“Absolutely,” Slade said, and smiled—but his smile faded when he turned to Lara again as the patrol car’s taillights winked, then faded into the night. “Picking me for your stud service was a bad idea.”
“Look.” She exhaled sharply and tucked her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. “Maybe I—maybe I shouldn’t have made such a—a unilateral decision…”
Color rose in her face at his bark of harsh laughter.
“Do the words ‘right’ and ‘wrong’ have any meaning in your world, Sugar?”
“I wanted a child, Slade. And I promise you, I’ll raise him with love. You don’t have to worry about that. About anything. I told you, I don’t want anything from you.”
“You already have it. My donation to your own private sperm bank.” A muscle knotted in his jaw. “That was all you wanted from me that day. Isn’t that what you said?”
“I—yes. Yes, that’s right.”
He moved toward her. She took a step back but with the car behind her, there was no place to go.
“Why me?” She flinched as he reached out and ran the back of his hand along her cheek but though his voice was rough, his touch was gentle. “You wanted a man in your bed, you could have had your choice. How come I was the lucky sap?”
“I told you.” His hand was in her hair, his fingers warm against her scalp. His breath was warm, too, almost a caress against her skin. “You were—you had the right attributes. And you were there at the right time.”
He looked into her eyes. “You trembled in my arms.”
“I—I don’t see what this has to do with anything. Slade, please—”
“That’s what you said to me when I kissed you, the first time. Please, you said, Slade, please…”
He lowered his head, slowly, slowly, even as his brain asked him what in hell he was doing. He didn’t want her. She’d used him. Lied to him. She’d have gone on lying, she’d have kept him from the truth, if it hadn’t been for a quirk of fate.
He paused, a whisper from her lips. Her eyes were wide and fixed on his. His thumb lay in the hollow of her throat again and he could feel the race of her heart.
“Tell me the truth,” he said huskily. “That you wanted me, not just a substitute for a test tube.”
He gathered her close. She was rigid but a little sound escaped her, a soft moan that filled him with triumph. He slid his hands down the length of her back, cupped her bottom and lifted her into the V of his legs, into the hardness of his arousal.
She moaned again, lifted her hands to push him away. Instead she curled her fingers into his shirt, teetered on the brink of lunacy…
With a cry, she tore herself from his arms.
“All right.” She shuddered with the enormity of the admission. “It’s true. Michael is your son.”
Slade bowed his head. For one heart-stopping instant, she almost reached out to touch him but she caught herself before she could do anything so foolish.
“And—I admit, I might have made a couple of poor decisions.”
He looked up, his expression unreadable, his eyes cool and watchful.
“I’ll see to it the birth certificate is changed.” She waited for him to speak but he just went on looking at her. The silence grew unnerving. “And—and I’ll tell him about you, when he’s old enough to understand.”
Still, Slade said nothing.
“Dammit,” she said, “what more do you want?”
“You don’t pay attention, Sugar, or you wouldn’t need to ask. I already told you. I intend to be a father to my boy. A good father.”
Lara ran the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip. Her world was falling apart, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
“All right,” she said unsteadily. “We’ll arrange for—for visiting privileges. You can come to see him, I don’t know, one Saturday a month—”
“Wow.”
The softly spoken word oozed sarcasm. Her head came up; she balled her hands into fists. “You think it’s going to be easy, giving him up to you for a Saturday?”
“I don’t much care what it is, for you.” He spoke calmly, which amazed him, because his heart was beating like a drum. “It’s Michael who counts. I don’t want our son to spend Saturdays with a man who’d basically be a stranger.”
Our son. An ominous portent clung to the words but, in her desperation, Lara ignored it.
“What would you suggest, then?” Her heart skipped a beat. “I’m not going to let you take him away from me, Slade. I swear, if you try—”
“Marriage.”
She stared up at him, into those unreadable eyes. “What?”
“We’re going to be married. Tomorrow.” His words were clipped. She thought, crazily, that he might have been arranging a dental appointment. “At noon.”
