Sorrow lit in Chrissie’s eyes, but at the moment Trace didn’t care.
She’d called him with some trumped-up story about having had his son.
How was that even possible?
He knew how, but that he could have fathered a son and not known for years just seemed unfathomable. That she would have kept that from him was unfathomable.
He still wasn’t sure he believed her.
And if the truth was that he had fathered her son?
Well, she’d be a wealthy lady because his parents would be thrilled to hand her over whatever she wanted in exchange for her precious offspring.
Not that he’d let them.
Not that he thought Chrissie the gold-digger type anyway.
Then again, maybe he’d been overseas too long.
His head hurt. His neck and shoulder muscles ached with the tension that had struck him from the moment she’d uttered her life-shattering revelation.
He didn’t know what he’d do if she’d told the truth. What he’d say. At the moment, he just wanted to get past the woman in the doorway and to the child she was claiming was his.
He’d look at the boy and know, wouldn’t he?
Surely a father would look at his child and inherently know “that’s mine.”
“I asked for fifteen minutes,” Chrissie said, crossing her arms across her chest. She’d been telling the truth about just getting out of the shower. Her hair was damp, her skin still had that just-washed glow, and the scent of her shampoo permeated his senses despite his state of mind.
Yeah, she’d asked for fifteen minutes, but he’d not been able to wait. Funny, but for four years he hadn’t known the kid existed, and now that he did he hadn’t been able to delay another ten minutes.
She shouldn’t have asked him to. Not after having already made him wait so long to see what she claimed belonged to him.
“Where is he?”
“Asleep. I told you—”
“I want to see him.” He was being blunt, was being rude, even, with his brusqueness, but if Chrissie had given birth to his son and not told him, then he hated to consider the ramifications.
She didn’t move out of the doorway, just stared at him with a mixture of fear, uncertainty, and protectiveness.
“What are you planning to do?”
Good question and not one he knew the answer to. Just that he needed to see the child and he hadn’t been able to wait.
“I won’t let you hurt him, Trace.”
Trace clenched his fingers into his palms. “Seriously? You think I drove all this way to hurt a kid? Just what kind of opinion do you have of me, Chrissie?”
Remorse softened her expression a little.
“The kind that meant you kept my son from me for four years?”
His voice rose in pitch and she shushed him, making his insides bristle further.
“Please don’t wake him. He doesn’t know about you. He wouldn’t understand if he woke and you were here.”
“He normally sleeps through when you have male company?” Yeah, he was being a sarcastic jerk, but he wasn’t in a forgiving mood.