The Reluctant Father

by Diana Palmer

  “It will take time,” he said. “But she’s coming around nicely.”

  “Yes.” She smoothed her fingers lovingly over the baby’s downy soft hair. “Isn’t he just perfect, Blake?”

  “Just perfect,” he said, smiling. “Like his mother.”

  She searched his eyes. “No regrets?”

  He shook his head. “Nobody ever loved me until you and Sarah Jane came along,” he said quietly. “I can’t quite get over it. I’m like Sarah—happiness takes some adjusting to. You’ve given me the world, Meredith.”

  “Only my heart, darling,” she said softly. “But maybe it was enough.”

  He bent to kiss her again. “It was more than enough,” he replied. The light in his eyes was so full of love for Meredith and his child that it was almost blinding. He smiled suddenly. “I meant to tell you—I met Elissa and Danielle in town just before I came here. They’re bringing over a surprise for you.” His eyes twinkled. “The store was a little crowded, full of people. I walked in, and do you know what Danielle said?”

  Meredith smiled lazily. “No, what?”

  “She pointed to me and said, ‘Look, Mama, there’s Sarah Jane’s daddy!’” He grinned. “And do you know what, Merry? I think I’d rather be Daddy than president.”

  Meredith reached up and touched his mouth lovingly. “I’m sure Sarah Jane and little Carson will agree with that.” She took his hand in hers and held it. “And so do I.”

  He looked down at his son, and foresaw long days ahead of playing baseball in the backyard and board games at the kitchen table. Of drying Sarah’s tears and helping Meredith patch up Carson’s cuts and bruises. Together, he and Meredith would raise their children and make memories to share in the autumn days. He brought Meredith’s hand to his mouth and lifted his gaze to her quiet face. There, in her gray eyes, was the beginning and end of his whole world.

  * * * * *

  Read on for an excerpt from

  UNTAMED

  by New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author Diana Palmer

  New York Times Bestselling Author

  Stanton Rourke lives life on the edge—and his ruthless mercenary ways make him the most dangerous kind of man—and the only one Clarisse Carrington wants…

  Purchase UNTAMED now!

  “Palmer knows how to make the sparks fly.”

  —Publishers Weekly

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  New York Times bestselling author

  brings you to the rugged wilderness of Montana for her gripping new Montana Hamiltons series.

  Wild Horses

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  “Daniels has succeeded in joining the ranks of mystery masters.”

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  UNTAMED by Diana Palmer

  Excerpt

  Copyright © 2015 by Diana Palmer

  Clarisse walked into the building where the awards were being held, and several pair of male eyes went immediately to her slender, beautiful figure in the clinging white dress she wore. Her blond hair curled toward her face like feathers, emphasizing her exquisite bone structure, her perfect skin and teeth, her wide blue eyes. She was a beauty. In the gown, she looked like some Grecian goddess come down to earth to taunt mortals.

  She didn’t even notice the attention she was getting. Her eyes were on the podium where the General would speak. There was an orchestra. It was playing soft, easy-listening sort of music while people gathered in small groups to converse. Most of the conversation was in Spanish here, not Portuguese, because Spanish was Barrera’s official language.

  She smiled sadly at the little cliques. To Clarisse, who was always alone, it seemed like just one more gathering where she’d stand by herself while men tried to entice her. Sometimes she hated the way she looked. She didn’t want male attention.

  She paused by a table where drinks were being served when her arm was taken by a tall man she recognized as one of General Machado’s advisers. He smiled at her. “We were hoping that you would come, Miss Carrington,” he said in softly accented English. “We have the other honorees backstage. The awards ceremony will be first, followed by dancing and drinking and utter pandemonium,” he chuckled.

  She smiled up at him. “The pandemonium sounds nice. They shouldn’t have done this for me,” she added. “I didn’t really do anything except get shot and captured.”

  He turned and smiled down at her. “You did a great deal more than that. All of us who live here are grateful to you and the others, for giving us back our country.”

  “Are Peg and Winslow here?” she asked hopefully.

  “Alas, no,” he replied solemnly. “Her father had to have surgery, just a minor thing, but they were both uncomfortable with the idea of not going to sit with him.”

  “That’s like Peg,” she said softly, and smiled. “She’s such a sweet person.”

  “She thinks quite highly of you, as well, as does her husband. And El General, of course,” he added with a chuckle.

  “Where is the general?” she wondered.

  He nodded his head toward where a tall, distinguished Latin man in a dinner jacket towered over a tall brunette in a striking blue gown.

  “It’s Maddie!” she exclaimed. “She treated Eduardo Boas, who was shot before I was kidnapped.”

  “Yes. She and the general are, I believe, getting married soon,” he whispered, laughing at her delighted smile. “But you must not mention this. I am not supposed to know.”

  She smiled up at him. “I know absolutely nothing. I swear,” she added facetiously.

  “Not true, Tat. You’re plenty smart enough,” came a deep, husky voice from behind her.

  Her blood froze. Her heart started doing the tango. She didn’t want to turn around. She hadn’t dreamed that he’d show up.

