Her Foreign Affair

by Shea Mcmaster

  His gaze glued to her like the gilt on the frame of the picture beside her head, he watched, as the color faded then heated her face until, with an anguished moan, the fight went out of her, and she dropped her head back against the wall, eyes averted. “All right, dammit, you’re right. She’s yours.” Randi’s voice barely reached the level of a whisper. “I…I…” Her eyes closed as she turned her head farther away. He moved his forearm closer, nudging her back to face him. “I almost died before he named her. Wyatt later told me that in my fever I kept muttering the names Court and Robin. He took it to mean Courtney Robin, so he put that name on the birth certificate.”

  A tear tracked down her cheek, washing away the worst of his anger, filling the void with something far softer, though no less agonizing. What had it cost her? The confession to her husband, the confession to him now? Had she confessed the details to her parents? Was this the reason the man had loved Birdie more than Randi? Court pushed his upper body back from the wall to cup her face in his hands. He swiped his thumb gently over her skin and lifted the tear. “He knew? You told him my name? He knew the baby wasn’t his, and he still married you?” Would Court have been so generous?

  Nodding, she continued with her story. “Yes, he did know your name. No one else knows. When I came to, I was horrified, but the paperwork had been filed.” Randi slumped against the wall with no place to go but to curl against him. “I mean, my parents and Wyatt knew I was pregnant with another man’s child, your child, but I would have put his name on her birth certificate. It didn’t matter to him, he claimed her completely and would have gone along with it. As long as I never contacted you, that was his only stipulation. However, because I was so ill, he decided on following the truth about her parentage, in case, later… Anyhow, she doesn’t know Wyatt isn’t her biological father. I haven’t told her. I was planning to…” her voice faded out, her attention absorbed by his chest as he tightened his hold.

  Heart racing as if he’d won LeMans, Court held her while he tried to sort it all out.

  What kind of man would marry a woman knowing she carried another man’s child?

  An honorable man. A man lucky enough to have this woman as his wife.

  Someone he wanted to hate. Instead, he respected the bloke.

  Court dropped his forehead so it rested against hers and drew in desperately needed air scented with the aromas of soft perfume and good cooking. His Jean.

  Courtney Robin.

  Why had she never contacted him? Had her husband truly forbidden it? That made some sort of sense. Of course he wouldn’t want to lose his daughter to a man who’d turned his back on the mother. It hurt like hell to think that, but if Court were honest and put himself in the other man’s shoes, he might have done the same.

  Blue eyes, golden hair, and a sunny smile. Now it was perfectly clear who she reminded him of. She reminded him of himself at the same age…and Drew.

  The truth slammed into him like a bullet train, and his head snapped up. “Oh hell. Drew’s her brother.” That’s why their closeness bothered him. That’s why Randi’s gaze had seemed extra watchful, her actions furtive and nervous.

  “I know, I know.” Randi moaned. “We can’t let them date.”

  Drew had been showing signs of interest, and Birdie had been shooting certain looks back. Damn. The train heading down that rail had to be stopped. “We have to tell them.”

  “Not now, not today, not with Dad and his friend in the house.”

  Exactly who was this Jordan bloke? “Friend as in…friend?”

  Randi’s eyes flew open as she looked up at him, and her mouth formed into a horrified “O.” “No, no, no, not that kind of friend.” She laughed a little. “Dad’s so homophobic he’d run screaming from the house. No, Jordan is a consultant, and my father’s attempt to match-make.”

  “Like hell,” Court muttered. He’d just found her again, and he’d be damned if he’d let another man try to move in. Where did that come from? When he’d first thought of the idea to find her, he’d had no notion of starting up a relationship again…or had he been fooling himself? What did it mean that she’d lied to him, lived a lie, hid this elemental truth from him? Had she ever meant to tell him?

  “Randi, the truth, really, why did you never tell me?”

