Lovechild

Lovechild
Metsy Hingle

AN UNFINISHED LOVE AFFAIR… Jacques Gaston had loved all women, until he'd found one woman he wanted with an urgent hunger. But the blond beauty had disappeared from his bed and his life. Now, reunited three years later, Jacques was determined to seduce her again. Only this time, when the affair ended, he planned to be the one to walk away… .A SECRET BABY When Liza O'Malley had discovered her pregnancy, she had fled Jacques's erotic embrace. She knew he feared the darkness within himself, and he had always vowed never to be a father. Leaving had been difficult, and Liza wasn't sure she could resist his tantalizing touch a second time around. This time she had to convince him what they had was much more than an affair… .

Excerpt (#u72cac421-d308-5754-81fe-7dd775fd1c1c)Letter to Reader (#u30e13192-bc21-5b24-93b6-2a15996cb156)About the Author (#ufa59d7a2-dc38-5503-a1de-80253d45b8bc)Title Page (#u33d301f7-d01c-57ee-b6b1-55e03b168bf2)Dedication (#u64034015-d54c-5cdf-b1d1-0860880b8f5d)Chapter One (#u6666a331-60be-5c63-88e1-fdca42d40c25)Chapter Two (#u99279696-2667-59a1-a665-fef9dc4adec8)Chapter Three (#u223130d2-8f46-5e41-bb7c-3648bf528162)Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

“The Fire Between Us Is Still There.

“Nothing has changed, Liza.”

“You’re wrong, Jacques. Everything has changed.”

“I don’t think so. Let me prove it to you.”

“No!”

Jacques looked at Liza. She still wanted him, he told himself as he fought the dark storm of emotion her denial had set whirling inside him. Regardless of her protests, the fire between them burned just as hot, just as fiercely, as it had three years ago. And he intended it to burn again.

It had to. He wanted to be free of hoping, of wanting more. And he wanted to be free of her. Liza could give him that freedom and he would give her hers by sating their physical need for one another until the white-hot flame burned itself out.

And when it was over, this time he would be the one to walk away without looking back.

Dear Reader.

Happy Valentine’s Day! This season of love is so exciting for us here at Silhouette Desire that we decided to create a special cover treatment for each of this month’s love stories—just to show how much this very romantic holiday means to us.

And what a fabulous group of books we have for you! Let’s start with Joan Elliott Pickart’s MAN OF THE MONTH, Texas Moon. It’s romantic and wonderful—and has a terrific hero!

The romance continues with Cindy Gerard’s sensuous A Bride for Abel Greene, the next in her NORTHERN LIGHTS BRIDES series, and also with Elizabeth Bevarly’s Roxy and the Rich Man, which launches her new miniseries about siblings who were separated at birth, THE FAMILY McCORMICK.

Christine Pacheco is up next with Lovers Only, an emotional and compelling reunion story. And Metsy Hingle’s dramatic writing style shines through in her latest, Lovechild.

It’s always a special moment when a writer reaches her 25the book milestone—and that’s just what Rita Rainville has done in the humorous and delightful Western, City Girls Need Not Apply.

Silhouette Desire—where you will always find the very best love stories! Enjoy them all....

Senior Editor

Please address questions and book requests to:

Silhouette Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont L2A 5X3

About the Author

METSY HINGLE is a native of New Orleans who loves the city in which she grew up. She credits the charm of her birthplace, and her own French heritage, with instilling in her the desire to write. Married and the mother of four children, she believes in romance and happy endings. Becoming a Silhouette author is a long-cherished dream come true for Metsy and one happy ending that she continues to celebrate with each new story she writes. She loves hearing from readers. Write to Metsy at P.O. Box 3224, Covington, LA 70433.

Lovechild

Metsy Hingle

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

For my husband, Jim,

and my sons, Jimmy and Stephen—

the three special heroes in my own life

who dispel the darkness with their love.

One

He had been set up!

The realization held the sobering sting of an open-palmed slap and none of the satisfaction of having earned it. Jacques Gaston rubbed his jaw, feeling the force of the blow just as effectively as if he had been smacked across the face.

Only this time the crack to his cheek hadn’t been delivered by his drunken father or by an angry female who had refused to believe he’d meant it when he had told her he would share his bed but never his heart. No, this time the head-ringing clip had been delivered by Aimee and Peter Gallagher—the two people he had considered his best friends.

And they had delivered the sucker punch in the form of Liza O’Malley.

Liza.

Jacques gave himself a mental kick for his gullibility. He had no doubts whatsoever that his so-called friends had known she would be here. They had played him like a finely tuned Stradivarius, knowing, he would agree to serve in their steads on the Art For Kids’ Sake Committee the moment Aimee had told him her pregnancy precluded them traveling to Chicago. As Aimee had pointed out, his guestartist lecture series would coincide conveniently with the final stages of the fund-raising campaign. Serving on the committee would require. only a few hours of his time at meetings and a handful of fund-raising events, Aimee had told him. And just as conveniently it would throw him and Liza together again.

Ah, Aimee, mon amie, despite my silence, you knew, didn’t you? That the fires had burned between me and Liza And now you think to rekindle them? To save me from what you see as my life of loneliness? But it is too late. It was always too late.

Even with Liza.

Especially with Liza..

Ignoring the sudden tightness in his chest, Jacques continued to stare at the woman he had tried so hard to forget. He noted the long swath of golden hair swishing like silk at her shoulders as she moved, the lush green eyes the color of new leaves on a vine in his family’s vineyard. She was even more beautiful now than he remembered.

And he had had three long years to remember her, to think of her exquisite face, to recall the softness of her lithe body. The three years slipped away in the space of a heartbeat, sending him back to that last night of passion when she had professed her love for him. Back to that night when he had found himself teetering on the brink between heaven and bell as he allowed himself to contemplate the danger, to even dare and hope that he might be able to share his life with someone. To share his life with her.

Mon Dieu! Jacques clamped down on the surge of emotions that seeing her had unearthed inside him. Ignoring the hum of voices and the people who meandered about the room, he moved toward the window and concentrated on steadying his breathing. Snow fluttered outside, dancing before the high-rise’s expanse of windows. But the memories clutched at his throat, choking him, sending him back to the oppressive heat of that autumn in New Orleans three years ago. Back to that night when she had quietly slipped from his bed and his life—like a thief in the night—without explanation, without even a goodbye and taken with her a chunk of his heart.

I’m over her, he told himself, turning away from the window. He watched her move about the room with the same inherent grace and sensuality that had captivated him so completely three years ago. Seduction in a copper suede suit, he thought wryly, as desire stirred inside him.

Un fou, Jacques swore silently. He was a fool. Worse, he had lied to himself. Even after all this time he hadn’t forgotten her, nor had his body.

As though sensing his gaze, Liza turned. The smile on her lips wavered. Her fair skin lost even more color. Judging by the stunned look on her face, Liza O’Malley had not forgotten him, either.

Play it smart, Gaston. Do yourself a favor and get the hell out of here now, the voice inside him whispered.

But he knew he wasn’t going to play it smart. Because playing it smart would mean walking away from those captivating green eyes and that soft, pouty mouth. Desire flickered inside him once more, heating his blood. But this time he didn’t fight it as he recalled how those eyes had darkened when he’d kissed the sensitive spot inside her thigh, how those lips felt on his skin.