  “Señor Rourke will escort you to where the others are gathered backstage,” he said, nodding and bowing. Then he deserted her.

  “Aren’t you going to turn around, Tat?” he asked very softly.

  She took a deep breath and faced him. He looked different. She couldn’t understand why at first. Then she realized it was because his hair was short. He’d cut his hair. She wondered why. It had been in that long ponytail for years.

  “Hello, Stanton,” she said quietly. “I didn’t expect you to be here.”

  He looked down at her intently, his one eye narrowed and piercing as he drank in the sight of her, the memory of her in his arms making his heart race. There were no more barriers. He could have her. He could hold her and kiss her. He could make love to her…

  He shook himself mentally. He had to go slow. “I was at a loose end,” he said carelessly.

  “I see.” She was uneasy. She kept looking around, as if she wanted to be rescued. In fact, she did.

  He looked around, too. “Did you come alone?” he asked suddenly, and there was a bite in his voice.

  She swallowed. “I’d asked Ruy to come with me, but he had to fly to Argentina to treat an old friend.”

  “Ruy…Carvajal, your doctor friend.”

  “That’s right.”

  He scowled. “You aren’t dating him, for God’s sake?” he asked curtly. “My God, Tat, he’s twenty years your senior!”

  She couldn’t meet his eyes. “He’s older than I am, yes.”

  He felt his muscles tighten from head to toe. She couldn’t
be getting involved with the doctor. Surely not!

  His silence coaxed her into looking up. His expression confounded her. In another man, it would look like jealousy. But Rourke would never be jealous of her. He hated her.

  She moved restlessly. “We should go backstage.”

  “Are you going to be here overnight?” he asked as they walked.

  “I fly back to Manaus in the morning,” she replied.

  “I’m here overnight, as well.”

  She didn’t say anything. She knew that he was going to avoid her like the plague, as usual.

  “Which hotel are you staying in?” he asked abruptly.

  “Why? Do you want to make sure you can get one at least half the city away from it?” she burst out.

  He stopped dead. “I’ve got a lot to make up to you,” he said solemnly. “I don’t even know where to start. I’ve done so much damage, Tat,” he added in a husky tone. “Far too much.”

  She looked up at him, shocked.

  He reached out toward her face, only to have her jerk back from him and avert her eyes.

  It hurt more than he’d ever dreamed anything could.

  “Tat,” he whispered roughly, wounded.

  “Don’t you remember?” she bit off. “You told me…never to touch you. You said that I was repulsive…” Her voice broke. She walked around him and moved blindly to the back, where a man in a suit was motioning to them to get with the other honorees. She didn’t look to see if Rourke was coming behind her. She didn’t want to see him.

  He followed her, his heart torn out of his body at her words. Yes, he’d told her that; he’d been brutal with her. How could he have forgotten? He’d hurt her so badly. Now, after years of tormenting her and himself, he finally had a chance to start over with her. But judging by what she’d just said, it was going to be a very hard road back.

  * * *

  The award ceremony was lengthy. General Machado made a speech. His director of the interior made a longer one. The presenter made an even longer one. By the end of it, Clarisse’s feet hurt. She was glad she was wearing low-heeled shoes.

  One by one, the honorees went out to receive their awards, made a short speech and shook hands with the General. Clarisse did the same, smiling up at him as he bent to kiss her cheek, the medal in its velvet case held tightly in one hand.

  “Thank you for coming,” he whispered in her ear.

  “Thank you for inviting me,” she whispered back.

  She shook hands with him and carried her award off the stage.

  She waited while the others received their medals. Rourke joined her, somber and quiet. He hadn’t liked the General kissing her. He was fuming inside.

  Clarisse saw his expression and felt her heart sink. He was angry at her again. It was familiar, though. Nothing really changed, least of all Rourke’s bad opinion.

  * * *

  She left her award with her coat in the cloakroom and nursed a rum drink. She’d already refused half a dozen requests to dance. She bristled at the thought of strange hands on her skin, and the dress was low cut in back. So she stood by herself, watching other people enjoy the music on the dance floor.

  She felt heat at her back and stiffened. She always knew when Rourke was close. She wasn’t sure how. It was rather uncanny. She turned, her whole posture defensive.

  “You’ve never danced with me, Tat,” he said, his voice deep and velvety as he drank in the exquisite sight of her.

  She sipped the rum, for something to do. “Have you had all your shots?” she asked with quiet sarcasm.

  There was a pause. He drew in a breath. “How about a truce, just for tonight?”

  She studied him with apprehension, her face wary, her eyes wide and worried.

  “I won’t hurt you,” he said. His face was taut, and not with revulsion. He looked as if he was hanging in midair, waiting for her to answer. At his side, his big hands were curled into fists. “Just for tonight,” he repeated in a voice so soft that she had to strain to hear it.

  He’d tormented her for so long. The pain, the memories, were in her wide blue eyes, in her sadness. She bit her lower lip, hard, and twisted her small evening bag into an unrecognizable shape in her cold hands.