  A sob shook her and she tilted her head back, lids blinking rapidly to hold back tears. “I wanted to, but, God, Court, honestly? I didn’t want to make things worse. I didn’t want to hurt Wyatt. I didn’t want to confuse Birdie. There were my parents to consider. And ultimately, I didn’t want to make you choose between babies. I admit I was hurt and wanted to hurt you back, but not that way. Not by making you choose between one child and another. I knew I could make it on my own. I didn’t know about…her. And if you’d known, and had still chosen her and her baby…Drew…” She gulped in her breath and swallowed heavily. “I couldn’t have… I never would have…”

  Court gathered her close, cuddling her against his chest, wanting to pull her into him until they could no longer find the line separating them. So like his sweet Jean to put someone else first. How would he have chosen? There was no way to tell. The emotions were too close, too mixed up. He needed time to think about all this. Not the least of which was how Randi had suffered.

  Holding her close, his body remembered. Her scent filled his head; her breath against his chest warmed him like nothing had since he’d last held her. The tightening of his groin assured him she still moved him. Without pulling away, he dipped his head, loving the feel of her silky hair against his lips, her soft cheek against his. As naturally as breathing, they sought to touch each other. Her hands slid up his back, the heat easily penetrating the barrier of the cotton shirt he wore. Ravenous for more, his mouth found hers. Years melted away as they connected, like puzzle pieces finding their mates to make a whole picture. Heat infused him as she opened to him, allowing him in to taste the elixir of life he’d been forced to live without. The fire inside her fed the fire inside him, and he forgot to go slow, to be gentle.

  “Everything all right in there? Randi?”

  They both jumped at the sound of her father’s voice, the pounding of his fist on the other side of the door an echo of the pounding of Court’s heart. The rosy flush painting Randi’s cheeks, her shortened breath pleased him. She’d been as affected as he.

  “Randi?”

  Court reluctantly loosened his hold on her.

  “Yes, Dad, everything’s okay. W… I’ll be out in a minute,” she called while wiggling out of Court’s arms. The loss of her body heat was a physical deprivation. Almost like losing a limb. He rubbed his chest where their hearts had briefly beat in concert. Her body plastered against the front of him had quickly resumed its place as an essential element of his existence. Dammit, she belonged there.

  “You sure? There were some strange noises coming from in there. Kind of like you’re talking to yourself like you do when you don’t feel well. Need Ex-Lax or Pepto?”

  Randi slapped her hand over Court’s twitching mouth. “Dad!” she exclaimed in horror. “A moment of privacy, if you please. You can use Birdie’s bathroom, or mine if you need to.”

  “The Brit is missing too. He in there with you? Don’t be hiding him from me. I have some questions for him.”

  “Dad! Go away!”

  Finding it impossible to hold back his grin, despite the threat in the old man’s voice, Court kissed her palm and watched a deep flush rise up from her chest and rush to the roots of her hair. As if his lips had scalded her, she snatched her hand away and turned to the mirror. At the sight of her running mascara and tousled hair, she grimaced and reached for a tissue to begin repairing the damage. To Court, she looked absolutely adorable. As beautiful as when she’d been livid with anger. More so.

  “I’ll be out in a few minutes. Why don’t you check the backyard and see if Court went out there?” In the mirror, she crossed her eyes, and he almost laughed out loud.

 
“I think I want to stay right here and make sure you’re okay.”

  Damn, but the old man was bloody tenacious. And, apparently, still as rabidly overprotective as he’d been years ago.

  “I’m fine,” Randi snapped and deftly repaired her face, or at least erased the smudges. Quick fingers combed through the layered cut until the soft strands fell into place and brushed the tops of her shoulders. She looked sexy as hell, all warm and tumbled as if just rolling from bed.

  His eyes met hers in the mirror and damned if he didn’t want to take her right up against the door with her father on the other side. Let the old bastard listen to his daughter being pleasured.

  Randi waved at him, mimed combing his hair, and handed a tissue over her shoulder. He took the hint and looked in the mirror. Before he could laugh, Randi was there, her hand over his mouth again, eyes twinkling at her own repressed giggles.

  “Randi? You coming out anytime soon?”

