Chapter 2
By the time Jillian skirted Casey and Brooke and hurried onto the front porch, Zane had already disappeared. Her throat tightened. He was stunned and upset, and shouldn’t be alone, much less driving. Where had he gone?
When his deep, smoky voice had startled her into a spin and she’d seen him standing in front of her, his eyes had immediately drawn her in. Shadowed. Secretive. Haunted. Veiling his soul from the world. And the wariness bracketing those sensual lips implied a vulnerability she’d bet he’d die before admitting. Her first impulse had been to hug him, hold on tight and assure him he’d be okay.
However, trying to hold a deeply shadowed man would be as risky as picking up a live wire. Not only was the contact guaranteed to hurt, it could be deadly.
Her pulse stuttered. But then the instant he’d touched her, every sense had glittered alive, heat and need rocketing through her bloodstream.
Her second impulse had been to strip his clothes off and run her hands all over that long, lean-muscled bronze body. Followed by her tongue.
She’d never nearly body-licked a guy at first sight.
And although Mr. Sexy Macho FBI Agent strove to appear stoic and invincible, somewhere along the line he’d been hurt enough to leave scars on his soul.
Her news-bomb had just wounded him again.
She pasted on a wobbly smile to hide her worry, turned and swept Casey into a hug. “Hi, kiddo. I missed you.”
Casey returned her hug with gusto. “I missed you lots, too, Aunt Jelly.”
“Did you have a good time with Aunt Brooke and Uncle Richard?”
“I s’pose.” Casey scuffed the toe of his sneaker on the entry mat. “Uncle Richard didn’t come again today. Who was that man?”
Jillian frowned at Deb’s sister-in-law, Brooke. “Where was Richard?”
“He had to work.” The choke-a-horse diamond on Brooke’s hand glittered as she gave a dismissive wave. “Ever since he was named one of the top ten plastic surgeons in the Northwest, his practice has become very popular.”
Jillian ruffled the little boy’s dark hair. “Case, there’s a plate of cookies on the coffee table. Why don’t you take one into the kitchen and get a juice box?”
“‘Kay. But who was that man, Aunt Jelly? He looked green. Like Robbie Ray when he ate a whole bag of gummy worms last week. Robbie Ray barfed all over the playground, remember? Red and yellow and blue—”
“Ugh! Don’t remind me. We’ll talk about the man later. Go have your snack.”
As the child scooped up a cookie and headed for the kitchen, Brooke stopped him. “Casey, what do you say to me?”
“Oh. Uh, thanks.”
“Thank you for a lovely time,” Brooke enunciated sharply.
“Thank-you-for-a-lovely-time,” Casey parroted with zero sincerity as he trotted out.
The redhead arched perfectly plucked brows at Jillian. “Did I interrupt something? Your delicious ‘friend’ left in quite a hurry.”
“Delicious” didn’t do tall, dark and taciturn Zane Wolfe justice. But no matter how yummy, the inscrutable, dangerous FBI Agent was not her type. “It was a business meeting. You know I wouldn’t bring a man here right now. Casey is still adjusting to all the changes.”
“Saint Jillian.” Brooke smirked. “Even before you got saddled with the tot, your social life was pathetic.”
Jillian smothered rising temper. She’d dated enough losers to discover she’d rather be alone than spend time with some howling Cro-Magnon. She wanted an easy-going, sensitive poet. A family man who loved children. If Orlando Bloom knocked on her door—and wasn’t married—she’d take him in a hot second.
Sure, that would happen. “I thought you planned to keep Casey all day.”
“I need spa time. I can hardly get ready for my party at the club tonight with a grubby little kid underfoot. Besides, his nose kept running.” Brooke shuddered. “And he wiped it on his sleeve.”
“I’ve told you before, he has allergies, it’s not contagious. Did you give him his medicine?”
Brooke looked blank. “I forgot. He was so cranky, I dreaded bumping into any of the fundraising committee at the art museum. I thought it best to return him.”
“Your nephew isn’t a DVD rental. When the show stops being amusing, you can’t just dump him back into the slot.” Jillian scowled. “A posh art museum is your idea of fun for a five year-old? No wonder he was cranky.”
