Her Secret Weapon

by Beverly Barton

  He hammered into her with a fury born of intense passion and a need to possess her completely. His climax came like a bolt of lightning—fast and furious and electrifying. As completion claimed him, his body draining into hers, Callie lifted against him and cried out with the unparalleled pleasure of a second release.

  Sated, relaxed and totally satisfied, they lay together on the rug in front of the fireplace. When his breathing returned to normal, Burke rose to his knees, then lifted her into his arms and stood. She flung her arms around his neck and buried her face against his shoulder. He nuzzled the side of her face.

  “I’m going to make love to you again and again,” he said. “For the next two days, we have no pasts and no futures. There is no one else in the world, except the two of us.”

  “Just you and me,” she agreed.

  Callie awoke the next day in Burke’s massive, decorative, black wrought-iron bed, situated on a raised dais. Sheer cream-colored curtains formed a canopy around them. Morning sunlight streamed through the balcony doors. She lifted her head from the pillow and glanced at the sleeping man beside her. The satin sheet covered him only to his waist, leaving his broad, hairy chest visible.

  He was a beautiful man. And sexy beyond belief. A warm blush covered her cheeks as she remembered what had happened between them last night and again shortly after dawn. The things they’d said to each other! And the things they’d done! Callie had never imagined lovemaking could be so deliciously wicked and so gloriously earth-shattering.

  Two years ago, Burke had been drunk and yet had made love to her with a passion unlike anything she’d ever known. But a sober Burke had taken her to heights she’d never dreamed existed. Dear God, no wonder practically every woman in Europe stood in line to get into his bed. And to think he was her husband!

  But only temporarily. Only for the weekend would she allow herself to truly be his wife, she reminded herself. Enjoy what you have for the moment. Don’t let thoughts of what happens when you return to London interfere with this once-in-a-lifetime pleasure.

  “I don’t like that frown on your face,” Burke said as he opened his eyes and looked at her.

  She smiled. “No more frowns. Not today. And not tomorrow.”

  He lifted a hand and cupped one of her breasts. She sucked in her breath. “Are you sore? I want you again, but I don’t—”

  She answered his question by whipping the sheet away from his body and shoving it to the foot of the bed. He was aroused and ready.

  Before she took things any further, Burke halted her. “Remember the condoms,” he told her.

  She nodded and reached to the nightstand where a box of protective sheaths lay open. She slipped a packet from the box, then ripped it open and handed the condom to Burke. She watched with fascination as he slipped it over his erection.

  “I’m sorry I got so carried away the first time and didn’t use anything,” he said. “It’s not like me to forget. I’m always very careful.”

  “It’s all right,” she told him, but something deep within her heart wanted to remind him that he had forgotten once before. One life-altering night when she had conceived his child. A premonition flashed through her mind. The image of a little redheaded girl lingered in her thoughts. No. No! She couldn’t be pregnant.

  “You’re frowning again.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “If you’re pregnant…”

  She covered his lips with her index finger. “Hush. I’m not pregnant.”

  “I never asked, but are you on the pill?”

  “No, but I’m sure I’m not pregnant.” Fate wouldn’t play the same trick on me again, she thought.

  “If you are, we’ll deal with it. You mustn’t worry.”

  What did he mean, we’ll deal with it? Would he expect her to give up her child? Stop tormenting yourself, an inner voice advised. By the time you find out if you’re pregnant or not, you’ll be out of Burke’s life once and for all. You’ll be safely in America. You and Seamus and…

  Callie dismissed the worries of reality from her mind. She had promised herself two days of pretense, of illusion, of making enough memories to last a lifetime.

  She straddled his hips, and gently guided him inside her. She eased herself over him, slowly taking him completely. He groaned deep in his throat and clutched her hips.

  She rode him, slowly at first, savoring each undulation as she set the pace. But as their mating continued and her body became thoroughly aroused, she increased the tempo until she moved in a frenzy, seeking release. They climaxed simultaneously. The earth moved. Fireworks exploded. She relaxed on top of him, their flesh glued together with sexual perspiration.

