Hot & Bothered Page 29

  “You got off easy,” he told him flatly. “Be grateful, because if you’d harmed one hair on her head I would’ve snapped your neck without blinking an eye.” Ignoring the spate of questions and frantically whirring cameras, he turned on his heel and strode from sight into the trees.

  It wasn’t until he reached the smooth expanse of the lawn and saw Victoria coming toward him that he realized what he had just publicly revealed. Swearing beneath his breath, he picked up his pace to give them a moment’s privacy before Jared, too, who was strolling in Victoria’s wake with Esme riding his shoulders, reached them.

  “Is Es okay?” he demanded the moment they met.

  “Yes. She was rattled to find herself in the woods with a man she didn’t know, but she’s got that child’s ability to bounce back. How about you?” She touched his forearm. “You looked pretty grim when we left you back there. Are you all right?”

  “Well, there’s good news and there’s bad news about that. The good news is you were right.”

  She blinked. “That’s always a happy circumstance, of course. What exactly was I right about this time?”

  He hesitated a second, but couldn’t deny the rush of protective feelings that had come over him in the woods. “That there’s no way in hell I will ever hurt that little girl. Esme’s adventure drove that home like nothing else could. I really wanted to rip that guy’s head from his body, Tori. But I knew it would only further terrorize Es, and the fact that I didn’t even have to think before putting her feelings first made me realize that I have a lot more control around kids than I thought. So I guess I’m not like my father after all.”

  “Damn straight you’re not,” she agreed fiercely. Then her expression gentled and she stroked soft fingertips along the raised veins on the back of his hand. “I’m gratified you finally understand that. Does this mean you’re ready to claim her as your daughter?”

  “Well, that’s kind of the bad news.” He studied her face for a second, hating to admit what he’d done. But there was no help for it and he finally said, “I just did that in a very public way.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When I picked up the photographer to toss him back over the wall, he screamed like one of those chicks in a horror flick and all the other newshounds came running. I said in front of them all that he was lucky I didn’t break his neck for messing with my kid.”

  “Tell me they didn’t capture that on film!” She looked at him in horror. “Wait, maybe they’ll think you were speaking generically—sort of an I’m-going-to-marry-the-mother-therefore-her-kid-is-my-kid thing. But, God, Rocket, if anyone digs deeper—”

  Her obvious desire to keep his parentage under wraps was like a swift kick in the balls and suddenly his moment of feeling okay about the Miglionni genes evaporated. For the first time he acknowledged that his feelings for Victoria went so much deeper than sex it wasn’t even funny. He had to face the fact that he’d been kidding himself for a long time. From practically the get-go, he’d known his feelings for her were different than anything he’d ever felt for any other woman. But his image of himself had been formed early, and deep in his heart he had feared that no matter how far he’d traveled from his roots he might never be good enough for her.

  The fact that she agreed—that she was horrified by the very thought of the world learning he was Esme’s father—cut to the quick. So this is love. Hurts like a son of a bitch.

  His back went militarily erect. So, what’d you expect, fool? You pretty much knew last night that in the long run an uptown girl like her would never be content with a guy like you. His gut felt overcrowded with frozen knots, but he managed to give her an amiable nod. “’Fraid they did.”

  “We have to tell Es ourselves before word of this starts making the rounds.”

  “Well, I’ll tell you—I was just one hell of a chatty individual today, because I may have done that already, as well. I don’t remember exactly what I said to her in the woods, but I think it was along the lines of, ‘Come to Papa.’”

  “She must have been too shook up to notice,” Victoria said. “Either that or she thought it was an extension of the pretend-engagement game, because she didn’t say a word about it to me.”

  Yeah, she’s probably as thrilled by the idea of having me in her life as you are, he thought with a touch of bitterness. Understanding on a fatalistic level, however, that he was too late to claim mother or daughter, he forced himself to say with professional equanimity, “As you say, then, ma’am, we’ll tell her together.”

  “Ma’am?” Her jaw dropped, but she immediately firmed it up and shot him a crooked smile that said she was wise to his teasing. “Don’t you think we’ve come a ways past ma’am?”

  Not nearly as far as I assumed we had, apparently. Jared and Esme were only a few steps away, though, so he merely looked at her.

  Victoria gave him a puzzled stare. “Are you all right, John?”

  “Hell, yeah,” he said briskly. “I’m…fine. Absolutely dandy.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  “LOOK, MUMMY! UP HERE! I’m up in the tree!”

  Victoria stopped short beneath the black walnut tree that shaded the new south wing of the mansion, her head jerking back to peer up through its dark green leaves. Helen had informed her just moments ago that John had taken Esme out for a walk. She doubted he’d try to talk to their daughter without her present, but he’d been oddly distant ever since he’d returned from dealing with the reporter in the woods. So she had set out after them, a vague uneasiness nipping at her mood.

  The last place she’d expected to find the two of them was on a fat branch high up in a tree, sitting side by side with their legs dangling into space. Her heart lodged in her throat when Esme leaned forward to grin down at her, but John casually stretched a strong arm in front of her, bracing his palm against the tree trunk to form a bridge for their daughter to hang over.