She waited for him to laugh. When he didn’t, she gave one bark of hysterical laughter for the both of them.
“You’re crazy.”
He grabbed her arm as she turned away and spun her toward him.
“It’s the only solution,” he said coldly. “My son is going to have two parents. A father, and a mother.”
“No! I’d never agree to—”
“I’m not asking you, I’m telling you.” His hand tightened on her. “And you’ll be a good mother to him and a faithful wife to me or so help me, I’ll take him from you.” His eyes burned into hers. “If it comes to that, if he’s only going to have one of us, it’s going to be me. I can do it, Sugar. Don’t make the mistake of thinking I can’t.”
It was the truth. She knew it; he could destroy her life and he would, if she didn’t do what he wanted.
“I hate you,” she whispered. Tears of rage rose in her eyes and streamed down her face. “I hate you, Slade. I’ll always hate you—”
“Hate me,” he said, clasping her face between his hands. “I don’t give a damn. All I want is my son.” He took a breath. “That,” he whispered, “and you in my bed, at night.”
“No,” she said, “Slade, no,” but he didn’t listen. He kissed her, his mouth bruising hers. Lara groaned, at first with despair and then with self-loathing, as she gave herself up to the kiss.
CHAPTER EIGHT
SOME women dreamed about their wedding day.
Lara wasn’t one of them.
She’d never wasted time imagining what it would be like to be a bride. Why would she, when she knew the reality of marriage? Her father’s terrifying anger. Her mother’s soul-wrenching tears and blind obedience to every command he gave until one summer evening, he’d walked out the door and never returned.
Her sister was living that same life now, as if she’d never learned anything from their mother’s misery. Emily was trapped in the same life that had been their mother’s, worn-out and dependent on a man for her survival.
Lara had vowed none of that would ever happen to her. She’d studied hard and made herself financially independent. She’d filled her life with things she loved, travel and music and books, and when she’d felt a gnawing emptiness inside her, she’d realized it wasn’t for a man—what intelligent woman would think it was?
It was for a child of her own. For Michael.
And yet, for all her clever planning, she’d made a terrible mistake.
She’d chosen Slade to be her son’s father for reasons that had seemed so logical. His good looks. His obvious health. His intelligence. That he wasn’t a man who’d want to hang around and stay in her life had suited her plans, and if he’d excited her in a way no man had ever done…well, that was a bonus.
How stupid she’d been.
Looks. Health. Intelligence. Sex appeal. She’d checked them all off, as if they were items on a shopping list. But Slade had another quality, one he’d shown when he’d picked her up that day in Denver, one she’d foolishly not considered.
Slade Baron was the most determined man she’d ever met.
When he wanted something, he went after it and to hell with anything that stood in his path.
He wanted Michael. And today he’d come to lay his claim.
Lara had refused to believe it. She’d spent the night telling herself that what had happened in that parking lot had just been a man showing he was stronger than a woman…until the bell rang, at eight, and she opened the door and saw him standing on the stoop.
“You can’t do this to me, Slade,” were the first words out of her mouth.
“No, ‘good morning, Slade.’ ‘Nice to see you, Slade.’ Just, ‘You can’t do this to me, Slade.’” His tone mocked her. “I’ve already done it, Sugar.” His words turned cold. “Dobbs is expecting us in—” he glanced at his watch “—in just a little over an hour.”
“You’ve spoken with Mr. Dobbs?” The look on his face was all the answer Lara needed, and she felt her despair escalate into fury. “This is my life, damn you. You have no right—”
“I have every right.” His eyes gaze raked over her face, paused at her lips, then lifted to meet hers. “Would you like me to prove it?”
Lara stared at him. What did the threat mean? That he’d see her in court? Or that he’d take her in his arms, as he had last night, and make a sham of her pathetic attempt at defiance?
