. “I’m a Tarkenton, Meg. Do you have any idea what that means?”

“It means you were born with a silver spoon in your mouth. It means that despite the best education money can buy, you waste your time on wine, women and song. It means you think so little of your family’s good name, you bring heartache to your mother and your sister, the only two people on earth who could possibly care about someone as selfish as you. That’s what it means.”

He’d learned to shrug off such gibes. He had also acquired the correlated ability to ride roughshod over people. “It means, dear Meg, that when people look at me, they see my father. They want to believe I’m him. They want to believe it so badly, that no matter what I say or what I do, they think I’m the one to lead them to the promised land. You know what being John B. Tarkenton Jr. means? I get away with everything.”

“You won’t get away with Katie. I’ll take her to the ends of the earth to keep her away from you.”

“I’m one of the privileged few who has the resources to follow you there. You won’t be able to hide her, not from me. I have too much money and too many connections. There are Tarkenton interests all over the world. And when I do find her, I’ll use your refusal to acknowledge me as her father against you, not only in a court of law, but in the court of public opinion. Don’t forget, Meg. My name and face are recognized around the world. Which brings me to the most pertinent fact, a fact you seem to have forgotten. My being a Tarkenton means Katie is a Tarkenton, too.”

“You want to ruin her life by making this public? Is that it?”

“I’m her father. It’s a statement of fact. I am not going to go away. I laid out my proposal. You have two weeks to come up with a better one. If you don’t, your choice is simple. You can either turn this into a public custody battle or marry me and keep Katie’s paternity private, just between us. As her mother, I happen to think you are the most qualified person to make this decision. Unlike you, I believe both her parents have Katie’s best interests at heart.”

He shoved the box at her, and then he was gone from her house.

The moment Meg pushed open the thick glass-and-brass doors of New York City’s poshest and most exclusive athletic club, she realized she had made a mistake. It was one thing to show up without an appointment at Jack’s Wall Street office. It was quite another to confront him here, far from the trappings of executives and professionals.

Her smart navy business suit clashed with the fluorescent glare and neon graphics of the club. Behind a metallic reception desk stood a cute and bouncy girl who wore a brilliant green polo shirt with the club’s insignia stitched above her name. “May I help you?” she asked brightly.

Debbie’s short sleeves showed off muscular biceps and veins that bulged on her forearms. Intimidating arms they were, too, especially to a woman who was in a crisply tailored jacket, slim skirt and the highest of heels. “Do you happen to know where I can find Jack Tarkenton?” she asked.

Debbie’s bright smile disappeared. “I’m sorry. I’m not allowed to give out the names or whereabouts of our members.”

Meg tucked her purse under her arm and approached the desk. “What do you do in case of emergencies?”

“Is this an emergency?”

“It is urgent that I speak to Mr. Tarkenton, yes.”

Debbie put her hands on formidably narrow hips. “You would not believe how many women come in here claiming they know him. I’m sorry, but I’m not allowed to even confirm the fact that he’s here.”

“I know he’s here. I’m his secretary. It is urgent that I speak to him as soon as possible.”

“If you’re his secretary, why didn’t you just call him direct?”

It figured with Jack’s active social life, he’d carry a cell phone. “This matter is a rather delicate one,” Meg explained, hoping the conversation wasn’t being monitored. “It really would be best if I talked to him face-to-face.”

“One of those matters, huh?” Debbie gestured Meg closer. “I’ve heard he has a bedroom suite in his office. Mirrors, waterbed, hot tub, screening room, the works. True?”

Meg wouldn’t be surprised if it was. Before coming here, she went to the address on his business card. It led to a modern office building—gray with granite and sleek with reflecting glass.

However, the pepper-haired receptionist for Tarkenton, Inc., was far cagier and more protective than this young woman, refusing to either confirm or deny whether Mr. Tarkenton was even in the country. Consequently, Meg hadn’t glimpsed anything beyond the reception area.