  “I’m waiting for you to leave.” To add emphasis, she leaned to the side and spun the toilet paper on its holder. “Do you mind?”

  “Okay, okay, but you’re acting mighty strange today. I’ll go open the champagne, but only heaven knows what you’ll be like with a little alcohol in you. You’re not going menopausal are you?”

  “Already did that when I had my hysterectomy, Dad.”

  Surprised, Court frowned. The reason she didn’t have more children? When had it happened? When she fell ill after Birdie’s arrival?

  “Oh. You did?”

  Exasperation escaped and she growled. “Dad! Go. Away.”

  Randi reached past Court and flipped a switch for a fan overhead, then leaned to listen at the door while he finger combed his hair into place.

  Court raised a brow but she shook her head. The old man remained in place. Randi reached over and flushed the commode, and he turned on the water in the sink.

  Finally, the footsteps retreated, and they both let out their breaths.

  “Give me a couple minutes,” Randi said, straightening her clothes. “If I don’t talk with him now, he’ll keep pressing for the truth. I’m sure he’s figured out you’re ‘the damn bastard who knocked his girl up and sent her home.’”

  Yeah, her father would see it that way. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers to keep from reaching for her again. He’d have it out with the old man. Today. However, it didn’t stop him from giving her his best sad puppy dog look.

  “Oh for heaven’s sake,” she blew out the words. “I’m still mad at you.”

  “And this conversation isn’t over. Not by a long shot. I’m pretty pissed myself.”

  A moment later, she was out the door, leaving him alone and wishing everyone else in the house to Mars.

  Chapter 5

  “Good heavens, can’t a person take a potty break every once in a while? It’s the first time I’ve been off my feet all day.” She gave her father a good glare for emphasis.

  “If you’re feeling poorly, and judging by the sounds coming from the powder room, you might be ready for the hospital, you can go lie down for a bit.”

  Rolling her eyes, she threw up her hands. “So now you’re spying on me by listening at bathroom doors?” Not that she wouldn’t put it past him, the man was that nosy.

  “I don’t call it spying when motivated by concern for your wellbeing.” Bushy white brows lowered in his customary scowl.

  Randi snorted and began to pull champagne glasses from a cabinet. “Did you do a head count?”

  “I did, but came up short by two.”

  “Well, count me in. I’m pretty sure Court will be interested as well.” She set six fluted champagne glasses on the counter in front of her dad.

  “So are you going to confess, yet?”

  “Confess what?” Time to baste the turkey, she turned away and reached for the hot pads. Court had returned them to their hooks. Good man. Been playing bachelor father for the past six years? Did it translate to knowing his way around a kitchen? So far, he’d proved helpful. And distracting.

  Before she could get the oven open, her father crowded her from the left. “About the man who contributed the other half of the genetic material to create your daughter. Don’t try to tell me the name is a coincidence.” White brows lowered in an angry V. A look nowhere as intimidating as it had once been. “After Wyatt filed the birth certificate I asked him about her name and he said you’d named her after the father. The name is too close to be an accident.”

  Hadn’t Wyatt been the chatty one when it suited him? “Smart man to put two and two together. And you’ve waited all this time to bring it up?”

  “You were too ill, and then after, well, it didn’t seem so important anymore.”

  “Because you fell in love with her. Well fine, now you know my biggest secret. Keep it to yourself. I’ll tell her later. In the meantime, don’t let her and Drew get cozy, if you understand my meaning.”

  “No problem.” Dad straightened and began ripping the foil from around the cork. “But we’re still going to talk about why he never came looking for his child.”

  “I never told him.”

  Let him think about that. Bending to see to the bird, Randi silently apologized to her daughter for siccing Grandpa on her. It was for the best, honestly. The less she and Drew cuddled up together, the less revulsion they’d feel later.

  Family meeting. Tonight. The moment prying old grandpa disappeared with his guest.

  Almost as if he’d heard the reference to him in her thoughts, Jordan entered on cue. She had the feeling he checked out her backside currently on prominent display. The one wide enough to block her father’s view of the humongous TV.

