Barbara McCauley - Secret Baby Santos

But it was hardly just any other dinner, and Nick was hardly just any other guest.

He certainly had a healthy appetite, Maggie thought. The way he packed food away, she couldn’t believe he wasn’t at least twenty pounds heavier. But there wasn’t an ounce of fat on the man. She’d discovered that firsthand when Drew had tackled her straight into those strong arms and Nick had held her against his broad chest. He was solid muscle, every last inch of his six-foot-four-inch frame.

Exactly as she remembered him five years ago.

How could he just show up here like this now, throwing her entire life into turmoil?

With a groan she sat and turned on the bedside lamp. Running into Nick at the store had been one thing. That she could have handled. But him showing up here, charming everyone in sight, including Drew, was another matter entirely.

The image of her son placing his small hand in Nick’s would be burned in her memory forever.

At that moment she’d felt as if time had stopped, as if the world had stopped and nothing else existed but the two of them. The two men in her life who had changed her the most, both of them unintentionally altering her life forever. And neither one of them had a clue how important they were to her.

When her heart had started beating again, when she’d recovered her ability to breathe, all she could do was watch them, watch them in amazement and disbelief that two such wonderful people had touched her life.

She’d found a calm in that moment. As if she’d been waiting for that moment without even realizing it, and now that it had happened, she felt an incredible relief. She’d also realized she’d been acting like an idiot. There’d been no reason for her to be so afraid of them meeting.

In a hundred years Nick Santos would have no reason to believe that Drew was his son.

How could he, when Nick himself didn’t even realize that he’d made love to her?

Sometimes even she wondered if she’d dreamed that night, if she’d simply lost it completely and confused a fantasy with reality. At those moments all she’d have to do was look into her son’s eyes, watch him smile and she knew the truth: Drew was Nick’s son. Absolutely no doubt about it.

And she’d do everything in her power to be certain that Nick never knew.

The soft light from the table lamp spilled onto the rose wallpaper, and Maggie stared at the delicate patterns of flowers and vines. This had been her bedroom growing up, until the day she’d left ten years ago. Hoping for excitement, she’d chosen a large East Coast university, but had realized soon enough that a plain, painfully shy small-town girl just didn’t fit in with the big city. She stuck it out, though, earned her journalism degree, and through a college placement agency found her first job with the North Carolina Tribune. Never mind she was making coffee and filing, and no one in the office ever gave her a second look, she had a real job with a real newspaper. She’d vowed to prove herself somehow, make them see she could write the best damn article the Tribune had ever seen. All she needed was a chance.

Eight months later, due to a flu epidemic that left two-thirds of the office home in bed, she finally got her chance. A sports assignment. Following the National Motorcycle Championship race that afternoon at the local speedway, she was supposed to interview twotime national champion Nick Santos.

She went straight to the bathroom and threw up.

Of all the assignments, of all the people in the world to interview, fate had given her Nick Santos, the man who’d rescued her from Roger Gerckee when she was thirteen years old. She remembered every wonderful, glorious moment of that day.

She’d been eating lunch alone, as she always did, in the back of the lunch area. Roger had singled her out that day and had been taunting her about her braces, big glasses and curly red hair. She’d managed to ignore him until he snatched her sandwich and threw it in the trash can, but then she hadn’t been able to stop the tears of humiliation and anger.

Like a knight on a white horse, Nick Santos suddenly appeared. Vividly she could still remember the fury in Nick’s dark eyes, hear the deadly calm in his voice, when he’d told Roger that he shouldn’t be wasting food like that, then dumped the bully in the same trash can. The entire school had cheered, and she had fallen hopelessly in love.

She’d never told anyone her feelings for Nick. She would have been the laughingstock of the school if she had. She was different from the other girls. They’d always known what to say, what to wear, how to act. She’d simply never fit in, and falling for a boy like Nick was absurd. Nick was not only older, he was part of the notorious Bad-Boy Trio. A girl had to be fast to hang with Nick, she’d heard in whispered rumors, not to mention gorgeous and ready for a little danger.

Maggie had been none of those things, and the most dangerous thing she’d ever done was sneak in late to algebra class while Mr. Greenbaum, the teacher, had his back turned. She’d resigned herself that bad-boy Nick Santos would never, in a million years, look twice at a girl like her.

So it had just simply been more comfortable, and definitely safer, to immerse herself in books and school projects, and keep her fantasies about Nick to herself. In those fantasies, she was fast, she was gorgeous, a femme fatale that stole his breath and heart and he wanted only her. She was as bad as he was, and damn good at it. Those fantasies had carried her through high school and college.

Until that day five years, six months ago, when she either had to interview him or lose her job.

She’d watched the race from the stands that day, cheered when Nick won his third national championship, driven to his hotel, then sat in her car forty-five minutes before she’d been able to work up the nerve to go up to his suite and actually knock on the door.

The celebration party of Nick’s win was in full swing when she stepped—no, when she was dragged—through the door of the elegant suite by a large dark-haired man sporting a ponytail. People packed the room, laughing and talking, hard-rock music pounded from a stereo system, and a blond man dressed in a Hawaiian shirt circled the room pouring champagne. The women were all beautiful, the men rugged and handsome, and Maggie had never felt more out of place in her entire life.

She couldn’t do this. She still hadn’t seen Nick, and even if he’d seen her, he wouldn’t remember her, anyway. He had a different woman on his arm every time the tabloids took his picture. If she left right now, she wouldn’t have to suffer the humiliation of him having no idea who she was.

She was already turning to leave, already formulating the lie she’d tell her boss, when the Hawaiian man blocked her way and shoved a flute of champagne at her.

“You here from the hotel?” he asked.

Dressed in her tailored navy blue shirt and blazer, she could understand why he’d think she was hotel staff. “Well, actually—”

“It’s in the bedroom bathroom. I thought someone should look at it, but you don’t need to send anyone to fix it until tomorrow.”

She tried to explain she wasn’t with the hotel, but the noise level had risen considerably when two women grabbed Nick and started to dance with him, and the man leading her toward the bedroom couldn’t hear her explanation.

She stumbled at the sight of him dancing with the women. Well, he wasn’t exactly dancing, he was sort of watching more than anything. Her heart pounded furiously. He was as handsome as ever, his hair as thick and dark as she remembered, his smile just as dazzling. She couldn’t find her voice when Hawaiian Man nudged her into the bedroom, then took off.

Grateful for the quiet, Maggie slipped into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. She stared at the champagne in her hand, held her breath and took a big gulp. The bubbles lingered in her throat, tickling, and though she never drank much, she realized she liked the taste. She also liked the sudden shot of confidence buzzing through her.