The Secret Baby

by Harper, Leddy

  ALSO BY LEDDY HARPER

  Home No More

  My Biggest Mistake

  Falling to Pieces

  Take Your Time

  Beautiful Boy

  Eminent Love

  Resuscitate Me

  Lust

  I Do(n’t)

  The Roommate ‘dis’Agreement

  Love Rerouted

  Kiss My Ash

  The (Half) Truth

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2019 by Leddy Harper

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Montlake Romance, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake Romance are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781503905368 (paperback)

  ISBN-10: 1503905365 (paperback)

  Cover design by Erin Dameron Hill

  Kevin, I love you.

  CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  PROLOGUE

  Kelsey

  It was like a yeti had thrown up on everything.

  White walls. A white sofa. Even white rose petals littered the coffee table. Furniture made of maple—every piece hand carved and likely worth a small fortune. Sheer drapes hung from ivory rods set above a wall of windows.

  Everything was crisp, bright. White. Even at eight in the morning, there was no need for a lamp. Warm light glossed the room, a luminous sheen of magnificence and perfection coating every square inch.

  Staging homes came with a list of pros and cons.

  This house was the epitome of a pro. Glancing around, I didn’t see much for me to do in the way of making it marketable—hell, I could’ve made a mess, and it would probably still sell for more than the asking price. But I wasn’t about to argue with the Realtor. If she wanted to pay me to take down a few pictures here and there, hang a couple of pieces of art, and add some throw pillows and blankets, maybe a rug or two, then so be it. I certainly wouldn’t turn my nose up at that.

  There was nothing like an easy project to start my day off right.

  However, that feeling quickly changed when I turned toward the built-in entertainment unit along the far wall. My eyes didn’t settle on the ridiculously large TV in the center or the tall crystal vases filled with twisted sticks of bamboo and pristine white silk flowers. Rather than focus on the polished knobs of the glass cabinets along the top, the ceramic seahorse on a shelf to the right, or even the snow globe of a white mountaintop, my sight fell upon a picture frame that appeared to have been made out of small pieces of dried wood. Antique, maybe. Or possibly leftover logs from a fire—pale with charred accents that gave it an overall ash-grey color.

  But it wasn’t the frame that made me pause.

  It was the photo inside.

  And as I stood in the middle of this exquisite room, surrounded by its beauty, wrapped in its brilliance, I couldn’t help but feel . . . cold. The emotions clawing their way up my throat were a stark contrast to everything around me—red to the white, fury to the calm, chaos to the precision. The only word filling my head was con.

  Con. Con. Con.

  This had to be a joke. A horrible, painful, sadistic joke from the universe. Karma cashing in her rain check from a mistake I had never intended to make in the first place. There was no other explanation for how I had found myself in the middle of his house, staring at a photo of him and his wife. Her in a white wedding dress; him in a matching tux. His arm around her ridiculously tiny waist. Her eyes set on his profile. A smile painted on his lying, smarmy, manipulative lips.

  Everything was white—the color of silence.

  How fitting . . .

  Slowly, calmly, I pivoted, turning my back on him the same way he’d done to me. My hands curled in on themselves at my sides to keep from destroying the facade he cowered behind. All I wanted to do was shatter his fraudulent existence, demolish the carefully crafted image of perfection he surrounded himself in. I’d wanted to do it years ago, when he had done those very same things to me—crushed my dreams, destroyed my innocence, annihilated my heart. I had wanted him to feel the pain he’d left on my doorstep, but I never did. Doing so would’ve only wrecked my reputation and killed my character.

  But now . . . now I found myself filled with the same acrid urges, the same venomous desires as before—to expose him for the snake he was.

  Except, once again, doing so would ruin me.

  Instead of giving in to the resentment and desire for vengeance that had been resuscitated by his wedding photo, I pulled my cell from my back pocket and dialed the only person who had ever been there for me.

  “I’m starting to think you’re more excited about my wedding than I am,” she teased in lieu of a greeting. “Seriously, Kels . . . we just got off the phone less than five minutes ago. Did you come up with another idea or something?”

  “Yeah . . .” I craned my neck, glaring at the smug grin on his handsome face as it stared at me from behind a pane of glass. “I’m getting a stripper for your bachelorette party. But not a cop. I’m thinking of a lawyer or doctor. Someone prestigious and rich.”

  She snorted. “I hate to break it to you, but I think those are only costumes. An act. I doubt they fight fires during the day and take their clothes off for cash at night. In fact, I’m fairly certain they don’t.”

  I huffed and moved out of the room, prepared to get this job over with so I could leave and, hopefully, never look back. “That’s not the point, Tatum.”

  My best friend grew silent for a moment, her gentle sigh drifting through the line as if letting me down made her sad. “Jay won’t go for that. We both agreed that neither of us would have them at our parties.”

