A Father's Secret

“You all right, sir?” his driver asked, coming around the side of the car.

“I’ll be fine, Ray, thanks. I should have listened to you and let you stop more often along the way—for your sake if not for mine.”

Ray cocked an eyebrow. “Was that an admission of fault, sir?”

“You know it was, now shut up and help me with my bag.” Sam smiled to take any sting from his words. It didn’t matter, though. Even when Sam had been at his worst, and there’d been many days like that, Ray had merely endured whatever his irritable boss had flung at him and carried on doing his job. After all they’d weathered together, Sam considered Ray a friend as much as an employee—and he was silently grateful to have a friend with him at this particular moment as he braced himself for what he was about to do.

Sam looked at the imposing old English-style country house ahead of him. Two-storied, the concrete stucco exterior hosted multiple vines of some kind of creeper. The growth was a little unkempt, as if it hadn’t been pruned in a while. In fact, the whole property had the air of something beginning a slow, inexorable slide into neglect.

He shook his head slightly. It wasn’t the house that interested him, and he couldn’t care less about how well it was maintained. He was here with a far more important agenda.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay with you for a day or two, sir?” Ray asked as he handed Sam his bag and laptop case.

“I don’t need babysitting,” Sam responded, a little sharply. He closed his eyes a moment and sighed. “I’m sorry, Ray. What I meant to say is, no, thank you. I’ll be fine. You head on off and go vacation at your daughter’s as you arranged. I’ll call you when I need you. Hopefully that won’t be for a while.”

“Sure thing.”

Ray gave him a nod, then climbed back into the sleek black Audi A6. He guided the car around the circle of the drive and out onto the road. Alone now in the driveway, Sam knew there was no going back. He bent to pick up his bag and started to walk toward the lodge just as a tall, slender woman with short dark hair opened the wide front door and stepped out onto the shaded portico.

The private investigator he’d hired to track her down had failed to mention just how attractive the young widow was.

“Good afternoon,” she said, “Welcome to Connell Lodge. You must be Mr. Thornton.”

Sam stopped in his tracks. His hand gripped the handle of his carry bag so tightly it made his knuckles ache. This wasn’t happening. He was not attracted to this woman—he wasn’t allowed to be. He pushed against the hot thud of desire that beat through his veins, hard. But his body, traitorous thing that it was, was on fire. Flames licked through parts of his physique that he’d ignored now for so long that he thought he’d grown numb. Welcomingly numb.

“Mr. Thornton?”

He was caught by the worried look in her eyes—eyes that were a chocolate-brown so deep a man could get lost inside their depths and never care. He gave himself a swift mental shake. He was not attracted to this woman. Not on any level. He would not allow it.

“Yes, I’m Sam Thornton. Please, call me Sam.”

He stepped forward, his gait still uneven after his car journey, and held out his hand.

“I’m Erin, Erin Connell, your hostess.”

She took his hand in hers, and in that instant he knew he’d lost his battle with himself. A sizzle of awareness started at the point where their palms met and shot up his arm. To his surprise, she uttered a small “Oh!” before releasing his hand and taking a step back. So she was affected, too. Great. Bloody great, he thought dourly. This should not be happening.

“Please, come inside and let me show you your room,” she said, her voice a little huskier than it had been before. “Can I help you with your things?”

“No, I’ll manage on my own, thanks.”

She turned and preceded him into the lodge, affording him an excellent view of her rigid spine and the way it led in a straight line to the gentle arcs of her hips and bottom. Hips and bottom that were firmly clad in white denim that would probably be outlawed in some countries for the way it clung to her curves. Another clench of desire hit him hard and low and he forced himself to breathe through it.

This was insane. Erin Connell wasn’t even his type, he thought, as he followed her up the old wooden staircase to the next floor. He didn’t have a type. Didn’t want one, ever again. And yet, despite his silent protestations, there was still that nagging interest.

“Are you visiting from overseas?” she asked.

He got that a lot. “No, I’m from New Zealand originally, but I’ve been based in the States for about eight years now.”

“Oh, really? I’ve always wanted to go there. I hear it’s beautiful. Maybe one day,” she said airily as they reached the top of the stairs.

He was relieved not to have her enticing shape smack bang in his line of vision any longer. He followed her a short distance along the carpeted corridor and into a large, well-lit room that faced formal gardens to the rear of the property. Well, he supposed they must have been formal once. Again, there was that sense of neglect. He looked around the room. Whatever neglect there was outdoors, it didn’t extend to the inside.

“This is your room. I’m sure you’ll find you have everything you need here,” she said, moving through the space and across to open another door that clearly led to his private bathroom. “But if there’s anything else you require, please don’t hesitate to let me know.”