  Their daughter. She still wasn’t accustomed to the idea of that.

  “Me and John climbed up here!” the little girl crowed and Victoria marveled once again at her daughter’s lightning-fast powers of recuperation. She’d half expected Es to stick to her like glue for the rest of the afternoon, but within fifteen minutes of being rescued from her scare in the woods, she’d been off and running.

  “Come up, Mummy! John was just going to tell me sumpin important.”

  She gaped at him, dumbfounded. He was going to tell Esme he was her father! Without her. She subjected him to a hard stare, but if he felt the least bit embarrassed to be caught cutting her out of the process it didn’t show. He merely looked back at her with that infuriatingly blank, noncommittal expression she hated.

  What was his problem? The way he was acting you’d think she’d done something wrong. But it wasn’t her who’d told the world he was Esme’s father before the two of them could even tell their daughter. It wasn’t she who had then vanished.

  “Come up, Mummy!”

  “Oh, I intend to,” she said grimly, studying the intimidating gap that stretched between her and the first branch. “Just as soon as I figure out how.”

  John sighed and turned to Esme. “Scooch over, little darlin’, and hug the tree trunk there real tight while I go help your mama.”

  Gazing at him as if he were a god descended from on high, the child did as he commanded.

  “Now don’t budge an inch, you hear?”

  “’Kay.”

  When John appeared satisfied she’d do exactly as instructed, he swung lithely down through the branches until he stood on the bottom-most limb. Squatting, he glanced up to make sure Esme hadn’t moved, then anchored himself with one hand and leaned down to extend the other to Victoria. “C’mon,” he growled impatiently when she didn’t immediately reach out to grasp it. “We don’t want to leave her unattended a second longer than necessary. Grab hold with both hands.”

  And then what? She wasn’t exactly Miss Petite to be lifted one-handedly from that position. Still, such wa
s his air of command that she reached up to do as he said. And even as she wrapped her hands around the hot, hard strength of his wrist and forearm, his physical power wasn’t what she questioned aloud. Instead, she heard herself demanding in a low voice, “Why are you acting this way?”

  Not bothering to answer, he latched onto her forearm and pulled her up as if she weighed nothing at all, grasping her other arm and rising to his feet as he brought her level with his branch. She was still gasping from the shock of her rapid ascent when he disengaged her hands from his arm and placed them on a limb above their heads. For just a second they stood chest to breast, arms stretched overhead, touching from wrist to elbow, his hands tough-skinned and warm as they settled her grip around the limb.

  He stared down at her, his expression unreadable. “Got your footing?”

  She nodded, aware of him in every cell of her body. Then he was gone, swarming up the tree to reclaim his seat next to Esme.

  She climbed much more cautiously, but a moment later she gingerly edged her bottom onto the thick branch next to her daughter. Digging her fingers into the limb’s bark, she gazed around and remembered when this tree was set away from the house. Now, with the new addition, if she leaned a little to the right she could see down into the kitchen. Fascinated by the perspective, she watched Mary polish silver at the big worktable as she talked to Cook, who was working at the stove. The closed windows that accommodated the air-conditioning prevented Victoria from hearing the actual words being said and her attention drifted until she found herself gazing down at the set of windows almost directly in front of her. Everything looked so different from this vantage point that it took her a moment to realize they looked into her father’s new office. The one Rocket currently used.

  “Isn’t this super, Mummy?”

  “Yes, it’s very interesting,” she agreed, smiling down at Esme. “I don’t believe I’ve ever climbed this tree before.” She wasn’t up here to admire the view, however. Looking past her daughter, she studied Rocket’s closed face. “Where did you disappear to after Esme’s big adventure?”

  “I wanted to give Terri Sanders a call before she left on her trip. It occurred to me she might have some ideas about Miles Wentworth’s dealings with your father.”

  “And did she?”

  “Yes. Apparently Ford promised to put Miles in charge of the European division. So he lost out big-time when your father died.”

  “Which means—” she cut her eyes toward Esme.

  “Exactly. My favorite suspect had no motive.”

  Esme wiggled impatiently and Victoria sucked in a breath until she saw that Rocket’s arm was behind the little girl’s squirmy bottom, providing a bulwark between her and the long drop to the ground. Her daughter turned impatient eyes on her.

  “I don’t care about the mile man. John has sumpin important to tell me.” Folding her hands in her lap, she turned to Rocket. “Go ahead, then.”

  “Yes, John,” Victoria said pleasantly. “Do go ahead.”

  He didn’t even spare her a glance. Focused on Esme, he cleared his throat. “You remember how your mama told you that your daddy couldn’t be with you?”

  “Uh-huh. But God wanted Mummy to have a special little girl, so He sent me to her.” She turned to Victoria. “Didn’t He, Mummy?”

  “Yes, He did.”

  “Yeah, that’s pretty much the story I heard, too.”

  Esme may not have heard the sarcasm in John’s voice, but Victoria did, and she stared at him over her daughter’s head as he tweaked Esme’s braid to redirect her attention back to him. She didn’t get it—what did he have to be so miffed about?

  “Anyhow,” he told the child, “since God did such a good job the first time around, He decided to send you your father, too.”