“I hate you,” she said, her voice trembling. “Do you hear me, Slade? I hate you! You can play your tin-god games with my life and with my son’s, but you can’t change the way I feel. I hate you, and I always will.”
Something dark and dangerous flashed in his eyes but he spoke with a dispassionate calmness that only frightened her more.
“Are you packed?”
“Packed? No.” Lara’s heartbeat fluttered. “We didn’t discuss—”
“It doesn’t matter.” He brushed past her. “In fact, I prefer it that way.”
“You prefer…?” She rushed after him as he headed toward Michael’s room. “He’s sleeping. Don’t—”
Her breath caught. Michael was clinging to the crib rail, swaying unsteadily as he stared, round-eyed, at Slade.
“Hi there,” Slade said softly. “Hi, Mike.”
“His name is Michael. And he’s frightened of strangers. You can’t just—”
But he already had. He’d lifted Michael from the crib. And her son, her beloved, traitorous little boy, gazed solemnly into the face that was an adult version of his, and smiled.
“Hey, Mike,” Slade whispered. The baby put a plump hand against his mouth and he kissed it, inhaling baby-sweet scents that were as foreign as they were welcome. He swallowed hard. There was a lump in his throat the size of a tennis ball. My son, he thought. My flesh and blood.
He turned at a muffled sound and saw Lara standing behind him, hand pressed to her lips, eyes wide and bright with tears. She looked like a woman who’d lost everything and, just for an instant, he almost felt sorry for her—but then he thought of what he had lost, the months without knowing he had a son, the years that would have been lost to Michael if he’d grown up without knowing he had a father, and his heart hardened.
“If there’s anything here you really want,” he said coldly, “get it now.”
“I don’t—” Her voice trembled. “I don’t understand.”
“And pack whatever my son will need.”
“He’s my son. Mine, Slade. I planned him. I gave birth to him. I’ve raised him without any help from you—”
“Do it. And do it quickly. We have a lot to accomplish before one o’clock.”
Lara stared at him. “What?”
“The meeting with Dobbs. And, at noon, the wedding—”
“No.” Lara shook her head wildly. “No!”
“—and,” he said, as if she hadn’t spoken, “our plane leaves at one.”
“Our plane?” She wrapped her arms around herself, as if that might stop her from trembling. “Slade. Slade, listen to me. You have to be reasonable. I—I have a life here. A home—”
“Your Mrs. Krauss is waiting in a taxi downstairs. She’s agreed to take care of my son while you and I see Dobbs, and then the justice of the peace.”
“How do you know about her? Have you been spying on me?”
“You can list your house with a rental agent or sell it. You won’t be coming back to it.”
“You have been spying!”
“I’ve been collecting information, Sugar. It’s easy enough to get, if you really want it.”
Lara knew his barbed remark had a second meaning but she ignored it. All she cared about, all that mattered, was regaining control of her life.
“Slade, listen to me. Think about what you’re doing. You’re asking me to give up everything. My job. My career—”
“I’m not asking you, I’m telling you.” He smiled thinly. “You want a career? Well, you have one. You’re going to be a mother and a wife, and you’d damned well better do a good job at both.”
She shrank back as he strode past her. Slade told himself that was fine. It was the way it should be. Hell, after what she’d done to him, she deserved everything that happened…
But the fear in her eyes, and the despair, made his heart feel heavy as he carried his son away.
* * *
At nine, Lara stood beside Slade in Edwin Dobbs’s office. His arm felt like a steel clamp around her shoulders as he explained that they’d fallen deeply in love almost at first sight. She wasn’t sure which seemed phonier, the smile on his face or the story he’d invented, and she waited for the Beaufort chairman to laugh.
Instead he smiled.
“I know bankers aren’t supposed to admit to being romantics at heart, but I am,” Dobbs said. “I must admit, though, I’m stunned.”
“So are we,” Slade said, tightening his arm around her. Lara knew the gesture looked affectionate but she could feel the warning bite of each finger in her flesh. “Aren’t we, darling?”
