Tara Quinn - Another Man's Child

Cover Page

Excerpt “It’s our baby, Marcus. Yours as much as mine.” No! his mind screamed. The child she was carrying had nothing to do with him. He couldn’t pretend otherwise. He stared straight ahead, wishing she’d leave him to his numbness. He didn’t think he could hold on much longer. His wife was pregnant with another man’s baby. He felt sick. And betrayed. And jealous. He stood up abruptly and headed for the door. Jealous. What kind of man did that make him, that he was jealous of his own wife’s ability to conceive? Jealous because she was having the baby they’d always wanted—because she wouldn’t have to pretend that she, not someone else, had created their child.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR ABOUT THE AUTHOR Tara Taylor Quinn knew nothing about artificial insemination until she began the research for Another Man’s Child. On the other hand, she went through premature birth with a friend of hers, an RN, whose niece was born at five months. In fact, baby Stephanie’s picture—complete with wires, tubes, tape and a warning bed—was beside Tara the entire time she wrote this book. Readers will be glad to know that Stephanie is a healthy child now. Tara loves to hear from her readers. You can reach her at P.O. Box 15065, Scottsdale, Arizona 85267-5065.

Title Page Another Man’s Child Tara Taylor Quinn www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dedication For Michael Scott Gumser It’s the ties that bind, and our knots are forever, little brother. I love you.

Epigraph A very special thank-you to Cinci Davis and Stephanie Noel Alston May the strength that brought you through your first two years be with you always, little Stephanie. And may you always be surrounded by people who love you as much as your Aunt Cinci does. Happy Birthday!

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

EPILOGUE

Copyright

No! his mind screamed. The child she was carrying had nothing to do with him. He couldn’t pretend otherwise.

He stared straight ahead, wishing she’d leave him to his numbness. He didn’t think he could hold on much longer. His wife was pregnant with another man’s baby. He felt sick.

And betrayed.

And jealous.

He stood up abruptly and headed for the door.

Jealous. What kind of man did that make him, that he was jealous of his own wife’s ability to conceive? Jealous because she was having the baby they’d always wanted—because she wouldn’t have to pretend that she, not someone else, had created their child.

Tara Taylor Quinn knew nothing about artificial insemination until she began the research for Another Man’s Child. On the other hand, she went through premature birth with a friend of hers, an RN, whose niece was born at five months. In fact, baby Stephanie’s picture—complete with wires, tubes, tape and a warning bed—was beside Tara the entire time she wrote this book. Readers will be glad to know that Stephanie is a healthy child now.

Tara loves to hear from her readers. You can reach her at P.O. Box 15065, Scottsdale, Arizona 85267-5065.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Michael Scott Gumser

It’s the ties that bind, and our knots are forever, little brother. I love you.

A very special thank-you to Cinci Davis and Stephanie Noel Alston

May the strength that brought you through your first two years be with you always, little Stephanie.

And may you always be surrounded by people who love you as much as your Aunt Cinci does.

Happy Birthday!

THE WOMAN HAD A BODY that practically begged a guy to come out and play, a glint in her eyes that dared him to win.

And she was looking at Marcus. There was enough money among the businessmen she was addressing to buy the eastern United States twice over, but it was Marcus with whom she made eye contact.

He shifted in the cushioned armchair he’d chosen midway around the table. He knew Julie Winters. Had always admired her genius. She had a helluva mind for numbers and for manipulating those numbers, making her one of the most successful forces on Wall Street.

“In summary,” she concluded, “independents are the businesses of the past. Diversify your assets. Scratch your own backs before someone else scratches it for you and leaves you bleeding.”

She caught Marcus’s eye. I’d like to scratch your back, but I’ll be gentle, her glance seemed to say.

He had a sudden vision of Lisa’s eyes when she’d looked up at him from the paper that morning. They’d had that sad, troubled, faraway quality he’d seen all too often in the past eighteen months.

The meeting was over. And Marcus had a question or two for Julie. She’d quoted some figures he hadn’t heard before, pertaining to the future of electronic advertising. Standing at the back of the room while he waited for her to finish, he admired the confidence with which she was dealing with one of his more overbearing peers.

That glint was back in her eyes when she finally approached him.

“Marcus! It’s good to see you again.” She placed a perfectly manicured hand on his forearm, her red nails glistening against his sleeve.

“You, too, Julie. Got a few minutes? I’d like to hear more about your predictions regarding warehouse to the consumer.”

“I have another session to get to,” she said, “but we could talk about it over dinner.”

The woman’s smile promised more than just dinner, and his body surged to life. Tell her no, jackass. A few minutes to pick her brain is all you’re after.

He looked at his watch, the Rolex Lisa had given him when he was still the man of her dreams. “We could meet back here in the lobby at six.”

“I’ll be here.”

Her bright red lips promised to make the evening one he’d remember. With one last look up and down his suited frame, she left the room.

He tried his damnedest not to carry the vision of her lush breasts and womanly hips, encased so seductively in that black-and-red business suit, with him as he headed to the last session of the day. He was a married man. Very much in love with his wife.

Except that every time he thought of Lisa, he saw again the disappointment, the sadness he’d brought to her eyes—to her life. He’d always been a doer, a problem-solver, but there wasn’t one damn thing he could do about that look in Lisa’s eyes.

At five o’clock he was back in his room to shower and change from his suit to slacks and a sport coat, trading his staid navy tie for one a little more colorful. He couldn’t quite meet his reflected gaze as he took one quick look in the mirror, but he refused to feel guilty. He was going to a business dinner. That was all.

He also avoided the picture of Lisa he’d set out on his nightstand when he’d checked in that afternoon. And he didn’t call her as he’d promised when he’d kissed her goodbye in their garage that morning, either.

He’d come to the convention, not only to deliver his paper on multiple diversification, but to garner enough space from his lovely unhappy wife to consider the consequences of his inability to give her what she wanted most in the world. He’d sacrifice his life to save his marriage. But there were some things he just couldn’t change.