Michelle Major - Fortune's Special Delivery

The walkway was busy, and he enjoyed watching men and women running, mothers with small children and strollers, and the trees and flowers that lined the path. Even more, he enjoyed the anonymity. A few people did a double take when he passed, but no one stopped him. In London, he could barely get from his flat to the corner coffee shop without a camera flashing. This was a welcome change.

By the time he spotted the striking blonde sitting on the park bench outside the Zilker Botanical Garden entrance, Charles felt more relaxed than he had in ages.

Alice Meyers.

Yes, he remembered her. She was typing something into her phone, so he had a minute to study her. She was as lovely as she’d been a year ago and perhaps a bit curvier. The change suited her. Her pale hair was pulled back into a loose bun, a few strands escaping to brush across her cheek. Her skin was smooth and pale in contrast to her lush mouth. He’d kissed those lips all night long, never tiring of the taste of her.

Charles ran a hand through his hair, surprised at the sudden rush of memories. He didn’t know why Alice had contacted him after so long, and there were plenty of women who meant more to him than she did. He approached slowly, waiting for her to glance up. She wore a silk blouse in a soft pink hue, tailored jeans and the most delectable pair of intricately strappy sandals he’d ever seen. The heels she’d worn the night they met had been just as unique, and he was irrationally glad that amazing shoes seemed to be a staple for her.

He was almost in front of her when she finally looked away from her phone. Her big hazel eyes widened and color tinged her cheeks.

“Charles,” she breathed, quickly standing and thrusting a hand toward him.

He had every intention of shaking her hand, but at the last minute grasped her fingers and lifted her hand to his mouth, brushing his lips across her knuckles.

He forced himself to release her hand, and took a step back.

“Good morning, Alice.”

“Hello,” she said. “Thank you for meeting me.” The pulse in her delicate neck fluttered wildly, and she swallowed. For some reason, her agitation made him relax. Certainly someone so nervous wouldn’t be preparing to blackmail him.

“I’m glad you called,” he said, making his tone reassuring. Whatever her reason for wanting to see him, Alice clearly needed some encouragement right now. Charles didn’t consider himself the nurturing type but this woman seemed to bring something new to the surface in him.

“You are?” She sounded dubious, and it was hard to tell whom she doubted more—herself or him.

“I am.” He flashed his most charming smile. “I enjoyed our time together last year, brief as the encounter turned out to be. If you—”

A sharp cry interrupted him. Alice turned to the buggy next to the park bench. He’d been so intent on her as he approached, he hadn’t noticed it before. The stroller was one of those fancy American types, not the traditional pram many mums in Britain favored. This one was dark gray with navy blue trim and seemed as sturdy as a tank with an infant seat snapped into the top. Alice pushed back the cover to reveal a small baby peering out at them.

“This is my son,” she said quickly. “His binky fell out.” She reached under the baby and pulled out a piece of green rubber, popping it deftly in the boy’s mouth just as he opened it to cry again. He began sucking and within seconds took a deep breath and seemed to settle back to watch the morning go by from his baby stroller throne.

“A real little prince you have there,” Charles said, taking a step closer to the stroller.

Alice blinked at him as if he’d just said her son was next in line to the British throne.

“Figure of speech,” he clarified. “How old is the lad?”

“Four months,” she whispered. “He’s...he’s everything to me.”

“I can see why.” Charles hadn’t spent much time around babies until his siblings had started with their own progeny. He’d discovered he liked wee ones, assuming he could give them back to their parents when a nappy needed changing. He leaned over the stroller and the baby looked up at him, with blue eyes bright and clear like his nephew Ollie had at that age.

Charles felt a vise wrap around his chest. He stared at the dark-haired boy a few more seconds, then staggered back a step, clutching at his shirtfront. “That baby looks exactly like the boys in my family.” He met Alice’s gaze. “He looks like me.”

She stared at him, a mix of emotions ranging from apprehension to relief flashing across her delicate features. One hand was wrapped around the stroller’s handle, like a gust of wind was coming and she needed the buggy to ground her. “Yes,” she said simply, after an awkward moment. “He’s yours.”

A dull roar filled Charles’s head. He had a baby. A son. He was a father. It seemed impossible. Yes, he’d dated plenty of women, but he’d been careful. Always. He’d always...

“How did this happen?”

The baby made another noise, and Alice picked him up, cradling the boy in her arms. “The usual way, I guess,” she said with an almost apologetic smile. “That night at the conference—”

“I remember the bloody night,” Charles yelled, then scrubbed a hand over his jaw as Alice flinched. He took a breath, made his voice lower. “But we used protection. As I remember, the first condom was yours.”

As Alice nodded, her cheeks flamed bright pink. She lowered herself to the park bench, still holding the baby tight to her chest. “I’d been saving it,” she told him. “For my...first time. That was a mistake.”

For an instant, Charles wondered if she was referring to the old condom or choosing him to take her virginity. It had been obvious that she was inexperienced, but he hadn’t realized the full extent of her innocence until he’d pushed inside her. He’d tried to be gentle, to make it good for her, but his desire and need for her had been a force like nothing he’d experienced before.

Misinterpreting his silence, she continued, “I didn’t mean for it to happen. You have to believe me, Charles. If you want a DNA test, I understand.”

He looked at Flynn and simply knew deep in his soul. This was his son. He might be shocked, but there was no doubt she was telling the truth. “No test,” he told her curtly.

“It’s never been my intention to trap you. I just thought you should know.”

“Why now?” He paced back and forth in front of the bench, too frantic with conflicting emotions to stand still. “I should have bloody well known a year ago.”

“What would you have done?”

He stopped to consider the question and turned to Alice, who seemed to read his thoughts before even he knew them.

Her chin tipped up and her shoulders straightened. “I know who you are, Charles. I know how you live.” Gone suddenly was the nervous, shy girl he’d encountered, and in her place was a fierce, formidable mother. She adjusted the infant in her arms and leaned forward. “I loved this baby from the moment I discovered I was pregnant. I was going to be his mother, no matter what anyone else thought of the decision.”

Resolve mixed with tension in her gaze. Charles caught a brief glimpse of what a woman like Alice must have endured, making the choice to become a single mother. Who had supported her during the pregnancy and the baby’s birth? Would he have stepped into that role if she had told him?

“I didn’t say I don’t want him,” he said, the anger at not knowing disappearing as quickly as it had arrived. He sank next to her on the bench and lifted one finger to trace the top of the baby’s small head. The boy had a decent amount of hair for a little one, dark and downy soft.