  “Randi, those brie wraps were out of this world. High class football munchies.” Jordan at least kept a respectable distance away.

  “Thanks, glad you liked them.” She squirted juices over the bird and thought about adding more wine. Nah, more than one bottle was overkill and a waste of good wine. A few more passes with the baster and she decided the time had come to leave the lid off. Tom Turkey needed a little browning and he had thirty minutes left in the oven. Provided she’d guessed right this time. She glared at the little pop-up timer, not sure it was at all trustworthy.

  Sure the factory put out a million of these a day and tested them by the handful, but what if she got the one that would have failed the test? What if she had the one in two million that didn’t have enough wax to hold the little pin down until the right moment? What then? These things happened. Like the time she’d gotten a can of Pepsi Light, way back in high school, the one in the six-pack that was only half full and had a slice of lemon in it. Well, at least they’d used real lemons, but still, what a rip off and an example of spotty quality control. Accidents slipped through all the time.

  “What’s wrong, love?” Court asked, and she cut her glare in his direction. How’d he move so quietly on the tile floor of the hall? Arrogant SOB, using that endearment with her. He hadn’t been fond of it back then, why now?

  Pushing aside her urge to throttle him for reminding her how well they fit together physically, she snapped, “Nothing. Just wondering if I should put a thermometer in it.”

  “Believe in redundant systems, do you?”

  She didn’t appreciate the mocking nature of his lifted brow. The laughter rested there, twinkling in his damn beautiful blue eyes.

  “Never hurts to be sure.” All the same, she shut the oven and hung up her hot pads. Yeah, Dad watched from beneath his bushy brows. The man was still too protective by half.

  “What can we do to help?” Court asked.

  “Get out of my way? All of you?” Her female dominated house suddenly had far too many too-tall men in it. Three of the four stood around her. Dad had barely finished pouring the champagne when she grabbed the first flute.

  “Let’s have a toast,” dear old Dad announced. “Birdie, Drew, come in here.”

  “Okay, but they’re
setting up a punt pass return.”

  At least that’s what it sounded like Birdie had said.

  “We’ll make it quick,” Randi promised. “I want these men out of my kitchen, and they won’t leave until we do a toast.”

  Behind her, Court wrapped a hand around her right butt cheek and gave a little squeeze. His specialty, sneaky squeezes in public places where she couldn’t react the way she wanted to. One time, he’d managed to squeeze a breast in the middle of a crowded coffee shop, complete with nipple tweak. And she’d had to endure what had almost been a full breast exam right there. In front of God and everybody. Princess Di herself could have walked in and Randi wouldn’t have cared. Ten minutes later, they’d been back in her flat, ripping off their clothes.

  “Okay, everyone with us?” Dad gave her a meaningful look. Oops, drifted off again and Court’s hand slipped lower yet, easing deep into territory where, dammit, he was wanted, but not this moment. But to swat his hand away would draw attention to his actions. It wasn’t as if she had room to move away, or even the strength. She still shook from the interlude in the powder room, and his touch weakened her knees. Her world had begun to unravel, and she was desperate to keep things as normal as possible, hoping she could weather the storm and survive the day. Just a few more hours…

  “Sure, I’m ready. Got a good one for us?” Randi challenged her father.

  Everyone raised their glasses in a ragged circle. Why did they all have to squeeze into the tightest corner of the kitchen? Court had to be baking, right up against the ovens with her. Time to open a window or two.

  “Here’s to the feast before us, the friends and family who join us, and our thanks for all the little miracles which have yet to be explained,” her father said, his hazel gaze locked firmly on hers.

  Around Randi, answers of hear-hear and the tinkle of fine crystal touching were drowned out by the buzzing in her head. The rat. Was he hoping Birdie would suddenly figure it out? Silence fell for a few seconds while people sipped their wine. Well, in her case, guzzling replaced sipping. Pinching her nose to hold back a sneeze, she held out her glass to forestall any comments on the toast. “Please, sir, may I have some more?”