Her Secret, His Child

He had no idea how long he stood there, how long Jamie hid out in her daughter's room—away from him. But slowly, insidiously, awareness came to him. The room. The fire. The wineglasses.

The truth.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Out of breath, every nerve in his body singed, Kyle sank to the couch. But he couldn't stay there. Driven by the emotions raging through him, he jumped up almost immediately and paced the small room.

He'd never been so angry, so excited, so scared in his life. He'd never hated, or loved, so intensely. And he had no clue how to handle any of it. Adrenaline pushed him, forcing activity, yet he had nothing to do. Couldn't have left that room, that house, if he'd tried.

So agitated he probably wouldn't have noticed an earthquake, he missed Jamie's reappearance. He turned from the fireplace and she was there, perched on the couch again, pillow in hand, picking at the lace edging.

She looked terrible, her eyes dry but red, no trace of makeup. Hair hung in her face with no apparent discipline whatsoever. And she'd pulled an old gray sweater over her blouse.

The seduction, such as it was, was over.

Tenderness welled up inside him, prompting him to take her in his arms, assure her that everything was going to be okay.

HER SECRET. HIS CHILD

Except that he couldn't. And it wasn't. Tumbling through his mind were a thousand angry words. A blast of accusation, of blame.

And he couldn't say them. Because she was Jamie. His chin trembled with the effort it cost to restrain himself.

"She's mine." The words were torn from him.

Jamie looked up at him silently, neither denying nor confirming his bold claim. But her eyes told him the truth.

He shoved trembling hands into the pockets of his jeans. "When were you going to tell me?"

"Tonight." The word was strong, sure.

Kyle swore. "You expect me to believe that?"

"It's true."

He didn't know if it was or not, and he had too much else to think about. Whether or not she'd really meant to tell him this evening—did it matter?

"She's mine." He came closer to her, figuring in some illogical way that if he concentrated on the mother, the daughter's existence wouldn't torment him. "Say it." He lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him. "I want to hear you say the words."

He wanted to hurt her.

"She's your daughter," Jamie whispered. There was fear in her eyes—and more. Her pain tore at him and he turned away.

He needed to yell. Long and loud.

"Why?" The one word was all he dared.

"The way you left—"

She broke off, and Kyle suddenly understood.

TARA TAYLOR QUINN

Knew he was partially to blame. But the pain, the sense of betrayal, was stronger.

"You knew my name."

"And I thought you'd paid for your entertainment. ''