  Monday afternoon arrived too soon. Burke was not prepared to end the idyllic honeymoon. Moments out of time. No past. No future. Only the glorious present. Night had melted into day and again into night as they laughed and talked and made love again and again.

  Burke hadn’t wanted to leave the villa, hadn’t wanted the interlude with Callie to end. She fulfilled him in ways no other woman ever had. Not only sexually—and he had to admit that her inexperience pleased him because she was an adept pupil who was eager to learn—but emotionally. She seemed interested in what he thought and how he felt. She wanted to know all about his childhood, his parents and his entire family. Callie was an ideal companion—friend, confidante and lover. But a phone call from Jonah prompted Burke to follow their original plan and return to London Monday evening. The arms deal had gone through, but unfortunately hadn’t turned out as planned. Once again, the wily Simon had outsmarted SPEAR and escaped, not only with his life, but with a goodly portion of the weapons.

  “However, we did manage to capture one of his employees,” Jonah had said. “The man was quite willing to exchange information for his life. It seems the weapons are headed for L.A.”

  “The drug wars,” Burke had commented.

  “Exactly. There’s money to be made in the drug trade and Simon needs money to continue financing his schemes.”

  “Does Simon think I double-crossed him?” Burke had asked, greatly concerned that Callie and her child might be in danger. More danger than ever.

  “We handled that problem. You’re in the clear. No fingers point to you as the traitor, so we feel certain that you and Ms. Severin—excuse me, Mrs. Lonigan—and her son are safe from any future reprisals. But I’d wait a month or so before following through with the divorce. Just in case Simon continues to keep tabs on you.”

  When they disembarked from the private jet at Heathrow, Burke felt Callie’s withdrawal the moment she saw Leland and Enid, who held young Seamus on her hip. The child wore a blue coat and cap, with mittens on his little hands and a plaid scarf around his neck that hid the lower half of his face. Callie rushed forward, racing toward her baby. The moment she reached Enid, she grabbed her son into her arms and held him to her chest. The sight of mother and child touched something deep inside Burke, and a slight twinge—a pang of jealousy—tightened his gut. He wasn’t jealous of the child, but of the child’s father. He didn’t like the thought that Callie might still care for the man, whoever he was.

  Burke reached out and grasped Leland’s shoulder. “Good to see you, old man.”

  “Good to have you back, sir.”

  “I’m afraid I have some urgent business to attend to,” Burke told Callie, who stood facing him, her son cuddled in her arms, his back to Burke. “Leland will take you and Seamus to my house and I’ll join you later tonight. But don’t wait up.”

  “Why can’t we go home with Enid?” Callie asked. “Wouldn’t that be simpler?”

  “You’re my wife now,” he reminded her. “It will be expected for you and Seamus to live with me.”

  “But just for tonight—”

  Burke gave her a disapproving glare. “When I arrive home tonight, I expect you and Seamus to be there. You can move whatever you need from Enid’s place into mine tomorrow.”

  “But now that the danger is over, what’s t
he necessity of continuing this charade?” When her son whimpered, Callie soothed him and quickly said to Burke, “Go on and take care of whatever needs your attention. We’ll settle this tomorrow.”

  “Very well.” Burke turned to Leland. “I’ll get a cab to the office. You take Enid home and then drive Mrs. Lonigan and her son directly to Belgravia.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Callie waited until Burke had disappeared from sight before she confronted Enid. “Why did you and Seamus come to the airport to meet us?”

  “It wasn’t my idea,” Enid replied as she looked meaningfully at Leland. “I wasn’t left a choice.”

  Callie snapped her head around and glared at Burke’s employee. “Did you force Enid to bring Seamus to meet me?”

  “The car is waiting, madam,” Leland said. “We should be going.”

  “Not until you answer my question.”

  “Very well, madam. Yes. I thought you and Mr. Lonigan would be eager to see your son.”