Her smile faltered as he stood there, just staring at her like an idiot. He forced himself to make some sound of approval and clearly he succeeded because her features relaxed once more.

“Now, you asked for an office also, so I’ve created space for you across the hall from your room. If you’ll come this way?”

He followed her directly across the hall to a wood-paneled room, with a desk situated near a deep window that looked out across the private bay and beyond to the lake.

“I thought you might like the lake view while you’re working,” she continued. “I hope that’s all right?”

“It’s great,” he answered. And it was, even if he couldn’t quite infuse his voice with the right level of gratitude. For what little she was charging, he’d have been grateful for a broom cupboard under the stairs. He made a mental note to ensure he paid her a generous bonus for the effort she’d clearly gone to for him, although he doubted she’d accept it when she found out exactly why he was here. “Thank you.”

She gave him another of those smiles that hit him square in the gut. “You’re welcome. We…well, I aim to please,” she said, her voice a little shaky. “I’ll leave you to unpack your things. You mentioned in your booking email that you’d prefer to dine early, so I have your dinner warming in the oven downstairs. The dining room is directly opposite the bottom of the stairs on the ground floor and you’ll find a bellpull just inside the door. Please ring for me when you’re ready.”

“Thank you, but you don’t have to wait on me hand and foot, Erin.”

Her name felt foreign on his tongue, and yet weirdly right at the same time. Had this place cast some strange spell upon him, he wondered, then thrust the random thought away for the foolishness it was. No, there was no spell. If anything, his crazy and sudden attraction to Erin Connell probably had its roots in something older and more primitive. Something that had little to do with sex itself, or the unwelcome raw need he felt for her, and everything to do with the fact he believed she was the woman who had borne his son.

Two

Sam’s eyes lit upon the monitor she had clipped to her belt, and he felt a strange tightness in his chest. As if on cue, the machine squawked into life and Sam heard his child’s cry for the very first time. He blinked back the sudden moisture that burned at his eyes and swallowed against the lump in his throat, forcing himself to speak.

“Your baby?” he asked, his voice remarkably level despite his churning emotions.

“Yes, my son. He’s four months old, but you don’t need to worry that he’ll disturb you while you’re here. We live downstairs at the opposite end of the lodge and he’s now sleeping through the night, thank goodness.”

“It’s no problem.” He dredged up a smile. “Don’t hide him away on my account.” The noise through the monitor grew more demanding. “It sounds like you’re being summoned. Don’t let me hold you up.”

“Thanks,” Erin said, already heading for the door. “Remember to just ring for me when you’re ready for your meal. I’ll bring it straight through.”

Sam raised his hand in acknowledgment and watched as she rapidly left the room. He expelled a harsh breath and turned to face the window, staring wildly out onto the serene surface of the lake and waiting in vain for it to fill him with a sense of calm that he hadn’t felt in far too long. It had been an entire year since his wife’s death. A year filled with pain, loss, grief and overwhelming guilt. He’d welcomed each one and borne it stoically. It was the least he could do, considering it was a stupid decision on his part that had taken Laura’s life.

He’d vowed he’d never enter into another relationship with anyone—ever. He’d even had a vasectomy to ensure that he couldn’t screw up another person’s life again. He owed Laura and her memory that much. Up until today, that hadn’t been a problem, but there was something about his hostess that pinged every single one of his male receptors. Knowing that Erin Connell had that effect on him angered and scared him in equal quotients. Not even with his beautiful wife had attraction been so raw, so intense, so instant.

So very, very wrong, especially since he was only at Lake Tahoe to do something she’d probably consider unforgivable. He’d come to find a way to claim her son.

Erin all but ran to the back stairs that would take her down to her living quarters. Wow, that guy was intense. Not to mention a whole lot younger and way more attractive than she’d counted on for her first guest since reopening. She unconsciously wiped her right hand against her hip, trying to assuage the tingle that had started with his handshake and spread through her whole body every time he’d looked at her.

She pattered down the stairs and let herself into her quarters, heading straight toward Riley’s nursery and the little hands that waved above the edge of his crib for her attention. Scooping her son up against her shoulder she automatically began to rock and make the soothing sounds she knew would settle him and tried not to wince as his strong fists closed in her hair.

“Hey, little man,” she crooned. “Did you have a nice nap? It wasn’t quite long enough, though, was it? Did you hear our new visitor arrive? Is that what it is? Are you afraid you’re missing out on something, hmm?”

Erin carried Riley through to his room and placed him on the changing table, whipping off his wet diaper and replacing it with a dexterity she’d once doubted she’d ever manage. As she did so, she kept up a running commentary.

“I don’t blame you for wanting to meet our Mr. Thornton. He’s a bit of a hottie, not that I was looking, mind you. Only one man in my life,” she said bending down to blow a raspberry on Riley’s little belly. “And that’s you!”