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Wrong time, wrong place.
Wrong woman.
Definitely the wrong woman.
Hewaslosing his marbles, because he imagined he saw regret in her bewildered gaze, in the soft tremble of her mouth.
Zane raked shaking fingers though his hair. “Look, you can have the kid—he’s all yours. Fax me the paperwork. I’ll sign. I’ll pay. End of discussion.”
He pivoted, but she grabbed his arm, winging another shaft of desire through him. “It’s not that simple. Let’s get some coffee and I’ll explain.”
Recoiling out of her grasp, he again glanced at the clock. Forty-five minutes until he could escape. “I don’t—”
“Surely you can spare ten minutes, Agent Wolfe. Ten minutes that could have a huge impact on your son’s future.”
The quiet jibe clobbered him between the eyes. His old man had ranted whenever family problems interfered with work. In the middle of “the biggest deal of his life” when Trevor died, dear old Dad had barely taken time off for Trev’s funeral. Cold-faced and dry-eyed, Stoneheart had tolerated the brief service, then he and Brent had hurried back to the office. Zane had followed Trevor’s coffin to the cemetery alone.
Alone, he’d watched his little brother lowered into the ground.
“Ten minutes,” Zane said, grabbing his carry-on and laptop case from beneath his chair. “Not one second longer.”
Jillian led the way to a coffee shop. She insisted on paying for her own white chocolate mocha. Zane bought a black coffee he didn’t want, mostly to give his hands something to do.
Choosing a spot in the back where he had an unobstructed view of the small café and the concourse beyond, he pulled out Jillian’s chair for her, then took the one across the small table. “How did you know I’d be here?”
She snorted. “The way you bolted, it was obvious you’d run back to D.C. on the soonest possible flight. Internet airline schedules come in so handy, don’t they?”
Smart lady. He’d thought himself safely away. “Only ticketed passengers are allowed past security checkpoints.”
Her resolute smile gave him goosebumps. “I bought a ticket.”
“You’re that desperate?”
“I’d doanythingfor Casey.”
He swirled the inky liquid inside his paper cup. “You claim you don’t want my money. You have a nice home, a stable job, and a degree in early childhood education. You’re well equipped to raise him. What’s the problem?”
“I love him as my own, but Casey isyourson, Zane.”
Stark pain nailed him. “Maybe. But I’m not qualified to parent him. I’m the least qualified person on the planet.” His lips twisted in a bitter grimace. “Hell, he’d be better off raised by barracudas.”
“Better barracudas than Richard and Brooke.”
“And they would be?”
“Deb’s older brother and his wife. They’re suing me for custody.”
“So fight them.”
“I am, with everything I have.” Her fingers whitened on her cup, squeezing the cardboard sleeve. “But Richard’s lawyer makes even barracudas seem benevolent. In addition, the Stuarts are wealthy, influential pillars of the community, Casey’s blood relatives, and a married couple, which provides a ‘stable home life.’ What kind of chance do you think I stand?”
“I know you care about the kid, but living with his privileged aunt and uncle doesn’t sound like such a bad gig.”
She plunked down her cup and leaned across the table. “Casey was born on a rainy December night two days before Christmas. I coached, encouraged and bullied Deb through over twenty hours of labor. When that tiny baby finally emerged, blotchy and squalling, he was our miracle.
“I cut the cord. I wiped him off. I wrapped him in a soft blanket and cuddled him before I passed him to his mom. The two of us clung to each other and cried harder than he did. We reassured each other that even though he didn’t have a dad, we’d give him a terrific life.”
Emotion flooded Jillian’s eyes and she blinked away the tears. It was the second time he’d watched her battle tears that some women would choose to use as weapons of manipulation, and his respect for her clicked up another notch.
