The Black Sheep's Secret Child

His blue eyes narrowed. “Ask me if I’m worried how Rafe felt. He was my older brother, yet he never once stood up for me against Siggy. Not when we were kids or when Siggy refused to bring me into the family business. Rafe was the golden child and he liked it that way. So, what? I’m supposed to forgive and forget because he has a change of heart on his deathbed?”

There it was. That chip on his shoulder. The one he’d developed in response to every slight his father had delivered. Trent had been the second son. The spare heir. The boy with eclectic musical interests and strong opinions.

She couldn’t disagree with his perception of his relationship with his brother and father. She’d heard the arguments. They didn’t appreciate just how brilliant he was. The only opinions Siggy Caldwell entertained were his own. Rafe had learned about the business at his father’s knee, never challenging Siggy’s decisions.

“Still want to talk?” Trent asked. Had he noticed something in her manner that led him to believe she regretted coming here tonight?

“Yes.”

“Good. I’m dying to hear what brought you to Las Vegas.”

“I need your help.”

“You must be pretty desperate if you came to me.” Trent scrutinized her expression for a beat before taking her by the arm and leading her down the hall. “Let’s go to my office. You can tell me all about it.”

* * *

As soon as Trent escorted Savannah into his office and closed the door behind them, he knew this was a bad idea. He blamed curiosity. She’d been trying to get a hold of him for a week.

Yet, he could’ve picked up the phone at any time and discovered what was on her mind. But he’d resisted. What had changed?

Long-buried emotions, aroused by the familiar scent of her perfume, provided the answer. His fingers itched to slide over her smooth skin. From his first sight of her in the club tonight, he’d been fighting the longing to back her against a wall and ease his mouth over her quaking body.

He released her arm and turned his back to her. Picturing her naked and moaning his brother’s name reminded him why he’d been keeping his distance.

He slipped behind a wet bar that ran perpendicular to the wall of floor-to-ceiling monitors tuned to various key areas in the club. Fixing her a drink gave him something useful to do until the urge to crush her mouth beneath his abated. Trent gave himself a hard mental shake. Obviously he hadn’t thought through this scenario when he’d suggested they use his office for their private conversation. Being alone with Savannah shouldn’t trigger his libido. He thought he’d gotten over her the instant she’d said “I do” to his brother. Damn if he’d been wrong.

Disgusted, Trent pulled a bottle from the fridge and surveyed the label. “Champagne?” When she shook her head, he arched an eyebrow. “Aren’t we celebrating?”

Her frown asked, Celebrating what? “You know I don’t drink.”

“Oh,” he drawled. “I thought perhaps after being married to my brother, you might have started.”

Savannah made a face at him but didn’t rise to the bait. “I’ll take some sparkling water if you have it.”

Amused, Trent dropped ice into a glass and poured her a drink. Fixing a lime to the rim, he pushed the glass across the bar toward her. As much as he could use a scotch to settle his nerves, he refrained. Dealing with Savannah was complicated enough without a fuzzy head.

A familiar mixture of fondness and rage filled him as he watched her sip the drink.

From the moment the naive eleven-year-old with the big blue eyes had moved into the servants’ quarters of his family’s Beverly Hills home, he’d been drawn to her. Unlike his twelve-year-old sister, she’d exhibited none of the gawkiness of preteen girls. And her lack of street smarts had driven Trent crazy.

As a kid he’d slipped into rebellious and resentful mode pretty early. Being a troublemaker came easy. He wasn’t anyone’s hero. But he’d come to Savannah’s rescue more times than he could count. She’d been a magnet for anyone eager to take advantage of a young girl from some backwoods town in Tennessee. To look at her you’d think she would turn to smoke if you touched her, but in fact there was supple muscle beneath her soft skin, something he’d discovered firsthand when he’d taught her a couple self-defense moves.

In some ways, she was still the same ragamuffin who’d needed protection from the mean girls in school and the boys who thought to take advantage of her naïveté. But being on her own in New York had given her a new set of skills. For one, she’d learned how to go after something she wanted. And for a while it was pretty apparent that what she’d wanted was him.

Which was why it had come as such a surprise that she’d chosen to marry his brother. Despite the years she’d spent in LA and New York, she remained a small-town girl at heart. She had no lofty dreams of fame and fortune. She’d never known stability growing up, so as an adult, Savannah craved marriage and children, a secure, safe life.

Her vision of a

traditional family situation was completely foreign to Trent. His father was an ambitious tyrant who’d married late. His misogynistic behavior had driven his wife away not long after Melody was born. The prenup their mother had signed granted her nothing if she fought for custody of her children. Trent had never been surprised that she’d chosen the money.

Was it any wonder he had so little interest in marriage and family? But knowing how important it was to Savannah should’ve warned him to keep his distance. He might have, but she was irresistible to him.

No matter how many times he’d cautioned himself to stay away, he couldn’t stop coming to her rescue. Only once had he abandoned her to trouble—the day she’d declared her intention to marry Rafe.

“Widowhood becomes you,” he said. If he’d hoped to shock her, he failed.

Reproachful blue eyes fixed on him. “That’s a terrible thing to say.”