  Somehow, I managed to make my way into their room. I immediately took control of my gag reflex and headed back out, finding myself in a hallway. “Again, Tater, you’re missing the point. I highly doubt Jason would have a problem with a surgeon grinding on me in nothing but a banana hammock.”

  “Considering he’s your cousin, you’re probably right. I’m sure his issue is more about someone else grinding on me. You know . . . because we’re getting married in six weeks. Plus, he’s the only guy I ever want to see in a banana hammock. Not that he wears them. He doesn’t . . . as far as I’m aware. And I don’t want anyone else grinding on me. Only Jay. Is it weird for you to hear that? I never know if something will bother you or not, since he’s your cousin and all.” Tatum had always been a horrible liar, and even worse at trying to cover it up—her sense of guilt led her to ramble.

  I stilled and focused on her end of the call. “What are you doing over there, Tater? You seem . . . busy.”

  “Oh, nothing. Just putting away laundry.” Tatum doing laundry was the very definition of a red flag. A giant ne
on warning sign. A siren blaring in the dead of night.

  “Jason’s there, isn’t he?” When I heard her sigh again, I realized it wasn’t some form of sadness over letting me down. I shivered. “Bless all the things. Don’t ever answer the phone again when he’s doing . . . whatever it is you guys are doing. I promise, I won’t ever be pissed at you for that. Call me back when you’re done.”

  After slipping my cell into my pocket, I got to work—boxing up any personal effects to help potential buyers imagine the house as theirs instead of someone else’s.

  A picture of him smiling at her while she posed for the camera—fake.

  Another of him kissing her with eyes closed—fake.

  One of her tucked beneath his arm, a gentle happiness in his eyes—fake. Fake. Fake.

  While I stored away their happy memories, I made a mental checklist of everything I planned to do to the stripper, and all the ways he’d help me forget the existence of the cheating cop I’d once been tangled up with.

  Chapter 1

  Aaron

  Thumping music escaped the walls of the nightclub while I stood in the parking lot, wondering why the hell I was here. I stared at my reflection in the door of my truck, unable to ignore the fact that, while others staggered about in relaxed or skimpy clothes, I was in dress slacks and a pressed oxford shirt, a silk tie knotted loosely around my neck.

  A sore thumb had a better chance of going unnoticed.

  “Oh my God, Aaron. What took you so long?” A flash of pink hair came into view in the shiny-red paint of my truck. “I called you, like, an hour ago.”

  I shifted to the side and quirked a brow at the spitfire. Cheryl was just one of many who had turned down my romantic advances in favor of a friendship. In fact, standing outside of this club was just another way of reliving the nightmare that was my sex life.

  The problem with staying in a hometown was that no matter where you looked, memories—the good and the bad—were everywhere. I’d been shot down numerous times inside those doors, only to leave with my friends thinking I’d landed a score.

  I was living a lie. Hiding behind the need to appear like a player.

  At least I could sleep well knowing that if I didn’t wake up, I’d have a chapel full of women mourning my death.

  Sadly, that thought didn’t keep me warm at night.

  “Did you wear your watch in the shower again? You called me thirty minutes ago, and I told you then that I was still at the hospital. I had literally just finished dictating a report for a patient when you called.”

  Pursing her glossy pink lips, she tightened my tie, nearly choking me before she was satisfied. “Where’s that thing you people use to listen to hearts? And your science jacket—the white one. Where’s that?”

  “Why?”

  “Just get it, Aaron. Hurry.”

  “First, tell me why. When you called, you told me you needed my help. I came straight here from the hospital because you said it was urgent. Now you’re fixing my tie and wanting me to put on my coat. At a club, no less. I’m not doing anything until you start talking. What the hell is so urgent, Cheryl?”

  “Has anyone ever told you how difficult you are when you’re manstrating?” She set her hands on her hips, reluctance dancing in her fluttering lashes. “There’s a bachelorette party going on in the VIP suite. They’ve asked about a doctor at least a hundred times. And being the amazing friend that I am, I figured I could kill two birds with one stone—give them what they want, and in turn, you get what you want. Sex. You’re welcome.”

  I held her shoulders, adding an impatient shake. “Does someone need medical attention?”

  “No.” She waved me off as if my question were ridiculous. “They just keep asking if anyone has seen a sexy surgeon with—and I quote—an above-average tongue depressor.”

  Well, if that didn’t pique my curiosity . . .

  “So get your coat and heartbeat checker, and let’s go.”

  “Heartbeat checker? You mean a stethoscope?” I had to fight off the smirk that begged to curl the side of my mouth when she nodded. “How many times do I have to remind you that I’m not a physician? I have my PhD, not a license to practice medicine.”

  “And your point is? You couldn’t have borrowed one from a friend while you were at the hospital today? I’m sure they’re a dime a dozen around that place.”

  I dropped my chin to my chest and shook my head slowly. Laughter lifted my shoulders while hushed wisps of humor slipped past my lips. This was one of the reasons I’d been okay with keeping Cheryl as a friend instead of dismissing her after being rejected. Her amusement made it all worth it.