“It’s never too early for a child to learn culture. You should do more of that with him instead of finger painting and baseball. He has appalling manners, which is why he needs Richard as a role model.”
Right … if Casey wanted to grow up to be an arrogant, heartless shark. “Why did Richard demand visitation if he’s not going to bother to see Casey?”
“He’s a successful plastic surgeon.” Brooke’s scornful gaze raked Jillian’s paint-splattered shorts and bare feet. “He can’t waltz in and out of the OR whenever he wants, like a daycare nanny.”
Jillian bit back a barbed retort about manners. “If Richard can’t manage to see his nephew more than twice in the past three months, why is he contesting Deb’s will and suing me for custody?” Jillian’s voice rose, and she forced it down again. “You’ve also got a full schedule, with your country club, charity, and social events. Neither of you seem to realize that raising a child is a huge commitment of time and energy.”
“Richard has been working non-stop. If Casey were ours, he’d get to see him every day.” Brooke smiled, baring flawless capped teeth. “Besides, Casey should be living with his real family. Bloodlines matter, which is why we don’t want to adopt just any stray.”
Jillian’s heart sank. Richard the Ruthless was not only loaded, he had powerful connections. He ensured his wife stayed happy and off his back by giving her everything she wanted. And she wanted Casey.
Jillian swung the door open. “Don’t let me keep you from your busy afternoon at the spa.”
“Richard will be calling you … soon.” After a hasty glance at her jewel-encrusted watch, Brooke glided out.
Jillian waited for the purr of Brooke’s charcoal BMW to fade before she surrendered to the urge to slam the door.
She hadn’t started this fight. But she would damned well finish it. For good.
* * *
Zane checked the clock on the airport terminal wall for the tenth time in ten minutes. Over an hour before his flight would begin to board. He slumped in the hard chair in a deserted corner near the departure lounge.
Hi, Mister. Who are you? He could still hear the small, earnest voice ringing in his ears, see the child’s intelligent brown eyes staring up at him.
Why hadn’t Deb told him about Casey? He would have willingly paid child support.
His hands fisted. He knew why. His horror over the broken condom had been obvious. As were his panicked questions about her cycle and timing.
Deb had run in Zane’s circle in college. She’d heard his vehement statements about parental responsibility, his vows never to marry or father children.
However, fate had intervened. Leaving the child alone in the world.
He rubbed his forehead. No, Casey had Jillian.
Zane’s instincts made him damned good at his job … and those instincts assured him the intelligent, tenacious, tenderhearted Ms. Ramsay would be an excellent mother.
Or maybe he was rationalizing.
Acid bitterness stung his mouth. Because the kid was better off with her than with him.
The hair on the back of his neck prickled, and he jerked his gaze sideways to see Jillian striding up the concourse toward him. She’d changed into a candy-apple red sundress that flattered her smooth-as-cream complexion and rosy cheeks. She looked stubbornly determined. She looked furious.
She looked irresistible.
His stomach twisted, every muscle in his body tensed. Goddammit, how had she found him? He’d made his position more than plain. Why didn’t the woman get it?
She stopped in front of his chair, folded her arms across lush breasts and tapped a red-and-white polka-dot sandal. Her toenails sported glittery ruby polish. “You left before we finished our conversation.”
He stood. Moved closer, towering over her. Deliberately crowding her. His body’s leap of awareness surged into an instant hard-on. Shit.
He lasered her with the stare that had intimidated even the most brutal offenders. The unspoken warning had made men twice his size cower. “We are finished.”
She didn’t even blink. “Think again.” Her index finger stabbed his sternum, stayed there. “I have more to say, and you’re going to listen, Champ.”
Well hell. Big bad alpha wolf didn’t faze Ms. Jillian Ramsay. He took another step closer. She held her ground. Why didn’t she surrender, step back?
The heat from her skin taunted his senses, surrounded him with the exotic scent of patchouli and warm, willing woman. The remaining blood drained out of his head, rushing south. Concise objections knotted up. Instead of setting her straight, he stood there more tongue-tied than a pimply freshman nerd star-struck by the head cheerleader.
Her hand relaxed on his chest, his heartbeat drumming wildly beneath her warm palm. “Zane?”
