Verdict: Daddy. Charlotte Douglas
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over his shoulder.
“Blake!” she screeched in alarm and pounded his back with her fists. “Put me down!”
“Not yet.”
Even through the layers of clothing that separated them, she could feel the rumble of his voice deep in his chest. She was all too aware of his arm gripping her buttocks and his intoxicating male scent, a mixture of sunshine and sandalwood. Strangely, however, she felt no fear. Blake was apparently as impulsive and reckless as she remembered, but a man so concerned over a stranger’s baby wasn’t about to harm his old friend.
As if she weighed no more than a bag of gardening mulch, he pivoted easily and headed out of her office, past the receptionist’s desk where Kitty sat in openmouthed astonishment.
Marissa tossed her head to clear her hair from her eyes and confronted her receptionist from her upside-down view. “It’s okay.”
“You’re sure? Shouldn’t I call the police?” Kitty yelled after her as Blake strode toward the exit.
Marissa bit back an affirmative reply. Blake was no criminal, and she had no fear for her own safety. Wherever he was taking her, maybe she’d have a chance to talk some sense into him before he ended up in jail.
“No,” Marissa yelled back to Kitty. “If anyone asks, tell them I’m taking the rest of the day off.”
“That’s it?” Kitty shouted. “You’re sure?”
Marissa could tell Kitty thought her boss had lost her mind. Maybe she had. After all, a man could change a great deal in eighteen years. But before she could amend her instructions to the receptionist, Blake had carried her outside and closed the door behind him.
Marissa caught a glimpse of the Adams Landscape Designs logo on the side of the pickup truck before he dumped her into the passenger seat. His face was only inches from hers as he secured her seat belt, and his smoky gray eyes were pleading, his breath warm on her cheek.
“Just give me an hour, Rissa,” he begged, using her childhood nickname. “Hear me out and meet the baby. Lawyers come up with loopholes that criminals use to beat the system all the time. All I’m asking is that you try to find a loophole for Annie. If you can’t and still want to call the police…”
He drew back, closed the door and circled the car. Marissa considered fleeing but didn’t. First, Blake had always been able to outrun her, and, from the looks of him, he was in even better shape now than he had been as a boy. Second, curiosity held her fast. She wanted to see this child who had mesmerized a grown man.
Besides, she’d always loved children. Had always longed for children of her own. When she’d married Harry, three years after graduating from law school, he’d led her to believe he wanted a big family, too.
As Blake pulled away from the curb, the old bitterness tightened her chest. Harry had led her to believe a lot of things, none of them true. Her father, who’d learned to read people well in his line of work, had warned her about Harry from the beginning, but she’d been too infatuated to listen, too blinded by the man’s good looks, slick charm, silver tongue and her own raging hormones to observe the obvious.
She’d expected a marriage like her parents had, one of mutual love, devotion, humor and unfailing friendship. When she’d realized the man she’d married was all talk and no substance, she’d been too embarrassed to admit her mistake. She had tried to make the marriage work to avoid I-told-you-so from friends and family members who’d seen instantly what she’d been too besotted to notice until months after the honeymoon.
Their relationship had turned rocky, but Marissa had hoped that having children would settle Harry down. She’d yearned for a baby to hold in her arms and nurture, but Harry had refused to start a family. He always had an excuse: they were too young; they didn’t have enough money; they needed to buy a house first.
And when they had grown older, saved money and bought a house, Marissa pressed again for children. But Harry had made himself scarce. At first Marissa believed that he was working too hard, spending long hours on the road in his sales job—until she found the motel receipt in the suit that she was taking to the cleaners, a receipt for a double occupancy room.
She’d confronted Harry, and he’d denied it, claimed the double occupancy was a clerical error. She’d believed him because she’d needed to. What woman wanted to admit her husband was cheating on her? But as Harry grew more distant, colder, even cruel in his remarks and attitude, Marissa had taken matters into her own hands. She’d hired a private investigator who’d often been engaged by the law firm where she worked. The private eye had dug up enough dirt to bury Harry. Photographs and all.
The evidence had forced Marissa to admit what she’d spent seven years trying to avoid. The man she thought she’d married didn’t exist. Her husband, Harry, was a selfish, greedy womanizer who’d taken from Marissa all their married life and given nothing back, neither the love and respect she deserved nor the children she’d wanted so desperately.
Thanks to her knowledge of the law and her connections in the legal community, Marissa had divorced Harry so quickly he’d staggered with shock. He’d begged her to take him back, promised to drop the little slut he’d been shacking up with for the past five years. By this time, Marissa had lost her blinders and regained her self-esteem. She had recognized that Harry loved only the prestige and income that had come with a successful attorney for a wife. And she had walked away with only one regret.
She was thirty-six years old. Time was ticking away on her biological clock, and she was facing the fact that she might never have the big family she’d dreamed of since she was a little girl.
And now, as if rubbing salt in a wound, she was being driven against her will to see a baby that some woman, one too stupid to realize how lucky she was to have a child of her own, had abandoned.
“You okay?” Blake’s deep voice interrupted her thoughts.
“Just ducky.” Marissa couldn’t keep the edge from her words. “It isn’t every day I get manhandled and kidnapped.”
“I’m sorry.”
He sounded sincere, and she felt instant regret that she’d taken out her anger at Harry and at her own stupidity on Blake. She was overreacting but couldn’t seem to help herself.
“I didn’t know anyone else I could trust,” Blake added, “so I’m counting on you.”
“What’s trust got to do with this?”
He tossed her a radiant smile that eased the hurt of her lingering memories. “I figured any other attorney I contacted would have called the cops right away.”
“I would have if you’d let me.”
“Your receptionist would have called them if you’d told her to.” He reached across and gently squeezed her hand. “But you didn’t. And I’m grateful for your giving me a chance.”
His touch pleased her more than she wanted to admit. “I never promised not to turn you in.”
“Like I said before, you attorneys come up with loopholes all the time. When you see Annie, you’ll want to find one for her.”
“If nothing else, I want the woman caught who was heartless enough to abandon her own child.”
“Maybe she’s not heartless,” Blake countered reasonably. “Maybe there’re extenuating circumstances we know nothing about.”
“Right. Like having a kid cramps her style.”
The look he threw her this time was quizzical. “I guess dealing with criminals does that to you.”
“Does what?”
“Makes you cynical.”
She shook her head. How could she admit that her former husband, not her job, had hardened her attitude? It wasn’t something she wanted to recognize, much less talk about. “I’m just being realistic. And you