His Secret Son

by Brenda Jackson

He’d heard how beautiful Manhattan was when it was decorated for this time of year. He’d been to the Big Apple a number of times, but never around the holidays. “Once I make the delivery, sir. Then what?”

  “That, Lieutenant, is up to you. If you decide to take your holiday leave, then you won’t have to report back here until the end of January as scheduled. However, if you still want to give up your leave, then you’re free to come back here and I’ll find more work for you to do.”

  Laramie nodded. He might take a week off to enjoy the sights and sounds of New York, but there was no doubt in his mind that he would be returning to San Diego for more work.

  * * *

  Bristol glanced around the art gallery. She always felt a sense of pride and accomplishment whenever she saw one of her paintings on display. Especially here at the Jazlyn Art Gallery of New York. She wanted to pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.

  She had worked so hard for this moment.

  “Looks good, doesn’t it?”

  She glanced up at her manager, Margie Townsend. “Yes, I have to admit that it does.”

  Margie’s tenacious pit bull–like skills had landed Bristol a showing at this gallery, one of the most well-known and highly respected galleries in New York. She and Margie had met last year on the subway and struck up a conversation. When Bristol discovered what Margie did for a living, she felt their chance encounter must have been an omen. She’d invited Margie to her home to see her work, and the excitement reflected in the woman’s eyes had been incredible. Margie promised to change Bristol’s life. She promised that Bristol would get to the point where she could quit her job as an assistant magazine editor and make her living as the artist she was born to be.

  Less than eight months later, Margie had sold one of Bristol’s paintings. The buyer had been so taken with her work that he’d also purchased several others. The money had been enough to bring about the change in Bristol’s life Margie had guaranteed. She had turned in her resignation and now painted full-time in her home.

  Bristol was happy with the direction of her career. She got to spend more time with her son since she kept him with her every day instead of taking him to day care like she used to do.

  Her son.

  She smiled when she thought about her rambunctious two-year old—the most important person in her life. He was her life. Every decision she made was done with him in mind. She’d already started a college fund for him and couldn’t wait to share the holidays with him. Last night they had put up their Christmas tree. Correction, she thought, widening her smile. She had put up the tree. Laramie had gotten in the way with his anxiousness to help.

  Laramie...

  It was hard not to think of Laramie’s father whenever she thought of her son. She had named him after his biological father, Laramie Cooper, who had died way too young, and without knowing about the child they’d created together. Sometimes she wondered what he would have done had he lived and gotten the letter she’d tried to send him.

  Would he have been just as happy as she’d been? Or would he have claimed the child wasn’t his? She might not have known Laramie Cooper long, but she wanted to believe he was a man who would have wanted to be a part of his child’s life. The way her father had wanted to be a part of hers. The two years she’d shared with the man who’d fathered her had not been enough.

  “Are you ready to go? You have a big day tomorrow and I want you well rested.”

  She chuckled as she tightened her coat around her. “And I will be.”

  Margie rolled her eyes. “I guess as much as you can be with a two-year-old running around the place.”

  She knew what Margie was hinting at. Bristol was spending less and less time painting now that Laramie was in the terrible twos. It was also the get-into-everything twos. The only time she really got to paint was during his nap time or while he slept at night.

  “Did you give any more thought to what I said?”

  Margie had suggested that she send Laramie to day care two to three days a week. “Yes, but I’m thinking of hiring someone to come to my home instead of me having to take him somewhere.”

  “That might work, but he has to start learning to interact with other kids, Bristol.” As they walked toward the waiting private car that was compliments of the gallery, Margie changed the subject. “Have you decided to go out with Steven?”

  Bristol shrugged. Steven Culpepper was nice enough, and good-looking, too. However, he was moving too fast. At least, faster than she liked. They’d met a few weeks ago when she’d closed a huge deal for a commissioned piece. He was the corporation’s attorney. He’d asked for her number and, without thinking much about it, she’d given it to him. Since then he’d called constantly, trying to get her to go out with him. So far, she hadn’t. She hated pushy men and Steven, she thought, was one of the pushiest.

  “No.”

  “I like him.”

  Bristol grinned. “You would. You have a thing for wealthy businessmen.” She knew Margie had been married to one. Or two. She was on her third marriage and not even fifty yet. But the one thing all three men had in common was the size of their bank accounts.

  “Well, I know you still have a thing for Laramie’s father and—”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “Bristol, you make it quite obvious that you haven’t gotten over him.”

  Did she? The only thing she’d told Margie about Laramie’s father was that he’d been in the military and had died in the line of duty without knowing he’d fathered a son. She’d even fabricated a tale that Laramie had been her deceased husband and not just her lover.

  It had been pretty easy. Dionne’s fiancé, Mark, had helped. Mark worked for a judge in Paris and had falsified the papers before Bristol left France. It was a way to make sure her son had his father’s last name without people wondering why her last name was different. It wasn’t as if she was trying to cash in on her son’s father’s military benefits or anything.