  “Huh?”

  “That would be me. I’m your daddy.”

  Her little eyebrows pleated, then as if she suddenly understood, her brow cleared and she gave a decisive nod. “My pretend daddy,” she said, clearly remembering their talk of make-believe engagements. She flashed him a great big pleased-with-herself smile.

  His own dark brows gathered over the thrust of his nose and Victoria thought that father and daughter looked so much alike it was a wonder no one had ever noted the resemblance before.

  John made an obvious effort to erase his frown. He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “No, sweetheart. Your real father.” He looked over her head at Victoria. “Are you gonna just sit there, or do you want to help me out here?”

  He looked a little desperate, but five minutes ago he’d been perfectly willing to go behind her back, so she wasn’t feeling particularly charitable. She rounded her eyes at him. “Oh, you need my help?” she inquired sweetly. “And here I thought you wanted to handle everything on your own.”

  Then guilt ruined her nice moment of self-righteousness. This probably wasn’t the best time to get bitchy. It was Esme’s future that would ultimately be affected—not to mention that her daughter had turned to her in confusion. She gently brushed a wavy strand of hair from Esme’s eyes.

  “It’s true, sweetie,” she said softly. “John is your real daddy.”

  The little girl blinked big, puzzled eyes up at her. “But how come he didn’t come ’til now?”

  “We didn’t know how to find each other, so there wasn’t any way to let him know about you.”

  But it hit her suddenly that she had possessed a way of finding him. She’d had his tattoo to go by. God knew she’d spent enough time during their week in Pensacola fiddling with it, tracing it with her fingers, outlining it with her tongue. And while the words Swift, Silent and Deadly were the ones most burned into her brain, 2nd Recon Bn was also inscribed across the bottom. She could have taken that knowledge and his Marine handle and tracked him down. It would have been embarrassing and it would have taken some effort, but if she’d really, truly wanted to involve him in Esme’s life, it could have been done. She glanced at him with a dawning sense of guilt that she hadn’t been fair.

  It was a feeling that increased as she saw the tenderness on his face as he gazed at Esme, who had turned her attention back to him.

  “You been here a long time,” the little girl said. “How come you didn’t tell me you was my daddy?”

  “Your mom—that is, we—wanted to be sure I had the ability to be a good parent before we said anything. No sense getting your hopes up if I turned out to be a dud.”

  “You’re not a dud,” she said indignantly.

  “Yeah, that’s what we finally decided, too. That—” he cleared his throat again “—I’m good enough to be your papa, after all.”

  Victoria’s heart melted.

  Esme’s must have also, for she stared up at him with shining eyes. “You’re truly my daddy?”

  “Yeah.”

  She bounced on the branch. “So you’re gonna be with Mummy and me forever and ever?”

  “No!” He seemed to realize he’d rapped out the word like a drill sergeant, for he gentled his voice. But his tone was no less resolute when he reiterated, “No. I’m your real daddy, but the engagement is still just pretend. And I know it’s confusing, baby, but you’ve got to keep that part to yourself.” He drilled Victoria with a hard-eyed look over Esme’s head.

  She felt as if he’d reached across their daughter and backhanded her. Well. You certainly can’t ask for a plainer message than that. Clearly she was good enough to sleep with, but he was letting her know loud and clear that he still wasn’t the marrying kind and she’d be wise not to get any ideas to the contrary.

  She couldn’t believe how much it hurt and she angled her body slightly away from them as Esme began bombarding John with questions. Staring through the leaves at the first-floor section that comprised Ford’s new office, she forced her face into a neutral expression that wouldn’t give away the world of misery his words had thrust her into.

  She tried to collect her thoughts, but they kept spinning in a kaleidoscope of choppy words a
nd broken images that shifted and altered and refused to form any kind of coherent whole. A flash here said she shouldn’t be so surprised—it wasn’t as if they’d ever promised each other permanency. But a jumbled recollection there reminded her of John’s protectiveness toward her. Her rebellious memory briefly taunted her with a glimpse of the look he always wore when he was inside her. Scalding pain radiated along every nerve ending, because she’d truly believed what they had was so much more than sex, that it had meant something to him, too, not just her. And, oh, God. She hurt.

  She hurt.

  She hurt.

  After what felt like a lifetime spent staring at the side of the house as she eased breaths past the ball of fire in her chest, an aberration began to niggle for her attention. There was something…not right…between what she’d swear were the inside dimensions of Father’s office and what she was currently looking at and she seized the distraction gratefully, using it as a focal point to keep all this clawing agony at bay. Then little by little, the architect in her began to think independently of her anguish. Her mind had registered an apparent discrepancy. But what was it and what could account for it? She studied the area and stared in the windows. She ran measurements in her head. And suddenly it sank in.

  “Oh, my God,” she said. “That’s why that room has always bothered me.” Turning to Esme, which meant facing John once again, as well, she forced composure where she felt none. “I’m going to go down now, sweetie. I’d rather you didn’t stay up here very much longer, either. It’s almost time for lunch.” She cast a glance at Rocket, but the pain crashed back over her in a red-hot wave and she quickly jerked her gaze away again.