  A shiver of apprehension raced up Callie’s spine. “Yes, well…I’m very happy to see Seamus, but there was no need to bother Burke with a sleepy, whimpering child.”

  “I thought Mr. Lonigan should meet young Seamus,” Leland said, then reached over to tickle Seamus under the chin. “Such a handsome lad. We’ve become fast pals, haven’t we, Seamus?”

  Seamus grinned, that bright, baby smile that warmed her heart. Callie’s gaze met and locked with Leland’s, and she realized that he knew. Dear God in heaven, he knew!

  “It’s all right, madam. I have no intention of telling Mr. Lonigan,” Leland said. “But if I were you, I’d find a way—before he gets a good look at Seamus—to explain to him why your son is his spitting image. I’ve seen a photograph of Mr. Lonigan as a lad. He keeps the picture in his study. One of him with his mother when he was about two years old. That picture could easily be of young Seamus.”

  Chapter 11

  Burke arrived home at two in the morning. Dead tired, but relieved that he had tied up all the loose ends on another SPEAR matter. The assignment should run smoothly, as originally planned. Jonah had seemed pleased that the new situation had turned out better than the Simon deal. But Burke had pointed out that things could be worse where Simon was concerned, especially if Callie and her child had remained in danger.

  As Burke climbed the staircase in his Belgravia mansion, he wondered if Callie and little Seamus had settled in. He had ordered a hurried job on a nursery, telling the decorator to convert the separate sitting room adjacent to the bedroom Callie would be using into an area suitable for a little boy not quite two.

  He wanted Callie and her child to feel at home for the duration of their marriage. In a couple of months they would be able to get a divorce and go their separate ways. But in the meantime, he wanted Callie to feel comfortable in his home. At this point, he wasn’t overly concerned about the end of their marriage, only with the day-to-day and night-to-night problems that would inevitably arise. His major concern was how he could ignore the fact that his wife—the woman with whom he’d shared endless hours of sexual pleasure on their honeymoon—would be sleeping down the hall from him.

  She’s there now, in her bed, an inner voice reminded him. Warm and soft and waiting. Stop fantasizing! Callie isn’t waiting for you. She’s probably fast asleep. But as he reached the landing, he realized that she was indeed awake. She and her son. He heard the child whimpering and Callie singing to him, her voice sweet and soothing.

  He stopped by his bedroom, divested himself of his overcoat, coat and tie and then entered the hall. As he made his way toward Callie’s room, the child quieted. Her bedroom door hung halfway open. He glanced inside and found the room empty. Quietly walking through her room, he listened to the words of the old lullaby she crooned to her baby. When he reached the open pocket doors that led into Seamus’s temporary nursery, Burke took a deep breath. Wearing a pair of moss-green cotton pajamas, her rich red hair hanging loosely down her back, Callie sat in the rocker, Seamus cuddled in her lap. All Burke could see was the outline of the child’s chubby little body and the back of his head. Seamus had curly hair, as black as his, which was unusual for a child that age, but a definite Lonigan trait. For the briefest of moments, Burke’s gut tightened. An errant thought drifted through his mind. Under different circumstances, this child could have been his.

  Seamus whimpered again. Callie lifted him in her arms and laid him across her chest so that his little chin rested on her shoulder. The child’s eyelids drooped and his rosebud mouth rounded in a yawn. Then Seamus saw Burke, and his eyes widened. Blue eyes. Bright, clear, deep blue eyes, identical to his own, stared at Burke. A tight fist of apprehension grabbed Burke by the throat as he studied the lad’s features. No! It wasn’t possible!

  Burke stepped back into Callie’s bedroom. He gulped in a large breath and shook his head. He was imagining things. He’d only thought that Callie’s child was a carbon copy of himself at that age. Ridiculous!

  You’re tired, he told himself. You didn’t get much rest this past weekend and you’ve missed a great deal of sleep. Your vision is playing tricks on you. Callie’s son can’t resemble you and you know it. Now, go back in there and look at the child again. You’ll see that he doesn’t look a damn thing like you.