Did he expect her to help him? No way. Slade had choreographed this show; let him do the dance by himself.
“And you’re getting married immediately?” Dobbs laughed, shook his head in pleased disbelief. “When did all this happen?”
“Who knows the exact moment a man and woman fall in love, Edwin?” There was a smile in Slade’s voice but the pressure of his arm was still unyielding. “Lara was going to tell you herself but I thought you’d appreciate hearing the news from the both of us.”
“Well, that’s wonderful for you, Slade,” Dobbs said, as if Lara weren’t there. He chuckled. “Bad news for me, though. I’m losing a fine executive.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Dobbs,” Lara said. “I wish—I wish it were different.”
“She means,” Slade said briskly, “she wishes she could give you more notice.” He looked down at her. “I’m sure Edwin understands, darling.”
“If you insist,” she said quickly to Dobbs, “I could stay on for a couple of weeks.”
“And miss your own honeymoon?”
The chairman laughed. Slade laughed. They both looked at her as if she were feebleminded and she thought, for one awful minute, they’d chuck her under the chin, these two men busily arranging her life as if she had no stake in it.
Nonsense, Dobbs said. She was the model of efficiency. He was sure her assistant could take over with hardly a break in stride.
That seemed to sum it up. What was happening—the fact that her life was spinning out of orbit—didn’t seem to matter to anybody but her. Her house was up for sale. Mrs. Krauss was earning a morning’s wages. Dobbs would replace one auditor with another. Everybody was satisfied, except her, but what could a marionette do when somebody was pulling its strings?
An hour later, they stood before a justice of the peace who either believed all brides shook through the all-too-brief ceremony or simply didn’t notice. Mrs. Krauss stood alongside with Michael in her arms. The ceremony took less than five minutes. At the end, when the J.P. said Slade could kiss his bride, Lara stiffened and waited for him to take her in his arms.
Whatever he might expect, she would not kiss him.
That she’d responded to
him last night was a sign of weakness, and weakness could be overcome. The bottom line was that sex wasn’t going to part of this farce of a marriage, not unless Slade was into rape and she was sure he wasn’t. He was everything she despised, and she hated him for what he’d done to her, but she knew he was a man who’d never force a woman into his bed.
He hadn’t needed force with her, eighteen months ago. And she, pathetic fool that she was, would pay for that night for the rest of her life.
But Slade didn’t touch her. He didn’t look at her. He thanked the J.P., shook his hand, clasped Lara’s elbow in a gesture so impersonal it was meaningless and led her outside. Two limousines were waiting, one to take Mrs. Krauss to her home, one to take Lara, Slade and Michael to the airport.
Lara’s heart congealed into a hard, cold lump. She grabbed Mrs. Krauss, who looked startled, and hugged her.
“Goodbye,” she said, through a veil of tears. Then she stepped into the car that awaited. Slade got in with Michael in his arms. The door slammed shut behind him with an awful finality.
She’d played a dangerous game—she knew that now. She’d won Michael, but she’d lost everything else. Her pride. Her independence. Her freedom.
She wasn’t Lara Stevens anymore. She was Slade Baron’s bride.
* * *
They sat side by side in the first-class compartment of the jet, two strangers with nothing between them but a night of passion.
And a child.
Lara shuddered and drew her son closer in her arms. He was asleep, his dark head against her breast, his teddy bear clutched in his arm. He’d cried the first few minutes of the flight, wrenching sobs the sympathetic flight attendant said were probably the result of the change in pressure on his eardrums. It was a logical explanation and yet Lara’s heart told her the baby’s tears were for the life they were leaving behind, and for the unknown existence that lay ahead.
Slade had tried to soothe Michael’s tears. He’d wanted to take him from her arms but Lara had clung fast.
“I’ll hold him,” she’d said.
His eyes had darkened and she’d waited for him to insist. But he hadn’t. He’d simply opened his briefcase and pulled out a stack of papers. In minutes, she could see that he’d forgotten all about Michael.
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