He shook his head, attempting to force his blitzed brain back on track. Meeting Casey must have knocked him farther off balance than he’d realized. His concentration wasn’t easily flushed down the crapper. It had happened maybe twice in ten years.
Never over a woman.
“It’s okay.” Her voice went tender. “I know finding out about Deb and Casey upset you. Honest emotions are nothing to be ashamed of.”
Those dangerous emotions had been drilled out of him before he’d hit puberty. Lust had him twisted into a pretzel, that’s all.
He stared into Jillian’s eyes. High-voltage awareness crackled across the scant inches separating their bodies. His heart leapt under the compelling heat from her hand.
Surely she could feel the super-charged atoms colliding between them.
Needing to know, he covered her hand resting on his chest, enfolded her fingers in his. He slid his thumb across her palm and up over her wrist. Her breath caught, and under his thumb, her pulse rabbited.
Yeah. She felt it, all right.
Ensnared in her gaze, his ability to make rational decisions fled. His hand refused his brain’s order to let her go.
Those remarkable violet irises darkened as her pupils dilated. Her whispered breath feathered over his mouth, mere inches away. Zane’s attention riveted on her lips. Pink. Plump. So soft, so temptingly sweet—sweeter than the cookies he’d longed to try but had denied himself.
Obeying the dark, primal need, he tugged her closer. Their bodies brushed, the whisper of clothing and sensual friction enticingly erotic in the quiet corner.
He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything. Wanted her so damned bad that a shock of terror chilled him to the marrow.
Jesus Christ, was he going insane?
Stunned, Zane did something he hadn’t done since he was ten years old.
He gave ground.
Pulse pounding a painful tattoo that throbbed clear to his toes, he backed down first. Dropping Jillian’s hand, he stepped away from her.
Wrong time, wrong place.
Wrong woman.
Definitely the wrong woman.
He was losing his marbles, because he imagined he saw regret in her bewildered gaze, in the soft tremble of her mouth.
Zane raked shaking fingers though his hair. “Look, you can have the kid—he’s all yours. Fax me the paperwork. I’ll sign. I’ll pay. End of discussion.”
He pivoted, but she grabbed his arm, winging another shaft of desire through him. “It’s not that simple. Let’s get some coffee and I’ll explain.”
Recoiling out of her grasp, he again glanced at the clock. Forty-five minutes until he could escape. “I don’t—”
“Surely you can spare ten minutes, Agent Wolfe. Ten minutes that could have a huge impact on your son’s future.”
The quiet jibe clobbered him between the eyes. His old man had ranted whenever family problems interfered with work. In the middle of “the biggest deal of his life” when Trevor died, dear old Dad had barely taken time off for Trev’s funeral. Cold-faced and dry-eyed, Stoneheart had tolerated the brief service, then he and Brent had hurried back to the office. Zane had followed Trevor’s coffin to the cemetery alone.
Alone, he’d watched his little brother lowered into the ground.
“Ten minutes,” Zane said, grabbing his carry-on and laptop case from beneath his chair. “Not one second longer.”
Jillian led the way to a coffee shop. She insisted on paying for her own white chocolate mocha. Zane bought a black coffee he didn’t want, mostly to give his hands something to do.
Choosing a spot in the back where he had an unobstructed view of the small café and the concourse beyond, he pulled out Jillian’s chair for her, then took the one across the small table. “How did you know I’d be here?”
She snorted. “The way you bolted, it was obvious you’d run back to D.C. on the soonest possible flight. Internet airline schedules come in so handy, don’t they?”
Smart lady. He’d thought himself safely away. “Only ticketed passengers are allowed past security checkpoints.”
Her resolute smile gave him goosebumps. “I bought a ticket.”
“You’re that desperate?”
“I’d do anything for Casey.”
He swirled the inky liquid inside his paper cup. “You claim you don’t want my money. You have a nice home, a stable job, and a degree in early childhood education. You’re well equipped to raise him. What’s the problem?”
“I love him as my own, but Casey is your son, Zane.”
Stark pain nailed him. “Maybe. But I’m not qualified to parent him. I’m the least qualified person on the planet.” His lips twisted in a bitter grimace. “Hell, he’d be better off raised by barracudas.”
“Better barracudas than Richard and Brooke.”
“And they would be?”
