Delores Fossen - Peekaboo Baby

He pondered what she said. “Keyes could be lying.”

“He could be.” And Delaney would have welcomed the lie. It was far easier than the possible consequences of the truth. “But why would he? Why admit that he has some knowledge about a possible felony?”

His eyes met hers, as had happened several times during the conversation. But for some reason, his scrutinizing regard was even more unnerving than it had been before. It took her a moment to figure out why. They were so close they were practically touching.

Oh.

They were touching, she realized.

At least their clothes were. His pants leg was right against her skirt. He was warm. She wasn’t. And she felt his warmth all the way through her cool, damp clothes. Since that violated her personal space and then some, she took a huge step back.

The corner of his mouth lifted a fraction. Definitely not a smile. But maybe amusement that she would object to something so small when they had something so large to deal with.

“This Dr. Keyes could be after money,” he pointed out.

“You mean some sort of blackmail or extortion? Yes, I considered that, but he made no demands. In fact, he didn’t even want to talk to me.”

“That still doesn’t rule out money.”

And the brusque way he said it had Delaney looking beyond their present thread of conversation. “Are we discussing my father now?”

He lifted his right eyebrow just a fraction. “You tell me.”

He certainly had a way of riling her. And that particular ability sliced right through all the fear and dread. “Then, no, we’re not discussing him.”

His eyebrow went even higher. “It wouldn’t be the first time he’s tried to get money from me.”

Delaney really didn’t want to go there tonight, but it was obvious that Ryan McCall did. “Look, this isn’t about our past. And it’s not about my father.”

He leaned in. Another personal space violation. “It’s always about your father.”

That was something she couldn’t refute. She would forever associate the man standing in front of her with the hostile takeover of her father’s manufacturing company. And she’d always associate that with her father’s attempted suicide. That was a year and a half ago, and her father had been under psychiatric care ever since. He probably always would be.

But that was just the tip of the iceberg.

There would also be the anger and blame, which her father aimed not only at Ryan McCall but at her, as well. Simply put, her father detested her. He held her partly responsible for his lost business because he felt she hadn’t done more to stop it. And she could in turn put the blame for that squarely on Mr. McCall’s rather ample shoulders.

McCall stepped to the side, clearing her way to the door. “By the way, I don’t believe you.”

Good. And her reaction would have probably stayed that way while she made her exit.

If he hadn’t continued.

“Just how much money did your father ask you to extort from me?”

Delaney took a step, retraced it and glared at McCall over her shoulder. Part of her knew she should just let it go, but the man had successfully pushed another of her buttons. “Not a cent. And if you think my father would send me here to get anything from you, then you obviously know nothing about either of us.”

This time, she actually made it out the door and into the massive hall outside his office.

“Your reaction to my son’s picture was a nice touch,” he taunted. “The little fluttery breath. The oh, God. You must have figured if you could convince me that you had given birth to my son, then I’d hand over everything I own to get him back. The ultimate blackmail scheme. You father would get his revenge, and you’d both be filthy rich. Emphasis on the filthy.”

The accusation stung, because there was no way she’d use her son to get back at him. Or anyone. But the wrongful accusation wouldn’t stop her from leaving. Delaney hurried toward the stairs.

“Was I supposed to believe that you recognized something in my son’s photo?” he called out. “Or maybe a better question would be—what did you pretend to see?”

He was wrong.

That wasn’t the better question.

The better question was why had that tiny face seemed familiar? So familiar that it’d made her body respond in the most basic maternal way. She’d felt the slight contraction of her breasts and then the letdown of her milk. A preparation for nursing.

A normal response…as if she’d been looking at the face of her own son.

“HELL,” Ryan grumbled.

From the top of the stairs, he watched Delaney Nash race out the front door. Even in heels and a skirt, she was fast. Not exactly the behavior of a lying, scheming woman who had extortion or other unsavory acts on her mind. In fact, it seemed as if his accusations had genuinely upset her.

And that upset him.

Despite his cutthroat reputation and “iceman” moniker that his business cohorts had dubbed him with, he didn’t get off by hurting people.

Cursing himself and her visit, Ryan barreled down the stairs after her. He didn’t know whether to hope she’d already driven away, or that she was still there.

Fate settled it for him.

She was still there.

Delaney had made it back to her car, which was parked under the portico of the circular driveway. She was definitely trying to leave, but her car wasn’t cooperating. With each turn of the key, the engine made a clicking moan. A dead battery maybe.

She tried again. And again. Before she finally smacked her hand, hard, against the steering wheel. Her shoulders slumped, and her head dropped back onto the headrest of the seat. Then she glanced up at the ceiling as if begging for divine assistance.

Ryan walked down the flagstone steps. He knew his movement had drawn her attention because her eyes flew in his direction. For a split second he saw her sheer frustration before she replaced it with a scowl.

He deserved that scowl.

Ryan went to the driver’s side of her vehicle, and when she didn’t open the door, he reached for the handle. She in turn reached for the lock, but he was slightly quicker than she was. Before she could lock him out, he eased open the door and faced a seriously riled woman.

“You know, most people would have gotten mad and called me a name or two if I’d accused them of attempted extortion,” he commented.

Her scowl got worse. “Believe me, I considered a little name-calling.”

“It’s not too late.” He suppressed a wince when lightning zigzagged across the sky. The thunder followed, so loud that it vibrated the roof of the portico. “A lot of people go for jackass, but it’s a little overused. How about SOB? It’s short and to the point.”

She stared at him. “If you’re trying to be funny, or charming, you’re failing.”

“What I’m trying to do…” He had to stop because he had no idea what the heck he was trying to do. Yes, he did owe her a semiapology, but he was going beyond that. He was now somewhere in the uncomfortable realm of attempting to soothe her ruffled feathers.

But she was right.

He was failing.

Huffing, he looked at his household manager, Lena, who was standing in the gaping doorway of the estate. “Have a car brought to the front,” Ryan instructed. And because of the storm, he really hated this next part, but after what he’d just put his visitor through, it was something he felt he had to do. “I’ll drive Ms. Nash home.”

“No, thanks,” he heard Delaney say. “I’ll call a taxi.” Her statement wasn’t a suggestion.

Ryan reached across her and placed his hand over hers when she went for the phone nestled between the seats. Not the brightest move he’d ever made. The close confines of the car were, well, close.