  “If you ask me, I think you should finally move on...with Steven,” Margie said, interrupting Bristol’s thoughts.

  Bristol wanted to say that nobody had asked Margie. But deep down, a part of her knew Margie was right. It was time for Bristol to move on. However, she doubted very seriously that it would be with Steven.

  A short while later she was entering her home, a beautiful brownstone in Brooklyn that she’d inherited from her aunt Dolly. She loved the place and knew the neighborhood well. She’d come to live here with her aunt ten years ago, when she was fifteen. That had been the year her mother died.

  She didn’t want to think sad thoughts, especially after her positive meeting with Maurice Jazlyn, the owner of the gallery. The man was excited about tomorrow night’s showing and expected a huge crowd. He loved all the artworks she would be exhibiting.

  “How did things go tonight?”

  She turned toward the older woman coming down the stairs to the main floor. Charlotte Kramer lived next door and had been a close friend of her aunt Dolly. With her four kids grown and living in other parts of New York, Ms. Charlotte had thought about moving to a condo not far away, but had decided she’d rather stay put since she’d lived in the area close to forty years and loved her neighbors. Ms. Charlotte said there were a lot of memories of Mr. Kramer stored in that house. He’d passed away eight years ago, a couple of years after Bristol had come to live with her aunt.

  Bristol appreciated that Ms. Charlotte loved watching Laramie for her whenever she had meetings to attend. And Ms. Charlotte had offered to watch him again tomorrow night when Bristol attended the exhibition.

  “Everything went well. Everyone is excited about tomorrow. Mr. Jazlyn thinks he’ll be able to sell all my paintings.”

  A huge smile touched Ms. Charlotte’s lips. “That’s good news. Dolly would be proud. Candace
would be, too.”

  She doubted the latter. Her mother had never approved of Bristol becoming an artist. It was only after she died that Bristol learned why. Her father had been an artist who’d broken things off with her mother to study in Paris. It was only after he’d left the country that her mother discovered her pregnancy. She’d known how to reach him but refused to let him know about his child. She had resented him for ending things with her to pursue his dream.

  Bristol had been sixteen when she’d met her father for the first time. She would not have met him then if it hadn’t been for her aunt’s decision to break the promise she’d made to Bristol’s mother years ago. Aunt Dolly wanted Bristol to know her father and vice versa. When Bristol was given the man’s name, she had been shocked to find that the person whose art she’d admired for years was really her father.

  She’d finally gotten the courage to contact him on her sixteenth birthday. Randall Lockett was married with a family when they’d finally met. He had two young sons—ages ten and twelve—with his wife Krista. Bristol was his only daughter and she favored him so much it was uncanny. She was also his only offspring who’d inherited his artistic gift.

  When he’d died, he had bequeathed to her full tuition to the school he himself had attended in Paris as well as the vast majority of his paintings. He’d felt she would appreciate them more than anyone, and she had. She’d heard that Krista had remarried and sold off all the artworks that had been left to her and their sons.

  Paintings by Randall Lockett were valued in the millions. Art collectors had contacted Bristol on numerous occasions, but she had refused to sell. Instead her father’s paintings were on display at the two largest art museums in the world, New York’s Metropolitan Museum of Art and the Orsay Museum in Paris.

  A few months before her father had died, they had completed a painting together, which was her most cherished possession. It was so uncanny that when it came to art she and her father had possessed identical preferences. They even held their brushes the same way. On those days when she felt down and out, she would look at the portrait over her fireplace and remember the six weeks they’d spent together on his boat while painting it. That was when they’d noticed all the similarities they shared as artists. She hadn’t known he was dying of cancer until his final days. He hadn’t wanted her to know. He was determined to share every moment he could with her without seeing pity and regret in her eyes.

  Forcing those sad thoughts from her mind, she glanced back over at Ms. Charlotte. “Did Laramie behave himself tonight?” she asked, placing her purse on the table.

  The older woman chuckled. “Doesn’t he always?”

  Bristol smiled. “No, but I know you wouldn’t tell me even if he was a handful.”

  “You’re right, I wouldn’t. Boys will be boys. I know. I raised four of them.”

  Yes, she had, and to this day Ms. Charlotte’s sons looked out for her, making sure she had everything she needed and then some.

  After Ms. Charlotte left, Bristol climbed the stairs to her son’s room. He was in his bed, sound asleep. Crossing the bedroom floor, she saw he had put away all his toys. That was a good sign that he was learning to follow instructions.

  Approaching the bed, she sat on the edge and gently ran her fingers through the curls on his head. He favored his father. Laramie Cooper’s features were etched in her memory. Whenever Laramie smiled, he displayed his father’s dimples in both cheeks. Then there was the shape of his mouth and the slant of his eyes. Like father, like son. There was no doubt in her mind that one day Laramie would grow up and capture some woman’s heart just as quickly and easily as his father had claimed hers.

  As she sat there watching her son sleep, she couldn’t stop her mind from going back to that time in Paris when she’d met US Navy SEAL Laramie Cooper...