“Deb’s older brother and his wife. They’re suing me for custody.”
“So fight them.”
“I am, with everything I have.” Her fingers whitened on her cup, squeezing the cardboard sleeve. “But Richard’s lawyer makes even barracudas seem benevolent. In addition, the Stuarts are wealthy, influential pillars of the community, Casey’s blood relatives, and a married couple, which provides a ‘stable home life.’ What kind of chance do you think I stand?”
“I know you care about the kid, but living with his privileged aunt and uncle doesn’t sound like such a bad gig.”
She plunked down her cup and leaned across the table. “Casey was born on a rainy December night two days before Christmas. I coached, encouraged and bullied Deb through over twenty hours of labor. When that tiny baby finally emerged, blotchy and squalling, he was our miracle.
“I cut the cord. I wiped him off. I wrapped him in a soft blanket and cuddled him before I passed him to his mom. The two of us clung to each other and cried harder than he did. We reassured each other that even though he didn’t have a dad, we’d give him a terrific life.”
Emotion flooded Jillian’s eyes and she blinked away the tears. It was the second time he’d watched her battle tears that some women would choose to use as weapons of manipulation, and his respect for her clicked up another notch.
Dammit.
Breaking eye contact, he dropped his gaze to the table.
“That’s when Deb grabbed my hand and made me swear that if anything happened to her, I would raise him. I will keep that vow.”
“What exactly do you believe I can do to alter the situation?”
“Brooke can’t have children, and Richard and Brooke want a trophy child to complete their image. A toy puppet to dress up and show off. They’re never available when Casey needs emotional support. They constantly berate and criticize him, and expect perfect behavior from him. Neither of them has the common sense or warmth necessary to nurture a damned goldfish.”
Her voice broke, and she cleared her throat. “Casey is miserable when he’s with them, and they’ll ruin his life. As his biological father, you have rights. You claim you don’t want him. I don’t understand that, but I can accept it. Just hang around long enough to grant me permanent custody of Casey. Then you can leave.”
He raised his head and his gaze clashed with hers, glittering with raw fury and pain. “I—”
“You have to stay, Zane.”
He thrust aside his coffee and looked out the window, away from the determined, desperate woman. A plane hurtled down the runway and zoomed into the sky toward the red-orange sinking sun. Desperately wishing he was on board, wishing he was anywhere but here, he scrubbed a hand over his face. “Deb and I weren’t close. I barely knew her.”
Jillian frowned. “Judging by the miniature replica of yourself waiting for me at home, you knew her well enough.”
“It was a one night deal. Hell, not even one night, a couple hours maybe. I wasn’t careless. I took precautions.” Not adequate precautions, considering. But wasn’t hindsight always crystal clear? And afterward, he’d permanently ensured he’d never again risk that chance.
“No matter how brief, your encounter resulted in a child. And you have a responsibility to him.”
Sweat beaded his upper lip as he fought temptation to gain his feet and run. “I didn’t ask for this.”
“Neither did Casey.”
“I can’t be a father.”
“I didn’t know who Casey’s father was before I read Deb’s letter, but when she was pregnant, I begged her to tell him. I felt he deserved to know. Deb insisted he didn’t.” Her frown deepened. “Maybe she knew better. But like it or not, you are Casey’s father.”
“Biology doesn’t make a man a dad.”
“No, it doesn’t. Investing time and love does. But time is precious and fleeting, and love is tenuous. Once it’s gone, you can never get it back. Do you want to be walking down the street twenty years from now, looking into the face of every dark-haired young man you pass, wondering … and aching with regret?”
Nausea churned inside him. “Regrets are what I’m attempting to prevent here.”
“Zane, you have a moral obligation to protect your son. Because Richard and Brooke sure as hell won’t.”
The situation Casey faced felt too gut-wrenchingly familiar. Zane rubbed the bridge of his nose. In reality, he couldn’t make any other choice.
“Fine. I have some vacation time banked. I’ll stay to establish custody. Then I’m gone. Under no circumstances are you to even hint to the kid that he might be mine.”
Jillian slumped in her chair, released a ragged sigh. “Thank you! You won’t regret it, I promise.”
He already regretted it. But responsibility to a child he hadn’t even known existed until three hours ago imprisoned him as securely as a steel cage. “Just don’t expect any miracles from me. They don’t exist.”
