Hot & Bothered Page 4

  “So what is it that you want, Rocket?” For a moment, watching his grim face, she could see the warrior in him and she couldn’t keep the sarcasm from her voice to save her soul. “Visitation rights? Custody every other weekend and two weeks every summer?” That was the last thing the man she’d known would want.

  And perhaps he hadn’t changed all that much, because the question seemed to stop him in his tracks. He simply stared at her while a look that in any other man she might have construed as panic crossed his face. Then he blinked, and his expression resumed that noncommittal blankness at which he was so adept. But his voice was wary when he said, “Visitation rights?”

  “I assume that’s where all this indignation is leading.” And she didn’t even want to consider the idea. When she’d found out she was pregnant, she’d been perhaps the tiniest bit relieved that she didn’t know how to locate him. The last thing she’d wanted to do was force a guy who’d made such a point of their fling being just that into instant fatherhood. She’d had a father who wasn’t interested in the job—there was no way in hell she’d intended to subject her child to that sort of unrelenting rejection.

  Yet if Rocket truly wanted to be a part of Es’s life—well, maybe this wasn’t about her wants and desires. Maybe it was about doing what was best for her child. And, God help her, as much as the idea pained her, maybe she had no real moral or legal right to keep the faithless bastard rat from his daughter. Not if he was willing to devote himself to being a caring father.

  He gave her a wary look. “What exactly does she know about me?”

  “Nothing.”

  “What do you mean, nothing? Didn’t she ever ask why other kids have a daddy and she doesn’t?”

  “Of course she asked. But what was I supposed to tell her, that she was the result of a slam-bam-thank-you-ma’am fling with a Marine who didn’t even want to know my last name?”

  “So…what? You told her that I’m dead, instead?”

  “Certainly not!” Insulted right down to the ground, she glared at him. “I don’t lie to my daughter, Miglionni. And I plan on telling her the truth when she’s old enough to understand. Until that day, I’ll keep reiterating what I’ve told her so far.”

  He looked at her with unfriendly eyes. “Which is?”

  “That while her papa couldn’t be with her, God wanted me to have a special little girl, so He sent her to me. I’ve told her that I love her enough for two parents, and that we don’t need a da—” She cut herself off, recognizing a don’t-go-there situation when she blundered into it.

  But it was too late, and his eyes narrowed. “Don’t need what, Victoria? A daddy? You might not, lady, but I bet that little girl could use one.”

  “So I ask you again. What do you want?”

  Plowing his fingers through his hair until they ran into the rubber band clubbing it back, he stared at her in frustration. “I don’t know.”

  “Well, know this. I would have given the world for a loving and attentive father. Instead I learned firsthand the damage a neglectful parent can do. If my baby girl can’t have the former, I will see to it that she never has to know the pain of the latter.” She looked him straight in his pretty black eyes. “I’m trying extremely hard to be reasonable and see your side of the situation. But unless you’re fully prepared to be the kind of papa Esme deserves, Rocket, don’t even think of informing her that you’re her father.”

  “Fine.”

  He stared at her for several silent moments and Victoria had the feeling that nothing would ever be fine again. She was actually relieved when he finally broke eye contact and reached for his laptop. Before she could ease out so much as a single thankful breath, however, he turned back and pinned her in his sights once again.

  “Have a room prepared,” he said, and although his voice was low and reasonable on the surface, it had a demanding undertone that was unmistakable. “I’m moving in.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “The fact of my paternity may be six years old to you, Tori, but as far as I’m concerned, I’ve been a daddy for exactly ten minutes. I admit I don’t have a clue how I feel about my newfound status. But I sure as hell deserve the chance to get to know my daughter while I figure it out.”

  “Yes, you do.” Her heart was trying to beat itself through the wall of her chest again. “So get yourself a hotel room and stop by daily to see her.”

  “And give you the opportunity to pack her up and beat feet for places unknown? Not a chance, lady.”

  “I wouldn’t do that!” She stared at him, appalled that he’d believe her capable of such a thing.