Tastefully decorated in rich rosewood and brass, it was classic and brooding and lawyerlike. Which fit. Like his sister, Amanda, Jack had followed in his father’s footsteps long enough to obtain a law degree.

When Meg failed to track him down at the office, she recalled Amanda mentioning this club as one of her brother’s frequent haunts.

“Tell you what,” Meg said to Debbie. “I’m not allowed to divulge anything about Mr. Tarkenton, either. But if you let me deliver my message, I’ll have him autograph something for you.”

“He won’t give autographs. He won’t even sign our register. See?” Debbie showed a clipboard holding a lined sheet scrawled with names and membership numbers.

“Debbie, I’m his secretary,” Meg said dryly. “I can get him to sign anything.”

“I better not get into trouble over this.”

“You won’t,” Meg assured her, wondering if she’d ever strung so many lies together in her life. “If there’s a problem, I’ll explain the situation to your boss myself. After I see Mr. Tarkenton, that is. The sooner he gets this information, the better.”

Sighing, Debbie picked up the desk phone and punched a few numbers. “Hi, Ben. Uh, I need to check on Mr. Tarkenton’s whereabouts. Do you see him down there?” Pause. “By himself? Okay, thanks.” She hung up the phone. “He’s in one of our squash courts, practicing. If I let you go down there, you have to promise to come right back after you deliver your message.”

“You don’t have to worry about that. I have no intention of staying any longer than necessary.”

“He didn’t get somebody knocked up, did he?”

Even Meg wasn’t prepared for that bombshell of a question. Utterly speechless, she blinked in disbelief.

Debbie waved a placating hand. “I know you won’t tell me. I’ve always been curious, though. With all the women he has, you’d think he’d have a kid here or there, you know?”

Meg knew only too well, and fixed Debbie with a genuine glare. The young woman immediately apologized and wrote out a temporary membership card allowing free access to the club.

Shaken, Meg had to use both hands to pick the card up. The worst part was, she would have to get used to it. The man attracted this type of gossip and speculation wherever he went.

Meg glanced at the club doors, wishing there was someplace where the Tarkenton arm didn’t reach. There must be people in the world who hadn’t heard of Jack Tarkenton, people who didn’t know anything about him.

But people the world over knew of his father. In the thirty-plus years since his death, Senator John B. Tarkenton had attained martyr status. Revered for his ethics and character, he had rallied the nation with his youthful vigor and visionary leadership in a last-minute campaign for the presidency of the United States. The triumph of his election ended before he had a chance to take office, in the tragedy of his assassination.

Jack might be his father’s polar opposite in character, but the Tarkenton name still carried enormous weight. In a world hungry for leadership, too many people wanted to believe Jack possessed the same talents and integrity as his father.

Meg knew she couldn’t fight a belief, especially when it was cherished by people who most needed it to be true. People who wanted to live with hope in their lives, who wanted to believe in the future. Meg counted herself one of those people. She wanted Katie to be one of them, too.

Meg passed row after shiny row of exercise bikes, rowing machines, treadmills and stair climbers, torturous-looking contraptions all, and decided that ten thirty on a Monday morning was not the peak time to exercise. She imagined the place after work hours, though, jam-packed with bodies. Sweating bodies.

Jack was no exception. She spotted him in a glassed-in box of a court, dressed in sleek bike shorts and a gray T-shirt that was dark at the shoulders with sweat. Lithe as she remembered, he stroked a blur of a ball with a thin-necked racket, thwacking a regular rhythm against a scuffed backboard.

The nearer she came, the more she noticed the maleness of his body. Her steps slowed. His shirt hung loose, shaping the broad width of his shoulders. If anything, he’d gained muscle over the years. The bike shorts banded thighs honed by hard and steady exercise. Confirmed by calf muscles that flexed and flared as he moved from one side of the court to the other, he challenged himself on every shot, stretching to cover the entire court. The clear, see-through walls had to be made of super-durable acrylic. The velocity of the ball he hit would have cracked glass.

Above his left hand, the hand that held the racket, two sweatbands encircled his wrist. So that’s where it came from. Katie was left-handed, too.