Jillian glanced at her watch. “We’d better go. I left Casey with my neighbor and her kids. Since his mom died, he’s had moments where he gets a little anxious when we’re separated too long.”
“Understandable under the circumstances.”
He exchanged his ticket for an open-ended return date, and Jillian cashed in hers. Zane followed her out of the terminal into the summer evening. Tangy ocean breeze brushed his face, lifted the feathered ends of Jillian’s hair and played with the burnished gold strands. He clenched his fists against the urge to slide his fingers into the warm, silky mass and play as well.
Internal warning alarms shrilled, and he tensed. Damn, he’d known the woman mere hours, and she’d already dented his unbreachable shields.
He’d relinquished his rental vehicle when he’d returned to the airport. As they approached Jillian’s eye-searing pink Mini Cooper, she pushed a button on her key chain that deactivated the alarm. Another button smoothly folded the top down.
Zane tossed his bags into the miniscule backseat, thrust out his palm. “I’ll drive.”
She shrugged and tossed him the keys.
Traffic was light. Once they reached the highway, he hit the gas, pushing to the speed limit. Damn, he hoped he didn’t run into anyone who might know him while he was driving a Barbie car. He could feel his testosterone level dropping by the second. No wonder Ken didn’t have gonads.
Jillian stretched her arms over her head, openly enjoying the wind in her face. “You’re quite the control freak, Mr. FBI.”
Apparently, she read him as easily as those fairytales she collected. He frowned. “You have a problem with that?”
Her husky contralto chuckle tilted him dangerously off-kilter. “Do you? You might ask yourself why you prefer to be large and in charge at all times.”
He cranked up the radio, hoping she’d get the hint. Barry Gibb’s trademark Bee Gee falsetto wailed from the speakers. Argh, but better than her psycho-babble.
Undeterred, Jillian switched to rhapsodizing about how he could relax his uptight outlook with meditation.
After an eternity, he took the turnoff to the Surf-N-Sand Motel. Breathing a silent sigh, he pulled into a parking spot. He’d had about all of Ms. Cheerful’s life improvement suggestions he could handle. Peering at life through rose-colored glasses only skewed reality.
He was damaged goods, and no amount of touchy-feely crap would change that.
She pointed. “No vacancy.”
“I just checked out this morning. They’ll have something.”
Once inside, they discovered differently. Because of the summer tourist influx and the upcoming annual Cape Hope Kite Festival, the motel had immediately rented out his previous room. After receiving “the look” from Zane—which apparently still worked on everyone except Jillian—the young male clerk volunteered to call every lodging in the area.
Thirty frustrating minutes later, Zane’s hopes crashed and burned, along with his patience. The clerk stabbed the disconnect button. “Sorry, Sir. No luck, yet.” He punched in another number.
Sitting beside Zane on the driftwood loveseat, Jillian glanced at her phone. “Face it, nothing’s available. I need to get back to Casey. You’ll just have to stay with me.”
He frowned. “You always invite men you barely know to live with you?”
“Even before I sent you the first message about Casey, I had my neighbor run a check on you. A cop next door comes in handy. You have an impeccable record and reputation.”
Zane surged to his feet. “You did what?” he growled.
Jillian stood, planted her hands on her hips. “You don’t expect me to bring a perfect stranger into Casey’s life without investigating his character.”
“I’m an FBI agent.”
“So what? As you pointed out, I didn’t know you, and I’m the only one that little boy has to keep him safe.”
That snatched the wind from his wings. “I won’t stay with you.”
“Like there’s an option? You won’t find anything within a hundred miles.” She crinkled her nose at his scowl. “And don’t give me that fierce face. Let’s go.”
He crossed his arms. “I’m capable of finding a place to stay.”
“I’m fully aware of what you’re capable of, Wolfe.”
“You have no idea, lady,” he snarled. “No idea at all.”
Instead of turning tail and running like she should have, she laughed. “Rad, mad and dangerous, Mr. Big Bad? I grew up awash in a sea of testosterone, and I’m immune to macho bullshit. Now grab your bag and haul your gorgeous buns out to the car.”
Rose-colored glasses firmly situated, she sailed out.