  “You forget, baby, I was the one left behind when you did it before.”

  Yes, but that was because I was in over my head with you and getting way too involved after giving you my word I wouldn’t. Her heart, her skin, the very core of her throbbed at memories that had a habit of surging to the fore without a hint of encouragement from her. Six long years ago, she’d sneaked out as dawn crept over the Pensacola beach because she’d found herself falling too hard and too fast for a man whose rugged sexuality was far removed from the sanitized men in her world. She’d initially assumed sticking to his rules to enjoy their time together with no strings attached would be easy as pie. But when every day spent in his company sucked her deeper under his spell instead, it had scared her silly. To preserve her heart before she ended up with something a great deal worse than its already growing ache, she’d slipped away with the sunrise.

  She wasn’t crazy enough to admit that to the hard-eyed man standing in front of her, however. He bore little resemblance to the charmer she remembered, and she didn’t doubt for a moment that he would take full advantage of any weakness she displayed. She met his gaze with faux composure and lied without a qualm. “I told you before, a family emergency called me away.”

  “And I plan to be right here should another one suddenly crop up to call you away again.”

  Even though there was neither skepticism nor so much as a hint of sarcasm in his voice, she felt mocked—and somehow threatened. It was those eyes, she decided, and longed desperately to defy him.

  But Rocket looked at her as if he were prepared to make things truly nasty if she fought him on this. And the fact was, Tori knew, someone had killed her father and it wasn’t her brother. So perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to have a man in the house who was capable of protecting Esme if the real killer decided to pay them a return visit because this hadn’t been a grudge against her father after all.

  Unsatisfied with the decision but too tired to figure out what else to do, she said stiffly, “I plan to stay exactly where I am until Jared is found. Nevertheless, I will inform Mary to prepare a room for you.”

  “Good.” His look said there’d never been any doubt. “Then if you’ll supply me with a photograph, I’ll get to work locating your brother.” And he thrust out his hand as if closing the most mundane of business deals.

  To refuse his handshake would have been rude, but the minute she accepted it, Victoria knew she’d made a mistake. The chemistry that had existed since she’d first laid eyes on him in a resort bar all those years ago—and had been doing funny things to her pulse as recently as a few minutes ago—was still at work. Her skin heated where it touched the hard brown hand wrapped around her own and nerve endings deep inside sizzled and seethed, dispatching urgent messages to every erogenous zone she possessed.

  She broke the contact the instant she could do so without giving away its effect on her. It’ll be okay, she assured herself. If you try hard enough, you can make this work, and Esme will emerge the winner. Victoria would put up with anything to see that happen.

  So why, then, couldn’t she shake the feeling that she’d just sealed a deal with the devil?

  JOHN WAS PISSED. SERIOUSLY steamed. “I apologize,” he snarled in a high-pitched falsetto. “That wasn’t civil.” He climbed into his car, fired it up and reversed in a hard, tight U out of his parking spot. Well, screw Tori’s weak foray i
nto sarcasm. Slamming the gearshift into First, he aimed the car down the drive. Not telling him he had a kid the minute he walked through the door was uncivil.

  Fury and frustration boiled in his gut, enticing him to strike out. He wanted to hit someone, to feel the satisfaction of flesh giving way beneath his pounding fists. And, frankly, right this minute he wasn’t particular about whose flesh it was.

  That was just too freaking reminiscent of his old man in one of his drunken rages, though, so John sucked it up and contented himself with punching the accelerator instead to send the car shooting through the closing estate gates with barely an inch of clearance on either side. His car fishtailed onto the road before he straightened it out and laid rubber down the highway. He was damned if he’d allow Tori’s betrayal to flush years of hard-earned self-discipline down the toilet.

  Still. He had to do something or he’d explode. Letting up on the gas until he had the speed down to a more reasonable level, he reached for his cell phone and punched an auto-number.