  “Can’t you just put the coat on? For me?” She batted her lashes. “Please, Aaron. They dropped a ton of money on that suite, and the last thing I need is for their night to be ruined over something that’s out of my control.”

  “Fine,” I conceded and grabbed the last piece of my work attire, completely aware of what a bad idea this was. Sure, there was a chance I might get lucky tonight, but if my history with the entire female population had taught me anything, I knew better than to get my hopes up. “Lead the way, princess.”

  It wasn’t like I had anything to lose.

  Except my dignity and self-respect.

  Then again, I didn’t have much of either one left.

  Case in point: I walked into a club on a Saturday night dressed like a medical professional making rounds in an emergency room. I could only imagine this was what it would feel like to show up to a Halloween party and discover that, somewhere along the way, there’d been a misunderstanding, because no one else was in costume.

  Mortifying . . . that’s what it was.

  Cheryl patted my back and winked, as if her encouragement would somehow eradicate my humiliation. It didn’t, but at least it gave me something to think about during my stroll through the swaying crowd.

  A few people swung their attention my way, but after a quick, inquisitive stare, they returned to what they were doing—drinking or dancing. One was drinking and dancing. And if I weren’t on my way somewhere, I would’ve stopped and watched how long it took before she ended up wearing that drink.

  My heart rate increased when I approached the rear corner draped in ambient lighting. The music pulsed through my veins as bodies swayed together. Rented booths lined the entire wall behind the dance floor. While the smaller sections I’d passed were a few feet above the main floor and only semiprivate, this one sat high enough to boast a view of the entire place and was enclosed by a wall of glass that offered total privacy.

  And that was what had me the most freaked out, considering I didn’t even know who was up there.

  However, by the time I stepped inside and made my way beneath the blue fluorescent bulbs and black lights, I’d managed to get a grip on my nerves. Either I’d discovered my confidence, or adrenaline had flooded my veins, because my voice was full of conviction when I called out, “I heard someone was asking for a doctor?”

  Holy shit, I’d walked into the mother lode of sex appeal.

  Five sets of eyes found me. Five pairs of breasts practically spilled out of tight dresses and low-cut tops. But the best part was, all five women appeared to be my age or less; one might’ve been slightly older, though I wouldn’t turn her away if she showed any interest.

  Before I could assess each of them individually, a beautiful blonde ran toward me, squealing and bouncing on the balls of her feet, hands clapping wildly like she’d never seen a man before. The way she hopped and spun reminded me of a merry-go-round with fried electric cords.

  “Guys! The stripper’s here!” she shrieked, turning to the others in the room.

  Excited commotion broke out around me, yet I couldn’t understand any of it. The only thought I had at the moment was that these ladies were under the impression that I was here to take my clothes off. And dance.

  At the same time.

  Yeah . . . this was a horrible idea, one Cheryl would pay dearly for.
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  I attempted to slowly retreat out of the room, though I should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy. Luck was never on my side. I managed to take two steps before the animated blonde foiled my plan. She grabbed my arm and dragged me to the middle of the group, stopping—I wasn’t sure if it was on purpose or if my feet had simply quit moving—in front of a tall goddess I wouldn’t mind worshipping with my lips.

  I took my time dragging my attention up her body, starting with the pair of blue heels on her feet. They were the kind that induced fantasies of seeing her in nothing but them while I had her bent over, ass in the air. Then again, those fantasies might’ve also been caused by the long legs that were made to wrap around my waist. A white dress hugged her drool-worthy thighs, and as my eyes continued to travel upward, I couldn’t help but spend a few extra moments memorizing the way the light material held her perky breasts, which were brilliantly showcased by the dress’s low neckline. Her long dark hair hung in loose curls over her chest, a sparkly crown sitting atop her head.

  This girl was the hottest thing I’d seen since my Jennifer Love Hewitt–crush days.

  Just then, she bent at the knees and picked up something from the table next to her. Ducking her head to one side, she slipped a piece of sheer fabric over one shoulder before situating it across her chest. It read: Bride to Be.

  That should’ve been my cue to leave. Should’ve been. However, my dumb ass ignored the alarm bells in favor of her pouty lips and smiling eyes. The way her gaze caught the blue lights above us as she held my stare sparked a fire within me. A fire I wasn’t sure I had the strength to put out.

  “Damn . . . he’s one lucky guy.” It was deep, barely a mumble, a thought spoken aloud. I hadn’t meant to verbally offer my opinion of her—she belonged to someone else. However, she had heard it anyway.

  Her eyes brightened like two twinkling stars, mouth forming a rapturous arc. Her chest heaved with excited breaths, and I didn’t doubt I’d find heat along her skin if I dared to touch her. I had to pretend none of that affected me as I stepped away, removing myself from her dangerous gravitational pull.