The Paternity Promise. Merline Lovelace
the family together. Always there when his mother needed him to pull together the financing on yet another of her charitable ventures. Holding the reins at Dalton International’s corporate headquarters while Alex jetted halfway around the world to consult with suppliers or customers. Grace missed seeing his tall form across the table at his mother’s house, missed hearing his delighted chuckle when he tickled Molly’s tummy and got her giggling.
The only bright spot in those last, endless days of summer was that she heard nothing from Jack Petrie. She began to breathe easy again, convinced she’d covered her tracks. That false sense of security lasted right up until she answered the doorbell on a rainy afternoon.
When she peered though the peephole, the shock of seeing who stood on the other side dropped her jaw. A second later, fear exploded in her chest. Her fingers scrabbled for the dead bolt. She got it unlocked and threw the door almost back on its hinges.
“Blake!”
He had to step back to keep from getting slammed by the glass storm door. Grace barely registered the neat black slacks, the white button-down shirt with the open collar and sleeves rolled up, the hair burnished to dark, gleaming gold by rain.
“Is…?” Her heart hammered. Her voice shook. “Is Molly okay?”
“No.”
“Oh, God!” A dozen horrific scenarios spun through her head. “What happened?”
“She misses you.”
Grace gaped at him stupidly. “What?”
“She misses you. She’s been fretting since you left. Mother says she’s teething.”
The disaster scenes faded. Molly wasn’t injured. She hadn’t been kidnapped. Almost reeling with relief, Grace sagged against the doorjamb.
“That’s what you came down to San Antonio to tell me?” she asked incredulously. “Molly’s teething?”
“That, and the fact that she said her first word.”
And Grace had missed both events! The loss hit like a blow as Blake’s glance went past her and swept the comfortable living room.
“May I come in?”
“Huh? Oh. Yes, of course.”
She moved inside, all too conscious now of her bare feet and the T-shirt hacked off to her midriff. The shirt topped a pair of ragged cutoffs that skimmed her butt cheeks.
The cutoffs were comfortable in the cozy privacy of her home but nothing she would have ever considered wearing while she’d worked for Delilah—or around her son. She caught Blake’s gaze tracking to her legs, moving upward. Disconcerted by the sudden heat that slow once-over generated, she gulped and snatched at his reason for being there.
“What did Molly say?”
“We thought it was just a ga-ga,” he said with a small, almost reluctant smile. “Mother insisted she was trying to say ga-ma, but it came out on a hiss.”
She sounded it out in her head, and felt her stomach go hard and tight.
“Gace? Molly said Gace?”
“Several times now.”
“I…uh…”
He waited a beat, but she couldn’t pull it together enough for coherence. She was too lost in the stinging regret of missing those first words.
“We want you to come back, Grace.”
Startled, she looked up to find Blake regarding her intently.
“Who’s we?” she stammered.
“All of us. Mother, me, Julie and Alex.”
“They’re back from their honeymoon?”
“They flew in last night.”
“And you…” She had to stop and suck in a shaky breath. “And you want me to come back and pick up where I left off as Molly’s nanny?”
“Not as her nanny. As my wife.”
Four
Blake could certainly understand Grace’s slack-jawed astonishment. He’d spent the entire flight to San Antonio telling himself it was insane to propose marriage to a woman who refused to trust him with the truth.
It was even more insane for him to miss her the way he had. She’d wormed her way into his mother’s house and Molly’s heart. She’d lied to him—to all of them—by omission if nothing else. Yet the hole she’d left behind had grown deeper with each hour she was gone.
Molly’s unexpected arrival had already turned his calm, comfortable routine upside down. This doe-eyed blonde had kicked it all to hell. So he felt a savage satisfaction to see his own chaotic feelings mirrored in her face.
“You’re crazy! I can’t marry you!”
“Why not?”
She was sputtering, almost incoherent. “Because… Because…”
He thought she might break down and tell him then. Trust him with the truth. When she didn’t, he swallowed a bitter pill of disappointment.
“Why don’t we sit down?” he suggested with a calm he was far from feeling. “Talk this through.”
“Talk it through?” She gave a bubble of hysterical laughter and swept a hand toward the living room. “My first marriage proposal, and he wants to talk it though. By all means, counselor, have a seat.”
She regrouped during the few moments it took him to move to a sofa upholstered in a nubby plaid that complemented the earth-toned walls and framed prints of Roman antiquities. As she dropped into a chair facing him, Blake could see her astonishment giving way to anger. The first hints of it fired her eyes and stiffened her shoulders under her cottony T-shirt. He had to work to keep his gaze from drifting to the expanse of creamy skin exposed by the shirt’s hem. And those legs. Christ!
He’d better remember what he’d come for. He had to approach this challenge the same way he did all others. Coolly and logically.
“I’ve had time to think since you left, Grace. You’re good with Molly. So good both she and my mother have had difficulty adjusting to your absence.”
So had he, dammit. It irritated Blake to no end that he hadn’t been able to shut this woman out of his head. She’d lied to him and stubbornly refused to trust him. Yet he’d found himself making excuses for the lies and growing more determined by the hour to convince her to open up.
“You’re also Molly’s closest blood relative on her mother’s side,” he continued.
As far as he could determine at this point, anyway. He fully intended to keep digging. Whatever it took, however he got it, he wanted the truth.
“That’s right,” she confirmed with obvious reluctance. “Anne’s parents are dead, and she was their only child.”
He waited, willing her to share another scrap of information about her cousin. It hit Blake then that he could barely remember what Anne had looked like. They’d been together such a short time—if those few, furtive meetings outside their work environment could be termed togetherness.
Jaw locked, he tried to summon her image. She’d been an inch or two shorter than Grace. That much he remembered. And her eyes were several shades darker than her cousin’s warm, caramel-brown. Beyond that, she was a faint memory when compared with the vibrant female now facing him.
Torn between guilt and regret, Blake presented his next argument. “I know you’re facing monetary problems right now.”
She bolted upright in her chair. “What’d you do? Have Jamison check my financials?”
“Yes.” He offered no apology. “I’m guessing you