Despite her promise to deliver her message promptly, Meg halted in her tracks and watched for long minutes, her throat too dry for words. She knew next to nothing about the game of squash. She understood pure physical aggression, however, and the advantage a supremely focused individual had over those who were mere mortals.

He never missed.

To the world outside, he projected the image of the rich and idle playboy. The bronzed good looks, the lazy charm that reflected the relaxed savoir faire of a man who had seen and experienced all. In recent years he had even gone on record with the most lurid of tabloids, claiming to have little ambition other than to enjoy life and have fun.

Yet there were many people who discounted those claims, calling them a mandate for the future, honest and modest, like father, like son. Once his days of “sowing his wild oats” were over, destiny dictated that John B. Tarkenton Jr. would enter into the world of international politics as his father had. And like any prodigal son returning to his true destiny, he’d be exalted and redeemed.

Everyone knew his background. Everyone knew the tragedy of his father’s death. He’d grown up in the media spotlight, shadowed by the specter of what might have been. Even Meg was drawn in by the sheer power he embodied. The swiftness of his feet matched a steadiness of purpose that went beyond the physical. He played to win, win at all costs, and a piece of the puzzle that made up Jack Tarkenton fell into place for Meg, a piece that had, before this moment, put terror in her heart.

She had thought he wanted to punish her for some reason, using their daughter as bait. But that was too predictable a strategy for such a fierce competitor. Jack wouldn’t waste his time unless he cared about Katie, cared on some level. Which meant he did have a weakness, as the perky gossip Debbie so aptly demonstrated. Nobody in their right mind would think him an appropriate role model for a child, especially a four-year-old girl who had just lost the only father she had ever known. Jack might have plenty of friends in high places and the money to use them, but two could play the game of the media.

Rejuvenated, Meg rapped on the Plexiglas door. Caught in mid-swing, he lofted the ball and turned.

As always, her stomach dropped when their eyes met. Disheveled and unshaven, he appeared far more dark and dangerous now than the last time she had seen him. But Meg ignored his effect, ignored it in a way she hadn’t been able to before. She waved as though her sudden appearance was an everyday occurrence.

He held up his racket as if to defend himself, then, with boyish charm, he opened the door. “What an unexpected surprise, Meg. The two-week deadline doesn’t expire for five more days. I am impressed.”

“I thought it would work to my advantage if I came to talk to you early,” she replied. “Throw you off your game, so to speak. May I come in?”

He raked a hand through his hair, spiking it into tawny, leonine ends. “Certainly there are better places to meet than a squash court. How about upstairs in the club lounge? Give me fifteen minutes and I’ll meet you there after I shower and change.”

Fifteen minutes for Jack Tarkenton to hatch a defense? No way. “Actually, this is fine,” she said, and gestured at the open court.

“Don’t be silly, Meg. There’s a room nearby that personal trainers use when consulting with their clients. It’s got a table and a couple of chairs, and it’s very private. I’m sure you’ll be more comfortable there.”

“But I’m not looking for comfort or privacy, Jack. At least not the kind afforded by a small room. I especially like this Plexiglas.” She rapped on the clear surface. “People can see in and I can see out, all while the door is closed. It’s the perfect spot for a private tête-à-tête with you.”

His grin widened and he held the door open, inviting her in with a flourish. “Come in, then, said the spider to the fly.”

She sailed by him. “Thank you.”

He closed the door and settled back against it. “I didn’t realize you were a member of the club.”

“I’m not,” she admitted. “I told the woman at the front desk that I was your secretary.”

“Lying for us again, Meg? Does that mean you’ve decided to take me up on my offer?”

“That depends. I have a number of conditions.”

“And what might those be?” He wiped his brow with the hem of his shirt, showing off abdominal muscles that were as fit and sculpted as the rest of him.

