Staking His Claim

Yevgeny came to an abrupt stop. He had never seen Ella McLeod in bed before.

The sight caused a shock of discomfort to course through him. Despite the fact that she barely reached his shoulder when she was on her feet, she’d always seemed so formidable. Stern. Businesslike. Unsmiling. Even at family occasions she dressed in a sharp, formal fashion. Dark colors—mostly black dresses with neck scarves in muted shades.

Now he allowed his gaze to drift over her and take in the other differences.

No scarf. No oversize glasses. No makeup. Some sort of ivory frilly lace spilled around the top of her breasts. She looked younger… paler… more fragile than he’d ever seen her.

The icicle must be thawing.

Yevgeny shook off the absurd notion.

As though sensing his presence, she glanced up from the screen of a slim white phone she’d been squinting at. Antagonism snaked down his spine as their eyes clashed.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded.

“Where is the baby?”

He’d expected to find the child in her arms.

He should’ve known better. There wasn’t a maternal bone in Ella McLeod’s frozen body. No softness. No tender feelings. Only sharp, legal-eagle eyes that she usually disguised with a pair of glasses—and from all accounts, a steel-trap brain. According to the rumor mill her law practice did very well. No doubt her success came from divorce dollars siphoned off men with avaricious ex-wives.

Ella hadn’t answered. A haunted flicker in her eye captured his attention, but then the fleeting expression vanished and her focus shifted beyond him. Wheeling about, Yevgeny spotted the crib.

Two strides and he stood beside it. The baby lay inside, snugly swaddled and fast asleep. One tiny hand curled beside her cheek, the fingers perfectly formed. Her lashes were impossibly long, forming dark curves against plump cheeks. Yevgeny’s heart contracted and an unexpected, fierce rush of emotion swept him.

It took only an instant for him to fall deeply, utterly irrevocably in love.

“She’s perfect,” he breathed, his gaze taking in every last detail. The thatch of dark hair—the Volkovoy genes. The red bow of her pursed mouth.

A smile tilted the corners of his mouth up.

Reaching out, he gently touched the curve where chin became cheek with his index finger.

“Don’t wake her!”

The strident demand broke the mood. Turning his head, Yevgeny narrowed his gaze and pinned the woman in the bed.

“I had no intention of waking her,” he said softly, careful not to disturb the infant.

“It’s only a matter of time before she wakens with you hovering over her like that.”

“I never hover.” But he moved away from the cot—and closer to the bed.

Ella didn’t respond. But he’d seen that look in her eyes before. She wasn’t bothering to argue… not because she’d been swayed by his denial, but because she was so damn certain of the rightness of her own opinion.

The woman was a pain in the ass.

The polar opposite of her sister, she was the least motherly woman he’d ever encountered—with the single exception of his own mother.

Maybe it was as well she wasn’t cradling the baby; she’d freeze the little bundle if she got close enough. Ella was ice to the core—he’d been mistaken to imagine a thaw.

“Dmitri called to tell me you’re planning to give up the child for adoption?” No discussion. No consultation. She’d made a life-changing decision that affected all of them, by herself. It was typical of the woman’s arrogant selfishness.

“Then you must’ve heard that your brother and my sister have decided not to adopt the baby.”

Was that irony buried in her voice? He couldn’t read her expression. “Yes—Dmitri told me at the office.”

“At the same time that Keira was visiting me.”

This time he definitely detected an edge. But he was less concerned about her annoyance than discovering the fate of the oblivious newborn in the cot. “So it’s true? You intend to give up the baby just like that?”

Her chin shot up three notches at the snapping sound his fingers made. “I will take care of the arrangements to find a new set of parents as soon as I can.” Ella glanced down at the phone in her lap, then back at Yevgeny. “I’ve already left a message for the social worker who’s handling the adoption proceedings for Keira and Dmitri, notifying her of their change of mind and requesting that she get in touch with me ASAP.”

“Of course you have.” It certainly hadn’t taken her long to start the process to get rid of the baby. Anger sizzled inside him. “You never considered keeping her?” Not that he’d ever allow the child to stay in her care.

She shook her head, and the hair shrouding her face shimmered like the moonlit wisps of cloud outside the window. “Not an option.”

“Of course it isn’t.”

She stared back at him, managing to look haughty and removed in the hospital bed. So certain of the rightness of her stance. “Identifying suitable adoptive parents from Jo Wells’s records is the only feasible option.”

“‘Feasible option?’“ Was this how his own mother had reasoned when she’d divorced his father and lied her way into sole custody, only to turn around and abandon the same sons she’d fought so hard to keep from their father? “This is a baby we’re talking about—you’re not at work now.”

“I’m well aware of that. And my main concern now is the best interests of the child—exactly as it would be if I was at work.”

Yevgeny snorted. “You’re a divorce lawyer—”

“A family lawyer,” she corrected him. “Marriage dissolution is only a part of my practice. Looking after the best interests of the children and—”

“Whatever.” He waved an impatient hand. “I’d hoped for a little less business and a little more emotion right now.”

From the lofty position of the hospital bed she raised an eyebrow in a way that instantly rankled. “You don’t transfer skills learned from business to your home life?”

“I show a little more compassion when I make decisions that relate to the well-being of my family.”

She laughed—a disbelieving sound. Yevgeny gritted his teeth and refused to respond. Okay, so he had a reputation—well-deserved, he conceded silently—for being ruthless in business. But that was irrelevant in this context. He’d always been fiercely protective of those closest to him. His brother. His father. His babushka.

He studied Ella’s face. The straight nose, the lack of amusement in her light brown eyes—despite her laughing mouth. No, he wasn’t going to reach her—he doubted she had any warmth to which he could appeal.

Giving a sharp, impatient sigh, he said, “You’ve got blinkered vision. You haven’t considered all the feasible options.”

For the first time emotion cracked the ice. “I can’t keep the baby!”

Two

Ella’s desperation was followed by a strained silence during which Yevgeny looked down his perfectly straight nose at her. Something withered inside her but Ella held his gaze, refusing to reveal the fragile grief that lingered deep in her most secret heart.

But she wasn’t going to keep the baby.