  He moved a step closer, so that he was almost right up against her. His breath caught as he breathed in the floral perfume she wore, just a hint of it. His hands came up, very slowly, and went to her waist. He was hesitant.

  “Trust me,” he said at her forehead. “Just this once.”

  “You don’t like me to touch you,” she managed in a choked tone.

  His eye closed on a wave of pain. “I lied.” He looked down into her shocked face. “I lied, Tat,” he whispered. “I want your hands on me. I want you close, as close as I can get you.” He drew in an unsteady breath. “Humor me.”

  She hesitated. It would start the addiction off, all over again, just when she was thinking that she could finally get over him.

  “Come on.” He took the drink from her cold hands and put it on the table. Then he caught the other small hand in his, linking his fingers into hers, and led her into the large room where the orchestra was playing. Couples were moving slowly to a bluesy tune.

  He turned and curved one long arm around her waist. He slid his fingers in between hers and rested them over his spotless white shirt. He moved closer and led her, to the rhythm of the music. He could hear her breath catch, feel the tenseness in her young body slowly give way to the seduction of the slow movements.

  “That’s more like it,” he said roughly at her temple.

  She thought she felt his mouth there. Surely he wouldn’t do that, though, she reminded herself. She should pull away. She should run. He was going to hurt her. This was the way it always was. He was kind, or seemed to be. Then he pushed her away, taunted her, tormented her…

  She pulled back and looked up at him with anguish in her face.

  “No,” he whispered, wincing as he read the apprehension there. “I meant it. I swear to God, I won’t hurt you, Tat. Not with words, not any other way. I give you my word.”

  That was serious business with him. If he made a promise, you could bet money on his keeping it. She searched his hard face. “Why?”

  He let out a breath from between chiseled, very masculine lips. His gaze went over her head to the wall beyond. “I…heard some gossip, years ago. Malicious gossip. Long story short, I thought we were related by blood.”

  She stopped dancing. She gaped at him. “Wh…what?” she asked, and started to jerk away from him.

  His arm curled her into his tall, muscular body and held her there. “It wasn’t true,” he said. “I had it checked out. Your mother’s blood type was O positive,” he said through his teeth. “And your father’s blood type was B positive. I’m AB negative, like K.C. You’re B positive.” He hesitated. “I had a covert DNA scan done from a sample of your blood. Don’t ask how I got it,” he said when she opened her mouth. “I’m a spy. I have ways. I spoke to a geneticist. There is no way in hell we could be related. Not even in the most distant way. “

  She was standing very still. All of a sudden the past eight years made absolute sense. He’d behaved sometimes as if it was tormenting him to be near her, as if he wanted her but he wouldn’t permit himself to touch her, or her to touch him.

  The realization made her face change, made her expression change.

  His jaw tautened as he looked down at her. “Oh, God, don’t you think I wanted you, too?” he whispered in anguish. “Wanted you, ached for you, for years! And I couldn’t…I didn’t dare even touch you…!”

  Tears welled up in her eyes. It was like dreams coming true. She couldn’t believe it.

  “Oh, baby,” he whispered, and suddenly dragged her body against his, holding her. He started shivering, from the force of desire, so long denied.

  She pulled back abruptly, her eyes horrified. “Are you all right, Stanton?” she asked at once. “You’re shivering! It isn’t the malaria recurring?”
He’d had it years ago. She’d nursed him through one bout of it when she was a child, in Africa. She reached up hesitantly to touch his face. “You do feel a little warm…”

  He was almost in shock. He was shivering with desire and she didn’t know it. But she was experienced. She’d had men. How could she be ignorant of something so basic?

  He scowled. Impulsively, his hand slid down to the base of her spine and pulled her very close, letting her feel the sharp, immediate arousal of his body.

  She went scarlet and tried to get away from him, struggling to escape the intimate contact, which she’d only ever felt once, the Christmas Eve that she’d almost given in to his ardor. No man had been allowed to touch her that way since. It was still embarrassing.

  Rourke felt as if Christmas had come. He let her move away, but his one good eye was brimming with joy, with exultation.

  He bent his head a little, so that he was looking right into both of her eyes. “You’re still a virgin, aren’t you, Tat?” he asked in a rough whisper.

  “Stan…ton!” she choked, and averted her eyes.

  He slid his cheek against hers. He shivered again. “I don’t have malaria,” he whispered. “That part of me is looking for a soft, warm, dark place to hide in.”

  It took her a minute to work that out. When she did she colored even more. She hit his chest. “Stanton!”

  He laughed softly, with utter delight, nuzzling his face against hers. “You couldn’t do it with anyone else, could you, Tat?” he teased.

  And there it was. Assumptions. Arrogance. He knew how she felt. He’d said it would be a truce, but it really wasn’t. He was moving in for the kill. Now that he knew what she really was, he’d never relent. He’d stalk her until he seduced her. He might sound pleasant; he might even sound as if he cared about her. But at the end of the day, he just wanted sex. He’d desired her for years, but thought he couldn’t have her. Now he knew that he could. And it was true. She had no defense. Except one.

  “Ruy asked me to marry him,” she said quietly, without looking up at him.