Jill Limber - Secrets Of An Old Flame

He’d overreacted when he thought she’d run off again. What was new about that? He always overreacted around her.

Seeing her fear had not subsided, he softened his tone even more. “Your car isn’t in the garage.”

“What?” She blinked again, her eyes still huge in her white face. “My car?”

“Did they take it?” If the men who had broken in had taken her car they’d dump it. Even if they wiped it down, forensics might be able to lift prints from the vehicle.

She looked puzzled. “Who?”

“The men who broke in.” He shook his head at her confusion.

Her cheeks flushed. “No. My car…isn’t here.” She seemed to recover her composure.

Finally she lowered the trophy. “Were you trying to scare me, coming up the stairs like that?” she demanded, sounding more like herself.

He ignored her question, not about to tell her he had been on the edge of panic, thinking she had run from him again. “How did you get here?”

She put the trophy on top of the dresser just inside the door and stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind her, her lips pressed together in a thin line.

“What I do or how I do it is none of your business.”

“Why won’t you tell me?” He’d searched databases for her for a year. He wanted to know where she’d been.

She had that stubborn “I don’t have to tell you anything” look he knew so well. She crossed her arms over her stomach and gave him a pointed stare.

He knew so little about her, but he knew every square inch of her body. Her breasts were fuller. Probably from nursing the baby, he assumed.

A year ago, whenever they had been this close to each other they’d ended up naked. The smell of her, so familiar he would dream about her and wake up expecting his bedroom to hold her scent, floated in the charged air between them.

Not being able to keep his mind off their past or keep his body under control had him fuming. He took a step forward so that he backed her up against the door, a perverse part of him needing to intimidate her.

“The only thing that does matter right now is the baby. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Her face pinched up in a bitter expression as she brought her arms up and pressed her body back, trying to put some space between them.

“Consider yourself a sperm donor. Nothing more.”

He stared at her, stunned, as his simmering anger came ripping back full force. A sperm donor? After what they had shared? Furious, he grabbed her hard by the upper arms and looked into her eyes, his voice harsh.

“I consider myself a whole lot more. Don’t you ever forget it.”

At her gasp he let go, chagrined he couldn’t control his thoughts or his hands.

“Sorry,” he muttered and stepped back, ashamed that he had so little restraint around her he would grab her in anger.

Nikki, chest heaving with emotion, gripped the crystal doorknob and tipped her face up to him, throwing him a “screw you” expression.

“Don’t ever touch me again,” she said, enunciating each word very carefully.

Fat chance. He couldn’t seem to dredge up the command to keep his hands off her.

Even now, when she stood there hating him, he wanted her so badly he ached with it. His gaze kept drifting to the outline of her hard nipples through the thin fabric of her gown. There were subtle differences in her body and he yearned to relearn every inch of her.

Joe took a deep breath to calm himself as they stared each other down. What he really wanted, he thought, more than any explanation of where she’d been, was to haul her into her bed and bury himself in her.

He thrust his hands in his pockets. Sperm donor, he thought with disgust. He had a son and he would be a father to his child, no matter what she considered him. The baby was his flesh and blood, and he’d be a part of his life. No way he was going to back away from his responsibilities, he thought, trying to get control of his anger.

He wanted to yell at her until she listened to him, even though he knew she wouldn’t pay attention to reason or logic. She’d proved that to him a year ago, refusing to consider the facts about her father’s disappearance.

Joe took a deep breath. “Look, I’m sorry.” He wasn’t even sure what all he was apologizing for, but it seemed like a good place to start. They couldn’t go on the way they were.

“You and I have a lot to work out, but nothing changes the fact that Michael is my son. And I will be a part of his life.”

“How? By taking him away from me?” Her voice broke in the middle of the question.

Her words seemed to hang in the air between them, then he noticed she was shaking all over.

He had threatened to take his son. He’d wanted her to understand the danger she was in. He hadn’t stopped to consider how intimidated she might be by his warning.

“Look, Nikki…” He reached for her, needing to apologize and offer comfort, only to have her flinch away from him. The look of fear and uncertainty on her face made him take another step back. He had been rough with her and now she was afraid of him.

He wondered if he could screw this up any worse than he already had.

He raised his hands, palms up, in a conciliatory gesture he hoped would reassure her and deliberately softened his tone. “Where is the baby?”

She didn’t answer right away, her lips pressed into a thin, trembling line as she visibly struggled for control. Finally she said, “Asleep.”

“Where is he sleeping? I need to know where you both are in order to protect you.” There was always a chance whoever had broken in could try again.

She didn’t answer at first, just stared at him with a stubborn look on her face. Her expression didn’t change as she finally answered, “He’s in a playpen on the other side of my bed.”

Ever since he’d first seen Michael he’d yearned to hold his son, feel the weight of him in his arms. That moment was going to have to wait. Nikki didn’t trust him and she was too fragile just now.

Joe ran his hand through his hair and groped for something to say to help smooth out their relationship. Nothing came to mind. He had taken a two-week course in communication and hostage negotiation and he couldn’t come up with a simple statement to open up some interaction.

He tried to shrug some of the tension out of his shoulders. “We’re both tired. We can talk about this in the morning.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he heard Nikki mutter under her breath as she turned her back on him and opened her bedroom door just far enough to slip through, closing it in his face.

The distinct snick of metal on metal told him she’d locked the door.

He let her comment pass. He wasn’t about to get into another discussion that would get them nowhere.

He spoke to her through the heavy wooden panel. “I’ll be downstairs. Make sure your balcony door is locked. Call me if you need me.”

He got no response from the bedroom.

Considering how she felt about him, he’d be lucky if she let him know if the house caught fire. She’d probably take the baby and run without waking him.

Joe made the rounds and checked all the windows upstairs as well as the French doors leading to the balconies off each bedroom. He found bedding in the main linen closet in the hallway. Then, restless and uneasy, he went downstairs and checked all the doors and windows a second time.

Finally he threw his blanket and pillow on a couch in the TV room off the kitchen. He figured the most vulnerable part of the house to be the windows and doors facing the alley, so he picked a room on the ground floor at the back of the house to bed down. He unstrapped his holster and placed his revolver on the coffee table within easy reach.

He tried to get comfortable on the too short couch and listened to the night sounds—the occasional car, the rustle of the trees, the bark of a dog. Civilized sounds of a very upscale neighborhood settling in for the night.