  He was grateful when Zach answered so he didn’t have to go through his friend’s wife. John adored Lily, but small talk was simply beyond him at the moment, and without any preliminaries, he snarled, “Pass out the cigars. I’m a daddy.”

  There was a brief hesitation, then Zach said, “Rocket?”

  “Yeah. Hang on a sec. I want to see if I can get Coop, too. I have a real need to vent, but I’m afraid blood’s gonna flow if I have to explain this twice.”

  “Take your time, buddy. I’ll be right here.”

  That cooled John’s temper by several degrees and he turned his attention to reaching the other number. Within moments he had a three-way connection going with Cooper Blackstock and Zach Taylor, former team members from his reconnaissance days in the Marines and his two closest friends. As succinctly and unemotionally as he could manage, he told them he had a daughter, then laid out the details of how he’d come to learn of her existence.

  There was a moment of silence when he concluded his story. Then Zach breathed, “Holy shit,” at the same time Coop said, “I don’t believe it. The Muzzler finally has a real name.”

  “Victoria,” Zach concurred. “The timing fits.”

  “Huh?” Brow furrowing, John lifted his foot off the gas pedal. “What the hell are you two babbling about?”

  “Marines don’t babble, chief,” Zach said. “Did you think it somehow skipped our attention that six years ago you suddenly embraced total discretion after more than a decade spent regaling us in pornographic detail about whatever girl had ridden the rocket the night before?”

  “Give us some credit,” Coop agreed. “The transition was too abrupt not to note.”

  “I don’t recall either of you ever asking me why.”

  “We might have, but you were so damn close-mouthed about it we didn’t feel we could. It was so out of character for you to keep time spent with a woman under wraps.”

  “Gotta admit, we would have appreciated just a couple of details, though,” Zach added. “Ice and I spent a lot of time speculating on who could have taken the bite out of the dog.”

  “Great.” The car drifted to a stop on the shoulder of the road, and he slapped the gearshift into Neutral, then yanked on the brake. “That’s fucking swell. A pivotal moment in my life and the two of you were giving it a funky label and yukking it up.”

  “No,” Coop said flatly. “We weren’t. Your silence told us it must be important, so we never laughed, John. But we were curious and we needed to call your sudden change of heart or epiphany or whatever the hell you want to call it something, so The Muzzler was born. It seemed appropriate.”

  “Yeah.” Burying his frustration with the adeptness of lifelong habit, he looked at it from their point of view. “I guess it was. Something about Tori made me realize there was more to my identity than being good in the sack.”

  “Hell, man, I never realized you assumed there wasn’t,” Coop said. “You were one of the few, the proud.”

  A bitter bark of laughter escaped John. “You met my old man—you didn’t think growing up with him might have tilted my thinking a little left of center?” He could still vividly remember his father showing up at Camp Lejeune, drunk on his ass and belligerently vocal about his son’s decision to join the corps. “Before I discovered my ability with the ladies, I was just the pitiable kid of that crazy noncom who was always being busted back to seaman first class.”

  “Navy asshole,” Coop said scornfully.

  “Fuckin’ A,” Zach agreed. “The navy is for pussies who can’t get into the corps.”

  Tactfully neither of his friends mentioned the vitriol his old man had spewed at him that night, or how John had allowed the elder Miglionni to shove him around until he’d finally lost his temper and flattened him. But the truth was, it wasn’t the Marines he’d glommed onto to validate his sense of self-worth. He’d liked knowing he had something in his pants that most guys would kill for.

  “So now it turns out you’ve got a kid, too,” Zach said. “Aside from being hacked off over the way you found out about her, how do you feel about that? You always swore you’d never have one.”

  “Yeah, but now that the choice has been taken out of my hands, I don’t know—I feel like I’ve gotta get to know her. At the same time, I’m scared shitless to get too close. Jesus, Midnight, she’s got a British accent. She sounds like the frigging queen of England!”

  “Yeah, I can see where that would unnerve a guy.”

  “Is your Victoria a Brit, then?” Coop asked.

