Secret Baby Santos

But that was a long time ago. He couldn’t imagine that was the reason Maggie was so nervous around him.

Frowning, he stared at the front door. Whatever her reason, he should walk away. He had more work than he could handle, and he didn’t have time for a timid, high-strung female, even if she was drop-dead gorgeous.

But then, Nick Santos was not a man to walk away from a challenge. And this Maggie Smith, whoever she was, was definitely a challenge.

Besides, he was certain that incredible smell emanating from inside the Smith house was roast beef.

What the hell. He rang the doorbell again.

The door flew open, this time with Angela Smith on the other side. “Nicholas Santos! What a pleasant surprise. Come in, come in.” She took hold of his arm and tugged him into the entryway. “I haven’t seen you since the wedding. Maggie, sweetheart, look who’s here. It’s Nick!”

From the corner of his eye, behind him, Nick caught a flutter of hands, a waving motion, but when he turned, Maggie stood perfectly still, a tight, thin smile on her lips.

“We ran into each other at the store,” he said with a grin, and watched her cheeks flush at his choice of words.

“Why, Margaret Jane, you didn’t even tell me. Shame on you.” Angela closed the door. “Well, now that you’re here, you’re staying for dinner and I’ll not take no for an answer. I’m sure you like roast beef and mashed potatoes, don’t you, Nick?”

Maggie’s head snapped toward her mother. “I’m sure Nick already has other plans, Mom.”

“I love roast beef.” Nick kept his eyes on Maggie, fascinated by the small twitch of distress at the corner of her jaw. A delicate, enticing jaw, that gave way to a long, slender, enticing neck.

She wanted him gone in the worst way. Which only made him want to stay all the more.

He turned back toward her mother and handed her the grocery bag in his hand. “Bud and Joe’s was having a special on these. I thought maybe you could use some.”

Angela took the bag and looked inside. “Green beans. How thoughtful of you, Nick. I actually sent Maggie to the store for some, but she forgot the list.”

He glanced back at Maggie. The blush that had brightened her cheeks only a moment ago now colored her entire face. “Try them with a can of mushroom soup and cheese,” he said. “They make a great casserole.”

“You cook?” Angela beamed at Maggie. “He cooks, Maggie. Isn’t that wonderful? Boyd—” Angela stuck her head into the living room “—Nicholas Santos stopped by to say hello. He’s going to have dinner with us. Oh, heavens, I’ve got to check on the biscuits. Maggie, sweetheart, take Nick out to say hello to your father.”

Nick watched Maggie squirm when her mother left them alone in the entry hall. She stood stiff as a fence post, and he could see her battle between good manners and tossing him out of the house.

Whatever was going on here with the woman, Nick had the distinct feeling it went beyond shyness.

A challenge and a mystery. Now if only he could get the lady to talk to him, he just might stand a chance. “I heard you got married.”

She glanced over her shoulder toward her father. “Yes, I did.”

Nick frowned. That wasn’t the right answer. She was supposed to tell him she was divorced. “I also heard you got divorced.”

Surprise lit her eyes as she looked back at him. “Did you?”

Not exactly an answer, but Nick never gave up easily. “I also heard you’re a journalist for a New York newspaper. With your own column even.”

That brought a lift of one finely arched eyebrow. “You heard all that.”

“So are you?”

“A journalist?”

“Divorced.”

“Oh. Yes.”

He took a step closer. Damn, but she smelled good. “Maybe we could go out for dinner sometime. Catch up on what we’ve been doing for the past twelve years.”

She took a step back. “I don’t think so, Nick. I’m just here to help take care of my dad for a few weeks. I won’t really have much time.”

“Coffee, then.” He moved in closer again, drew the scent of her deep into his lungs. “Tomorrow night.”

Something caught her ear, the faint sound of laughter, Nick thought. She paled, then grabbed hold of his arm and nearly dragged him into the living room. “Why don’t we go say hello to my father?”

Her abrupt change of behavior surprised him, but since she was actually touching him, he decided they were making progress. “How’s the leg, Mr. Smith?” Nick asked the back of the sports page.

The paper came down. Boyd Smith still looked the same, though he was bald now over a rim of silvergray hair. He still had the same scruffy eyebrows and penetrating stare. “You still riding those motorcycles, Santos?”

“Only for pleasure now, sir.”

“Got any whisky?”

“Not on me.”

‘How ’bout a cigar?’

“’Fraid not.”

“Next time you come over, see that you bring both.”

“Yes, sir.”

The paper went back up, and Nick assumed that their talk was over. Not exactly a long conversation, but a productive one. He’d already been invited back. He grinned at Maggie, but she merely frowned. When she realized that she was still holding his arm, she quickly dropped her hand.

“Excuse me.” She backed away. “I need to...check on something. Why don’t you just have a seat and I’ll be back in a—”

“Mommy, my movie’s over!”

The flying tackle from a pair of small arms caught Maggie around the knees from behind, sending her sprawling forward into Nick’s arms. He caught her smoothly, fully enjoying the feel of her soft body and full breasts against his chest. Much to Nick’s delight, she struggled to disentangle herself, which only increased the friction of their bodies.

Her body still flush with his, Maggie looked up at Nick, a mixture of shock and horror in her eyes. She finally managed to wrench herself free, then turned to face the three-foot-high, dark-haired dynamo who’d knocked her off her feet.

“Drew!” Maggie gasped. “I’ve told you not to do that.”

“I forgot.” The youngster stuck his hands into the pockets of his jeans and glanced down contritely. “Sorry. I just wanted to hug you.”

Nick knew a con job when he heard one. This kid was good, he thought with amusement. And cute, too. Nick knew nothing about children, but he’d guess the boy to be around five or so, with dark, almost black hair nearly the same color as his big, thickly lashed eyes. His oversize feet were encased in thick-soled tennis shoes, and Nick could only imagine he’d be tall as a doorway by the time he was sixteen.

So little Maggie Smith had a kid. How ’bout that.