Secret Baby Scandal. Joanne Rock
reason. They were drawing boundaries, weren’t they? That was a good thing.
“Meaning there will be no maneuvering each other by implying an engagement or imminent wedding that we both know will not happen.”
“Deal.” His agreement was quick and easy, catching her off guard. He took her hand in his. “You have my word.”
His touch sparked memories of another time they’d been face-to-face like this—arguing heatedly about her court case. He’d touched her to emphasize a point, perhaps. And somewhere in that moment, the chemistry of the contact had shifted, turning heated. Making it impossible to pull their hands off of each other. She felt the weight of that moment now, along with the possibility that it could happen again if she wasn’t careful. It was there, in her fluttering pulse. In her rapid breathing.
She hovered there, on that razor’s edge between tension and attraction, understanding too late how easy it would be to slide into that dangerous terrain.
“Sleep well then.” He lifted her hand to his lips. Brushed a brief kiss along the backs of her fingers as though it was the most natural thing in the world. “I’ll pick you up in the morning so we can speak to your father together. And make no mistake, I will be there by your side.”
She nodded, her mouth dry, her skin tingling where he’d kissed her. She watched Jean-Pierre turn to leave and show himself out, her emotions tangled, knotted and taut. She had thought telling him about their child would be the most difficult thing she’d ever have to do. But now, feeling the way her body still responded to him, she knew that resisting the lure of a Reynaud man would be a challenge beyond anything she’d imagined.
Between NFL games, Jean-Pierre had a week to strategize. He studied his opponent, searching for weaknesses and ways to exploit them. He developed a game plan and made adjustments right up until the moment when he took the field to execute it.
With Tatiana, he didn’t have a week for anything.
He’d had twelve intense hours to get his head around fatherhood before facing her family with news that had obviously blindsided them. Twelve hours to figure out his game plan, when his whole world was off balance. And while they’d delivered the news to the Doucets in their living room half an hour ago and it had gone as smoothly as could be expected, Jean-Pierre now braced himself for whatever his coach wanted to say to him privately. In a room nearby, the women took turns holding César while he watched Jack Doucet shut the door behind him and turn on him.
“You bastard.” Red-faced, his coach stared him down with a fury he no longer hid. A defensive end in his college days, Jack had softened in his coaching years, a rounded gut and flushed face attesting to the comfortable life of a man who didn’t deny himself any pleasures.
But right now, with the look in the older man’s eye, Jean-Pierre didn’t doubt for a second the guy would deliver one hell of a hit if he decided to come after him.
“She didn’t tell me,” Jean-Pierre reminded him, remembering the time the coach had hurled a helmet across the locker room into a rookie’s head for missing his play cue. “I didn’t know until last night and I’m here now—”
“Don’t bullshit me. A man always knows there’s a chance.” Jack’s fists clenched at his sides, his chin jutting closer. “That’s my daughter we’re talking about.”
“And that’s my son.” Jean-Pierre kept his voice quiet, recognizing the imperative of keeping a lid on this conversation with the women in the other room. “And since we both want to protect our families, I suggest we figure out how to have this discussion without upsetting anyone on the other side of that door.” His heart slugged hard in his chest.
He did not want a brawl to commemorate this day. That wasn’t the kind of start he needed with Tatiana.
“As much as I’d like to plant my fist in your jaw, even if it cost you a game, Reynaud, you have a point.” The older man spun on his heel and turned to the bar. He poured himself a measure of Irish whiskey from a bottle centered on a silver serving tray.
Jean-Pierre hoped the whiskey cooled him off. He edged back a step, waiting to resume their conversation once Jack had a hold of himself.
All around the study were framed news clippings and photographs from Jack’s career as a head coach in New York. The most prominent photos were of the team’s two division championships and a Super Bowl win four years ago. There were no photos from Jack’s years as Leon Reynaud’s second in command for the Mustangs, even though the two of them had taken the team to new heights, developing a fast style of offense copied throughout the league and setting records in passing that still stood today.
Jack had severed all ties with Leon and the Reynauds until he needed a strong quarterback to lead the Gladiators. Even then, the head coach hadn’t done much to make Jean-Pierre feel welcome in New York. They’d simply worked toward their common goal to make the Gladiators a powerhouse team again.
“You’ve got a hell of a lot of nerve.” Jack slammed the whiskey glass on the desk as he turned to face him. “I brought you to New York to give you a chance to step out of the family shadow. To make your own mark on this game. And this is how you repay me?” He gripped the neck of the whiskey bottle tighter, his voice low.
“Now I’d like to return the favor and ask that you don’t try to bullshit me. You didn’t bring me here out of the kindness of your heart. You brought me here to win games,” he said evenly. “I’ve done that and more.”
Jack remained silent as he scrubbed a hand through thinning hair.
“I’ve played my part for you,” Jean-Pierre continued. “A little too damn well now that I think about it. It’s one thing for you to ask me to win games, but it was another to expect me to stay away from Tatiana.”
He’d backed off ten years ago when she had sided with her family and told him they were through. But all those old feelings hadn’t just evaporated because Jack Doucet told his daughter not to see him anymore. They’d been festering somewhere inside them both, only to implode that day in the courtroom when he’d confronted her after the case.
“I should have never brought you to the Gladiators,” Jack muttered, pouring himself a third shot.
“Beyond the winning record, I’ve provided the locker-room stability you need to keep a team of aging veterans and wild rookies on the same page each week. If you’re unhappy with my performance, I’m happy to revisit our terms at contract time.” Knowing he wasn’t going to smooth over this problem today, he wondered how soon he could reasonably walk out of the Doucet household with Tatiana and his son.
His son.
He still couldn’t think about the magnitude of that news without the words reverberating through him long afterward. But he needed to move past the awe of it fast in order to protect César’s future. He had so much to organize, so many plans to put in place. Not the least of which was convincing Tatiana to stay with him.
It was a feat that he’d never achieve while her father remained furious with him. But dammit, he needed to ensure César had the kind of stability his own life had lacked. Theo’s illegitimate son—Jean-Pierre’s half brother, Dempsey—had suffered the consequences of their father’s choices his whole life. Jean-Pierre didn’t want that for César.
“I don’t care if you set the record for completions this season.” The older man raised his voice, scaring off a heavy gray tabby cat that had been snoozing on the leather chair behind the desk. The animal took cover behind a red drapery and peered down into the expansive view of Central Park. “I want my daughter happy and my grandson to have a name.”
“He has my name. My protection. All the resources my family can possibly give him.” He’d been up most of the night working out details with his lawyer to ensure paperwork was already in motion.