  “She is not my anyth—” He cut himself off, knowing how merciless his friends would be if he protested too much. “No. Tori’s not a Brit. She took Esme there to get her away from her father’s influence.”

  “That’s your daughter’s name? Esme?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Pretty,” Coop said. “What’s she look like?”

  “Little. Sweet. A real girly-girl. She has this wild head of hair like her mother used to have back when I knew her before.” She’s got my eyes. That just blew him away every time he thought of it.

  “Sounds like a cutie to me. Little girls are awesome. I never realized just how cool until I met my niece Lizzy. Get your hands on a camera, pal, and send me a picture.”

  They talked a while longer without saying anything of real consequence. John felt better, though, and more in control when he finally disconnected. But as he sat in his car on the side of the road, staring out at the trees, he admitted he was still as confused as ever about his new status as a parent.

  Luckily, he had a job to do. When things were out of whack, it was comforting to have something to do that you did well. Figuring out puzzles was something he did very well. So he took off the brake and put the car in gear.

  Then he headed down the road to talk to Jared’s high-school coach.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “I WAS INFORMED YOURteam lost its game.”

  Jared Hamilton looked up to see his father in the library doorway. The great Ford Hamilton didn’t usually instigate a conversation with him unless it was to catalog his faults, but he appeared almost…interested. He must be to have pulled himself away from the dinner party that Jared could hear going on in the dining room. Stealthily sliding the brandy bottle from which he’d been sipping behind his backpack, he straightened from his dejected slouch, an optimistic kernel of hope unfurling in his chest. Maybe he didn’t have to drown his sorrows after all. “Yeah.”

  “And I understand it was you striking out that ended the game.”

  The hope shriveled and Jared’s stomach began to churn, but he rose to his feet and gave his father the bored, insolent sneer he’d perfected years ago. “Yeah, well, what can I say? Shit happens.”

  Ford gave him a look of disgust. “Shit does not just ‘happen,’ young man. It’s a result of sloppy preparation.”

  He shrugged, but his gut roiled harder and fiercer. Wouldn’t it be something if just once his father didn’t take the opportu
nity to tell him what a huge disappointment he’d turned out to be? Other guys had dads who actually tossed balls around with them. He had Ford Evans Hamilton, who tossed his son’s every mistake in his face. His chin jutted out. “And who do you see giving me a hand with these preparations? You?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Exuding polish from his expensively barbered hair to his gleaming loafers, the older man strode across the room until he loomed over Jared. “You’re seventeen years old—call a baseball camp or hire yourself a coach. Exert yourself for once in your life. A Hamilton strives to excel.”

  “Maybe I am striving! How would you know? You’ve never even seen me play.”

  Ford shot his cuffs impatiently. “Is this going to be another whine because I didn’t attend your little game? How many times do I have to tell you that business—”

  “Takes precedence over sports.” Jared completed the familiar litany in unison with his father’s cultured tones. “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” A thought popped into his head and left his mouth before he had time to censor it. “Man, you are such a hypocrite.”

  Ford stilled. “What did you say?”

  The fury in his father’s eyes made Jared’s heart pound so hard he could barely breathe, but he didn’t back down. “I didn’t want to join the stinking team in the first place, but you insisted it would build character and turn me into a team player.” And as it turned out, he’d discovered baseball was something he was pretty good at and had ended up loving the sport. But everyone else had family at the games to cheer them on. With Tori and the pip-squeak in London the past couple of years, his own cheering section was diddly-squat. Thrusting his chin a notch higher, he put forth his best I-could-give-a-rip curled lip. “Team player, my ass.” His voice cracked embarrassingly on the last word and he played with the sleeve of his jersey, uncovering the bottom half of his tattoo to distract the old man’s attention from that sign of weakness. “You talk the talk,” he sneered. “But what you really mean is that everyone else oughtta be a team player. Not you, though. You’re the frickin’ owner of the franchise, always too damn important to waste your time doing anything nice for anyone else.”