Secret Heiress, Secret Baby. Emily McKay
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Grant was hit again by that powerful urge to pull her to him.
To kiss her again. To taste her one last time.
Instead he pulled her just an inch closer, stared into her eyes and whispered. “You’re a Cain now. You can afford to stay anywhere you damn well want to.”
She met his gaze head-on. It was different than it had been at the gala, when they were surrounded by people, when the lights were low and the music romantic. There, he’d almost believed she really was a Cain. Almost believed she wasn’t the woman he’d once known.
But here, in this crummy motel, under the harsh cheap lights, here he couldn’t ignore it. He couldn’t pretend.
This was Meg. His Meg.
With her alabaster skin and her Cain-blue eyes.
She glared at him defiantly. “I am a Cain. I have always been a Cain. And this is where I want to stay.”
His gaze dropped to her lips, and for a moment the urge to kiss her was almost overwhelming. Would she still taste like cinnamon and sugar? Would she still melt against him?
* * *
Secret Heiress, Secret Baby is part of the At Cain’s Command series: Three brothers must find their illegitimate sister … or forfeit a fortune
Secret Heiress,
Secret Baby
Emily McKay
EMILY McKAY has been reading romance novels since she was eleven years old. Her first romance came free. She has been reading and loving romance novels ever since. She lives in Texas with her geeky husband, her two kids and too many pets. Her debut novel, Baby, Be Mine, was a RITA® Award finalist for Best First Book and Best Short Contemporary. She was also a 2009 RT Book Reviews Career Achievement Award nominee for Series Romance. To learn more, visit her website, www.emilymckay.com.
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For my dear son, you may very well be the most charming man I know, and I don’t think I’m being partial either.
Contents
After a mere three weeks of sleeping next to Meg Lathem, Grant Sheppard knew she was gone the instant he woke up. She liked to sleep curled against his side, one leg draped over his hips, her head resting on his shoulder. Of course, waking up at three or four in the morning only to find her puttering around the kitchen was normal.
He stumbled out of bed, pulled on the jeans he’d left draped over the rocking chair in the corner and went to find her.
In a house this size, it didn’t take long. Her two-bedroom bungalow just a few blocks off the square in Victoria, Texas, was the house she’d grown up in. For a man like Grant, who’d grown up among the wealthy elite of Houston, this small town not far from the coast didn’t hold much appeal. He had come here—and stayed here—for Meg.
She was baking again and the smell—a combination of toasted nuts and caramelized sugar—was divine.
That scent alone