Ultimatum: Marriage / For the Sake of the Secret Child: Ultimatum: Marriage / For the Sake of the Secret Child

“You have to know I didn’t. I would never deliberately bring a baby into a mess like this! You seemed so nice that night, and idiot that I was, I trusted you enough to confide in you … and sleep with you.”

He stared into her eyes for a long time.

“Okay,” he muttered as he finally put the SUV into gear and pulled out into traffic. “Okay.”

“The morning after we slept together my father called me and told me about the missing money from the Houses for Hurricane Victims. He said you took it, and that you set him up.”

“Well, I didn’t. So do you always believe everything your father says?”

“I try to see his side of things … because he’s my father and the only parent I have left.”

“Look,” he growled, “I was nice to you that night because … Hell, I already told you why ….” He swore under his breath. “If I’m already damned in your eyes, why should I bother to defend myself?”

After that final question, the thick silence that fell between them grew increasingly strained.

Her mind drifted, and she remembered all too well how Jake had coaxed her to confide in him their first night together. He’d pretended to listen to her fears concerning her father and to understand; pretended to care about her, and, she, as always, too eager and made happy by any kindness, however small, had ended up in his bed.

But not before she’d told him too much. Pretending sympathy and passion after her confidences, Jake had soothingly kissed her mouth, her face, her throat, her breasts, until he’d made her feel safe and breathless with desire for him.

“It’s going to be all right,” he’d whispered in a kindly tone. “Dark moments are part of life. They teach us lessons we need to learn.”

Soon she’d been clinging, longing for more than his compassion. Forgetting her father and his troubles, she’d begged Jake to make love to her and he’d complied, showering her with all the warmth and passion she’d craved.

Then the next morning Jake had gone out. Later her father had called her and cruelly informed her that the merger was in trouble—and that Jake Claiborne, along with Hayes Daniels, Logan’s CEO, had joined forces and reported him to the feds.

Her father and his bank and shipyard had gone down in flames, and Jake was at least partially responsible. Every time she’d thought of how she’d bared her soul and given her body to a man who’d spent the night with her, maybe to milk her for information about her father she’d felt freshly used and humiliated. She’d told herself she shouldn’t ever see Jake again or even take his calls.

Not so easy when he’d continued to call her and all her friends had cut her dead.

Most of the time she’d ignored his calls, but once when he’d phoned her after some particularly vicious stories about her had filled the Internet and newspapers, she’d actually wanted to hear his voice so much she’d answered. They’d soon quarreled, but she’d had the feeling he’d been concerned about her. Then she’d seen him at Logan’s wedding. Not that they’d spoken.

She forced her mind back to the present and their new reality. Jake was driving so fast, she was clutching the armrest while houses and strip malls flew by in a blur. When they reached his sprawling home, half a dozen reporters’ vans were still lined up in front of his house.

Van doors popped open and reporters rushed toward his SUV as he swerved into his drive. Ignoring them, Jake drove the large vehicle slowly toward a gate that opened electronically and then shut behind them, locking out the invasive horde.

In his garage Jake cut the engine and turned slowly to face her. “Okay, you told me what you want and what you think about me, didn’t you?”

“I guess,” she replied.

“So, here’s what I want out of this disastrous affair. First, we involve as few people as possible in our little scheme. I don’t want my grandfather hurt. I’m not on the easiest terms with Logan or his new wife, Cici, so the less they know about this, the better. My grandfather’s lonely. I don’t want him forming an unsuitable attachment to a woman I don’t plan to keep in my life any longer than necessary.”

“But he was so friendly to me at his party. Do you really want me to be rude to him?”

“Be polite but cool. In case you didn’t realize it, you’re natural at that role.”

“Thanks … for nothing,” she whispered.

“Not for nothing, sweetheart. I agreed to marry you, didn’t I? For me—that’s a big step.”

“For me, too,” she said.

His weary expression told her he didn’t believe her. “You … proposed.”

“Not because I wanted to,” she flared.

“So—I guess the next step is to plan our wedding. Are you up to that or do you want me to get Vanessa to handle it?”

As a child her mother had let her decorate for all her parties. Excitedly they’d cut out cardboard stars and glued glitter on them. They’d hung posters and sent out invitations. Once her mother had rented ponies and Alicia and all her friends had ridden in the back yard. But after her mother’s death, the celebration of Alicia’s birthdays, when remembered, and of the important milestones in her life had always been planned by her father’s employees.

No way was she going to let her wedding, such as it was, be planned by Jake’s office staff.

“I’ll plan it,” she whispered, hurt beyond words that he’d suggested such a thing even though she knew her feelings were utterly illogical.

Pregnancy. Hormones. A marriage of convenience to Jake. She was definitely in for a roller-coaster ride.

Six

How ironic that St. Anthony’s Garden, the spot his bride had chosen for their wedding, had once been the most popular dueling ground in New Orleans. Too bad the twenty-first century was more civilized. If Jake could have called his bride’s father out and shot him, he would have.

Tonight peace reigned. Birds chirped high in the oak trees. A great sculpture of the Sacred Heart reigned in the shady nook that smelled so sweetly of olives. Beyond the garden, tourists chattered as they posed in Pirate’s Alley snapping pictures. In the distance street musicians played jazz.

Jake wanted to hate Alicia for complicating his life but reason told him he was equally to blame. He didn’t want to marry her, but with every word that the priest uttered binding him to Alicia Butler, his desire for her grew until it felt like a crushing weight. Indeed, ever since he’d agreed to the marriage, thoughts of a naked and eagerly writhing Alicia in his bed had consumed him. All night long he’d lain awake in his bed and thought of her lying in hers downstairs, and he’d wondered if she was thinking of him.

Why did she have to stand so close to him in the dense, humid air so that with every breath he inhaled her perfume?

They say a little piece of paper doesn’t matter; that it changes nothing.

They don’t know crap. He felt trapped—doomed. At the same time his body raged to have her again. And again. He burned as if he had a fever. His feelings for this woman were illogical and out of proportion to any he’d ever felt for another.

Get a grip.

To distract himself Jake stared up at the triple spires of St. Louis Cathedral towering above their small wedding party hunched together beneath the hurricane-damaged trees. The only guests were his secretary and her bored-looking son, whose dark head was bent over some electronic device.

Thankfully, no member of his own family or Alicia’s was present to witness this farce.

It didn’t console him that Alicia seemed equally miserable. Her slim fingers that gripped his arm for support shook. Her carriage was rigid; her lovely face ashen.

His heart caught. Why should he sympathize? With a little imagination, surely she could have dreamed up a better solution than a sexless marriage that was already driving him crazy.

A man forced into a shotgun marriage should get something for his trouble, Jake thought gloomily. Why had he stupidly agreed not to sleep with her?

He’d been sober, that was why. He never thought straight sober.

Too bad he wasn’t sober now. Thanks to the shots of whiskey he’d drunk to give him the courage to show up, he felt dangerously near some breaking point.

The late-evening sunlight sifting through the oaks caressed her high, classic brow and made her creamy skin glow. Every time their glances met, her large, dark eyes shot sparks. Why did she keep licking her plump, sensual mouth? Didn’t she know that the sight of her tongue had him remembering all the erotic places her moist lips and tongue had touched him with deft little strokes?

His gaze drifted over her straight chiseled nose, her delicate chin and her long graceful neck. Her white lace sheath was skintight, showing off her flawless figure even as the purity of its color made her look virginal. How could a pregnant woman whose breasts were swollen look so untouched and sexy?