  Two

  Paris, France, three years ago

  Bristol glanced up from her sketch pad when she heard the male voices entering the café. Military men. All five of them. That was easy to deduce, even though they weren’t wearing military attire. They were wearing jeans, shirts and dark leather jackets. The five walked confidently and were in perfect physical condition. Boy, were they ever! She wondered what branch of service they represented. It really didn’t matter. Whichever one branch it was, they were representing it well.

  The group took the table not far away from where she sat and one of the men, as if he felt someone staring at him, glanced over at her. Bam! She’d been caught. She hadn’t averted her gaze back to her sketch pad quickly enough. For some reason, she knew without glancing back up that he was still looking at her. She could feel his gaze, just as if it was a physical caress. It made her heart beat faster. It seemed that every single hormone in her body had begun to sizzle. Nothing like that had ever happened to her before.

  Okay, Bristol, concentrate on your sketch, she inwardly admonished herself. Her father hadn’t paid her tuition at one of the most prestigious art schools in France for her to get all hot and bothered by a bunch of military men. Although the five were extremely handsome, it was only one of the men who had caught her eye. The one who’d stared back at her.

  “Excuse me, miss.”

  She glanced up and the man was now standing at her table. Up close he was even more gorgeous. Definitely eye candy of the most delectable kind. Hot. Sexy. You name it and this man could definitely claim it. That had to be the reason intense heat was plowing up her spine.

  Bristol swallowed deeply before saying, “Yes?”

  “I was wondering if...”

  When he didn’t finish but kept looking at her, she asked. “Wondering what?”

  “If I could join you?”

  She wished he could but unfortunately, he couldn’t. She glanced at her watch then back at him. “Sorry, but I work here and happen to be on my lunch break, which will end in less than five minutes.”

  “What time do you get off today?”

  She tilted her head to look at him. “Excuse me?”

  “I asked what time you get off today. I’ll wait.”

  She figured that he had to be kidding, but the look in his eyes showed that he wasn’t. “I get off in four hours.”

  “I’ll wait. What’s your name?”

  This guy was definitely moving fast. But she couldn’t ignore the scorching hot attraction between them, even if she wanted to. And for some reason, she didn’t want to. She liked it.

  “My name is Bristol Lockett.”

  “The name Bristol is unusual. It suits you well. I like it.”

  And she liked his voice. It was deep and husky. The sound made heat curl inside her. OMG! What on earth was wrong with her? She’d never thought such outlandish things in her life. She might not have always been prim and proper but she’d been pretty close to it. She’d been in Paris close to four years and although she’d dated, most of the time she did not. She preferred curling up with her sketch pad and working on her watercolors than going out with any man. But now this ultrafine specimen was making her rethink that decision.

  “Are you American or French?”

  She blinked at his question. “I’m American.”

  “So am I.”

  She smiled. And what a good-looking American he was, with a body to die for. She felt as if she could draw her last breath just from looking at him. This guy was tall, at least six foot two or three. And his skin was the color of lightly roasted almonds. His dark eyes appeared somewhat slanted, and as far as she was concerned his lips were perfectly shaped. His hair was cut low on his head and his ears were just the right size for his face. But what captured her attention more than anything were those dimples in his cheeks. Doing absolutely nothing but standing there, he was arousing something within her that no other man ever had.

  “And who are you?” she asked, deciding not to let him ask all the que
stions.

  “I’m Laramie,” he said, stretching out his hand to her.

  She took it and immediately a spike of heat seemed to burst from his fingers and hit her dead center between the thighs. And when she stared into his eyes and saw the dark heat in his pupils, she knew he’d felt something, as well.

  “Are you married, Laramie?”

  “No. I’ve never been married. What about you? I approached you because I didn’t see a ring on your finger.”

  At least he didn’t hit on married women. Some men didn’t care. “No, I’m not married, either, and never have been.”

  “So, Bristol Lockett, do I have your permission?”

  She licked her lips. “For what?”

  That sexy smile widened. “To be here when you get off.”

  Then what? she wondered but decided not to ask. “Sure, if that’s what you want.”

  His chuckle made desire claw at her but it was his next words that sealed her fate. “There are a lot of things I want when it comes to you, Bristol.”

  Jeez. If he wasn’t standing there she would close her eyes and moan. This man presented a temptation she shouldn’t even think about yielding to. Too bad her best friend, Dionne, was out of town for the holidays and not around to talk some sense into her.

  “What about if we share a drink at one of the pubs first?” she asked, and then frowned. Why had she made it sound as if she would be willing to move to the next stage once they shared a drink?

  “That’s fine. I’ll be back in four hours.”

  When he walked off she glanced at her watch. Her break was officially over but she knew her encounter with this military man was just beginning.

  She hurried behind the counter to put on her apron while watching Mary-Ann, another waitress, head over to the table to serve the five guys. More people entered the café, and Bristol was about to cross the room to serve a couple with a little girl when Mary-Ann stopped her.

  “They asked for you,” Mary-Ann said, smiling.

  “Who?”