The Paternity Promise

“You’re crazy! I can’t marry you!”

“Why not?”

She was sputtering, almost incoherent. “Because… Because…”

He thought she might break down and tell him then. Trust him with the truth. When she didn’t, he swallowed a bitter pill of disappointment.

“Why don’t we sit down?” he suggested with a calm he was far from feeling. “Talk this through.”

“Talk it through?” She gave a bubble of hysterical laughter and swept a hand toward the living room. “My first marriage proposal, and he wants to talk it though. By all means, counselor, have a seat.”

She regrouped during the few moments it took him to move to a sofa upholstered in a nubby plaid that complemented the earth-toned walls and framed prints of Roman antiquities. As she dropped into a chair facing him, Blake could see her astonishment giving way to anger. The first hints of it fired her eyes and stiffened her shoulders under her cottony T-shirt. He had to work to keep his gaze from drifting to the expanse of creamy skin exposed by the shirt’s hem. And those legs. Christ!

He’d better remember what he’d come for. He had to approach this challenge the same way he did all others. Coolly and logically.

“I’ve had time to think since you left, Grace. You’re good with Molly. So good both she and my mother have had difficulty adjusting to your absence.”

So had he, dammit. It irritated Blake to no end that he hadn’t been able to shut this woman out of his head. She’d lied to him and stubbornly refused to trust him. Yet he’d found himself making excuses for the lies and growing more determined by the hour to convince her to open up.

“You’re also Molly’s closest blood relative on her mother’s side,” he continued.

As far as he could determine at this point, anyway. He fully intended to keep digging. Whatever it took, however he got it, he wanted the truth.

“That’s right,” she confirmed with obvious reluctance. “Anne’s parents are dead, and she was their only child.”

He waited, willing her to share another scrap of information about her cousin. It hit Blake then that he could barely remember what Anne had looked like. They’d been together such a short time—if those few, furtive meetings outside their work environment could be termed togetherness.

Jaw locked, he tried to summon her image. She’d been an inch or two shorter than Grace. That much he remembered. And her eyes were several shades darker than her cousin’s warm, caramel-brown. Beyond that, she was a faint memory when compared with the vibrant female now facing him.

Torn between guilt and regret, Blake presented his next argument. “I know you’re facing monetary problems right now.”

She bolted upright in her chair. “What’d you do? Have Jamison check my financials?”

“Yes.” He offered no apology. “I’m guessing you drained your resources to help Anne and Molly. I owe you for that, Grace.”

“Enough to marry me?” she bit out.

“That’s part of the equation.” He hesitated, aware he was about to enter treacherous territory. “There’s another consideration, of course. Something frightened Anne enough to send her into hiding. It has to frighten you, too, or you wouldn’t have gone to such lengths to protect her.”

He’d struck a nerve. He could tell by the way she wouldn’t meet his eyes. Regret that he hadn’t been able to shield Anne from whoever or whatever had threatened her knifed into him. With it came an implacable determination to protect Grace. Battling the fierce urge to shake the truth out of her, he offered her not just his name but every powerful resource at his disposal.

“I’ll take care of you,” he promised, his steady gaze holding hers. “You and Molly.”

She wanted to yield. He could see it in her eyes. He congratulated himself, reveling in the potent mix of satisfaction at winning her confidence and a primal need to protect his chosen mate.

His fierce exultation didn’t last long. Only until she shook her head.

“I appreciate the offer, Blake. You don’t know how much. But I can take care of myself.”

He hadn’t realized until that moment how determined he was to put his ring on her finger. His expression hardening, he played his trump card.

“There’s another aspect to consider. Right now, you can’t—or won’t—claim any degree of kinship to Molly. That could impact your access to her.”

Her back went rigid. “What are you saying? That you wouldn’t let me see her if I don’t marry you?”

“No. I’m simply pointing out that you have no legal rights where she’s concerned. Mother’s not getting any younger,” he reminded her coolly. “And if something should happen to me or Alex…”

He was too good an attorney to overstate his case. Shrugging, he let her mull over the possibilities.

Grace did, with ever increasing indignation. She couldn’t believe it! He’d trapped her in her own web of lies and half-truths. If she wanted to see Molly—which she did, desperately!—she would have to play the game by his rules.