  Burke hovered in the doorway, his gaze riveted to the child’s face. Seamus stared at Burke for several seconds, then his lips curved into a big smile. Feeling as if he’d had the wind knocked out of him, Burke grabbed the doorjamb to steady himself and noticed that his hand was shaking.

  “Dada,” Seamus said, and held out a little hand toward Burke.

  This can’t be happening, Burke thought. I’m asleep, having a nightmare and I’ll awaken soon. But this was no dream. This was reality. Callie’s son was his spitting image. And the child had just called him dada.

  With her back to Burke, Callie couldn’t see him, but surely she knew he was in the room. Hadn’t she heard Seamus speak to him? As his mind tried to assimilate a thousand and one thoughts, Burke found his hand lifting and reaching out to the child.

  “No, precious love, Dada isn’t—” Callie glanced over her shoulder and gasped when she saw Burke. Holding Seamus in place, she jumped to her feet and made certain the boy’s face was hidden from Burke. “I didn’t hear you come in. Did Seamus disturb you? He’s teething and a bit fretful tonight.”

  Did Seamus disturb you? Did Seamus disturb you? My God, he wanted to yell at her, wanted to ask her if she were blind, to demand to know how she, Callie Severin, had gotten her hands on a child that he, Burke Lonigan, had obviously fathered. But how was that possible? He never had unprotected sex. Never!

  Yes, you have, his conscience reminded him. Saturday night with Callie at the villa. And two years ago with your mystery lady.

  That was it! Seamus’s mother must be his mystery lady, the woman whose faceless image had haunted him since the night they’d made love, here in this very house. But if Seamus belonged to his mystery lady, then how was it that Callie had become his mother?

  “Is he yours?” Burke demanded.

  “What?” Callie’s eyes grew large and round.

  Burke took a tentative step in her direction and she, just as hesitantly, backed away from him. “Seamus is…my God, woman, you must see the resemblance.”

  “Yes, I…of course, I see the resemblance. And I can explain, if you’ll—”

  “He’s mine!” Burke said. “That’s the only possible explanation.”

  This was the inevitable moment that Callie had been dreading. The moment when Burke would get a good look at Seamus and realize the boy was his. She should have told him. Now it would be so much more difficult to explain.

  “Yes, he’s yours.” She couldn’t deny the truth that was staring them both in the face. Seamus had turned in her arms and glanced from one tense adult to the other.

  “How? When? Who’s his mother? His real mother?” Burke asked.

  “Oh.” Callie hadn’t counted on
that question.

  “I had a brief, er, association with a young woman a couple of years ago. I don’t remember her name, but…”

  “She never told you her name,” Callie said.

  “She didn’t?”

  “No, she didn’t.”

  “And how would you know?” Burke asked. “Did she tell you all the intimate details of our night together?”

  “No one told me anything.” The confused look on Burke’s face explained all she needed to know. “You don’t remember anything about her, do you? You honestly don’t have a clue as to who she is.”

  “I remember everything about that night,” Burke insisted. “I remember everything about her.” She was kind and understanding and loving. And sexy, Burke thought. So very sexy.

  “You remember everything except what she looked like.”

  Burke’s expression confirmed the truth of her statement. She realized that he truly didn’t remember, that he had no idea she was the woman to whom he’d made love that night.

  Burke moved closer. Callie stood her ground, her chin tilted defiantly upward, her arms holding Seamus possessively. When Burke reached out and touched the child’s head, Seamus grinned broadly and said, “Dada.”

  “He’s at the age when he calls all men dada,” Callie explained.

  “Only in my case, he’s got it right.” Burke held out his arms and Seamus went to him immediately. “He’s a friendly lad, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, quite friendly.” Callie thought her heart would break into a million pieces as she watched father and son together, the boy a miniature of the man. “Burke, about Seamus’s mother—”

  “Is she a friend of yours? Or another cousin? Is that why you and Enid took the boy and you’re raising him as yours, because he’s family?”

  “He is family. He’s my child.”