Meg put her hands behind her back, taking the time to steady herself. He was not going to throw her, not this time. “I concede that you have a right to know your own daughter. I will also concede that it is vitally important to me that Allen retains his rightful place as the father who has raised her. Given the media scrutiny you are subjected to, I understand why a marriage between you and me makes a certain amount of sense. Before I’ll consent to your proposal, however, I want two years. The first to properly grieve the death of my husband, and the second to give Katie a chance to know you. Our families will also need to see us together over an extended period of time before they’ll accept us as a couple. The second year will provide time for a proper courtship.”

“Courtship. What an old-fashioned word.”

“Despite the way our relationship began, I happen to be old-fashioned in a number of ways. Since this won’t be a match made in heaven, I want the ceremony to be brief. A justice of the peace is fine with me. You should also be made aware that I will not sign a prenuptial agreement that leaves me destitute should the marriage end prematurely. I know my brother signed one when he married your sister, but his financial situation was far more stable than mine. Allen was young enough to think life insurance wasn’t necessary. I need to be sure Katie’s future is assured.”

“How intelligent of you to plan ahead, Meg.”

“Last but not least, there is one other matter that needs to be discussed. Please listen carefully, Jack, because I will say this only once. We will not be sleeping together. If I discover that you have been less than discreet with any of your affairs, I will file for divorce and take you for every penny I can get. You won’t be allowed to taint my life or the life of my child with scandal or your less-than-savory reputation. Is that understood?”

“But, Meg, I’ve spent thousands of hours in backbreaking labor to establish that reputation. You can’t seriously believe I would abandon it so easily.”

“This isn’t a joke. I will not allow you to treat me or anything I say as less than important. I have told you I will tolerate some of your habits. Disrespect is not one of them.”

“The matter of my sexual habits is hardly a joking matter. Neither are yours, especially if you are going to be my wife.”

“I think I have made my position clear. If you wish to pretend you don’t understand what my reaction will be should you ever darken my bedroom door, that is your problem, not mine.” Meg tucked her purse under her arm. “You’ve been to my house. If you need my phone number, Amanda and Bram have it. You may also find it under the listing for Allen Betz.” She reached around him to open the door.

His hand closed around her wrist. “Your conditions are not acceptable to me, Meg.”

She didn’t flinch. “My conditions are not negotiable. You made your proposal, I made mine. It meets the requirements you presented to me. If you want to go back on your word, I can’t stop you. But you should know that if you do make that choice, the offer I made today is null and void, and I will opt for a public custody battle.”

“If you do, Katie’s picture will be plastered on the front page of every newspaper in the country.”

“It would be devastating, I agree. Having her exposed as a Tarkenton, particularly an illegitimate Tarkenton, is not something I wish to contemplate. But the truth is preferable to having you dictate how my child and I will live our lives. Though Katie will be enormously confused should joint custody be granted, I will not be blackmailed. And when Katie is old enough, she will know exactly who and what her father is. To paraphrase your words to me, her best interests must always be kept in mind.”

She jerked the door open. Jack let her pass and tracked her march across the gym, seeing determination in every stride.

He could stop her, he knew. He could blow her cover and have it out here, in full public view. With the lunch crowd filtering in, there were plenty of witnesses to create a huge scene. Then the tabloids would pick it up and the talk shows and the networks, and in the end, she’d be forced to name him as Katie’s father. But that wouldn’t give him much satisfaction, nor much pleasure, either. Not where the Widow Betz was concerned.

She’d just drawn a line in the sand. Separate bedrooms, separate lives. If he was going to sacrifice his long-standing bachelorhood, he wasn’t sacrificing everything that went along with it. With his daughter came his wife. A wife in every sense of the word.

Meg might need some artful persuasion, but he’d made artful persuasion his career in life. She’d fallen for him once. She would fall for him again.

Katie was one challenge, her mother another. Playing with Meg was getting more and more interesting.

And a helluva lot more fun.

Three

“This is an ambush.”

Seized from behind by a very large man, Meg burst out laughing. In front of her, the day-care receptionist’s eyes widened, and Meg knew she wasn’t the only one to recognize her brother, Bram Masterson, otherwise known professionally as the Beastmaster.

Katie came running across the playroom, where she’d gone to retrieve her coat. “Mommy, Mommy, it’s Uncle Bram!”

“How’s my favorite girl?” Bram asked, picking Katie up in mid-flight and tossing her above his head.

Katie giggled in answer. Catching her, Bram set her in the crook of his thickly muscled arm. Meg marveled at his easy strength. All three of her brothers were good-size men, but Bram had the bigness and brawn of a professional athlete. Which he was. His opponents might have monikers like the Bulkster and Six Billion Dollar Man, but what he did inside a pro wrestling ring made him one of the biggest stars of pay-per-view television.

“It’s the Beastmaster!” a little boy cried.

Swarmed by a dozen preschoolers, Bram got down on his knees, wrestling with them, pretending to let them take him down. His gentleness was as great as his size, and seeing Katie jump on top of him made Meg smile in genuine delight, something she hadn’t done in weeks.

“I see Katie’s been captured. How about you?”

At the sound of Jack’s voice, Meg’s smile abruptly died, while the poor receptionist went absolutely boggle-eyed. The Beastmaster was small potatoes compared to the unique and elite celebrity who represented the American version of royalty, the Tarkentons.

“Why, hello, Jack,” Meg said evenly. “This is a surprise.”

“A pleasant one, I trust.”

Unlike her brother, Jack was dressed one step above casual, one step into serious chic. The sienna shirt had no collar and probably no label, either, it fit so well. His sand beige linen jacket also looked custom-made. As an expert in the art of textiles; she certainly recognized the fabric. Woven in Damascus by hand, it was among the costliest in the world. She raised an eyebrow. “How long has it been since we last saw each other? Surely no more than a couple of days.”

“Meg, being apart from you for one day is like a year for me. I couldn’t wait to see you again.”

Meg wagged her finger at him, all too aware of the boggle-eyed receptionist. “Now, Jack. I wouldn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea about us. Especially my big brother.”

“That’s why I brought him along. We’re going to kidnap you.”

“Really? Is that the plan?” Meg looked to Bram as he extricated himself from the pack of preschoolers.

“I told you this was an ambush,” Bram said, helping Katie put on her coat. “Amanda is in town, and J.J. and I drove down from Bedford to meet her. We’ll be staying at Jack’s apartment for a couple of days and hoped you’d join us for dinner. Katie, do you remember J.J.’s uncle Jack? He’s your Aunt Amanda’s little brother.”

Katie looked up at Jack with solemn eyes. “You’re not little.”

“But I can be.” Jack crouched and completed the introductions by matching Katie’s solemnity and formally offering to shake her hand. Katie gave it after the slightest hesitation.

Meg searched her brother’s face. Was he somehow in cahoots with Jack? “Why isn’t Amanda in D.C.? I thought Congress was in session this week.”

“Now that she’s on the Foreign Relations Committee, she has to come to New York periodically for meetings at the UN. She ended up staying late last night and doesn’t have to be back at the Capitol until Monday. I won’t be on the road until next weekend, so J.J. and I drove up to see her.”

“How about it, Katie?” Jack asked. “Would you like to come over to my apartment and see J.J.?”

“Can I, Mommy?”

That clinched it for Meg. Not only was he making mincemeat of the conditions she’d set, he was using Katie to do it. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but we need to go straight home tonight. Maybe some other time.”

Bram held the door open for them. “Amanda and I get so few opportunities to see the two of you, Meg. What’s the rush?”

“There’s no rush. I’m just tired, that’s all. It’s been a long day.”

“You don’t want to make it longer by riding a commuter bus back to Jersey with Katie on your lap,” countered Bram. “Jack keeps a car here in town. I’ll drive you home after the traffic dies down.”

“Or you and Katie are welcome to spend the night at my place,” Jack offered. “I’ll drive you home tomorrow myself. How’s that for service?”

“Spending the night is definitely out,” Meg retorted flatly.

Bram put a companionable arm around her shoulders. “Come on, honey. Have dinner with us. Put your feet up for a while, say hello to Amanda and J.J., and give yourself a little R and R.”

“Please, Mommy?” Katie asked, tugging Meg’s hand. “I want to play with J.J.”

Meg glanced pointedly at Jack. “We can’t stay very long. I want to make that clear.”

Jack raised his hands in surrender. “Whatever you say, Meg.”

Whatever you say, my eye. Meg faced her brother. “Katie and I will need to leave right after dinner.”

“No problem,” replied Bram. “I’ll have you home in record time.”

It turned out Jack lived in Midtown, only a few blocks away. Judging by the historic stonework on his apartment building, it dated back to the turn of the century and had been restored to its original grandeur. A doorman jumped to usher “Mr. Tarkenton and his guests” inside. The security guard monitoring the lobby treated him with unusual familiarity, greeting both Jack and Bram by name.

The old-fashioned cage of an elevator was manned by a uniformed operator. She asked if Katie wanted to help pull the lever that closed the fancy ironwork doors. Of course, Katie did, and when Jack pointed at the floor numbers above the elevator doors, she counted up with him in unison.

Studying his profile, Meg tried to assess his motives. She hadn’t expected him to barge into her life again this soon. Clearly he was trying to get to Katie. Clearly he wasn’t above using Bram, Amanda and J.J. to do it. But why now?

The elevator doors clanged open, revealing a living room so large, the main floor of her house could have fit inside it. His so-called apartment took up the entire penthouse floor.

“Katie!”

Three-year-old J.J. catapulted from his seat on the thick dove gray carpet. Amanda rescued the playing cards that scattered in his wake and rose herself, barefoot in blue jeans and a fuzzy mohair sweater that gave her a girlish air despite the classic French twist of her blond hair. “Meg,” she said, extending her hands. “I’m so glad you and Katie could make it.”

Smiling, Meg caught those hands, and they kissed each other cheek to cheek, as the French did, engendering a nostalgic pang for the culture of her beloved France.

Amanda scooped Katie up. “My goodness, Miss Katie. When did you start getting so grown-up?”

J.J. excitedly jumped up and down, tugging on Katie’s dress. “Katie, Katie, Katie,” he chanted.

“Hey, sport, how about we give our special guests a chance to come inside.” Jack zoomed J.J. across the room as if he were an airplane.

It didn’t appear to be put on for her benefit, but Meg still suspected Jack’s motives. If nothing else, this visit would allow her to see how he handled the children.

His decorative tastes ran toward the traditional, for the apartment was furnished in the same style as his Wall Street office. Mahogany and cherry wood predominated, with upholstered pieces in cream or gold brocade. Glazed lemon yellow, the walls were trimmed by white molding that framed tall windows filmy with sheer drapes.

Amanda led the way to a pair of overstuffed sofas and invited Meg to sit down. The butler’s table between them was covered by a thick towel, heaped high with toy cars and trucks. “Nice child-proofing,” Meg noted.

“Isn’t it, though? Fortunately, Jack doesn’t mind. J.J., would you like to show Katie your cars?”

J.J. came running. “My cars!”

Bram slowed him, saving a collision with the table, and gathered up the ends of the towel, sacking the toys. “I think the children and I will retire to the entertainment room,” he said, exchanging amused looks with his wife. “If I’m not mistaken, a certain purple dinosaur is making an appearance on our favorite television channel.”

Amanda clasped her hands and put them over her heart. “You have earned my eternal gratitude, dear husband. Let me know when reinforcements are required.”

Seeing their obvious love and affection for each other brought a lump to Meg’s throat. She had never met a woman more secure with who she was and what she wanted than Amanda. Her brother was just as headstrong. Yet they served as perfect foils for each other, sharing a partnership so strong, Meg had to look away.

Her gaze touched on Jack, with his inscrutable expression and idle stance. If she did marry him, it would be at the cost of such happiness. At least when she married Allen, she had been operating under the youthful delusion that given time, she would come to love her husband. She knew better now.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.