Front Page Affair (14 page)

H
OW
in the hell was he supposed to make this work when Payton wouldn't give a damn inch?

“I'm not giving up my job!” Her cheeks were flush, her eyes overbright with shadows beneath as she planted hands on hips and glared at him from across the distance of his living room.

“People work because they need the money,” he answered steadily, unwilling to be baited into a shouting match with this stubborn little demon woman carrying his child. “
You
don't need the money.” He was the calm one. The reasonable one. Casually sprawled in his chair, smiling his most patient, unfazed smile—his hand, all the while, discreetly flexing the tension from his body behind the arm of the wingback.

They'd been going round like this for an hour now. And engaging in some variation of it for a month. He'd make a suggestion. She'd take offense. He'd clarify, take a different tack. She'd glower and throw whatever he'd offered back in his face. It didn't matter what merit his idea held. If the suggestion came from him, she didn't trust it, assuming it tied into his grand scheme to get her married to him.

She was right.

“Really, Nate? How do you feel about charity? How did you feel about it back when you weren't the one offering?”

He took a steadying breath. “Payton, this isn't charity.
There are laws in place to ensure that fathers provide for their children. I'm providing.”

Her eyes flashed accusation. “You're trying to make me dependent on you.”

“That isn't true. While the idea of taking care of you appeals to me a great deal, stealing your independence is not my goal here.” He pushed up from the chair and paced between the fireplace and the bank of windows fronting the apartment. Blazing to bleak and back again. There was no good place to be.

“Hell, Payton, I'm not a villain. I want to make sure you and our baby have everything. I don't want you to work when you're tired. I don't want you to have to leave our child with a nanny because you can't afford not to. Can't you see I want to help here?”
And help my cause by offering assistance as I remind you of the practicalities surrounding a single mother's life.

“I don't want any help.” But even as she said the words the glitter of coming tears filled her eyes. She was scared and, though he'd been there every step of the way, he knew she felt alone. Because every step of the way, he'd been coming at her, working his own agenda. Trying to break her down enough that she'd let him pick her up.

A tremble touched her lips.

Why wouldn't she just
give
?

He was sick of the adversarial tango between them. He could barely remember what it had been like between them before they'd found out about the baby— No. That wasn't true. It would be easier if he could forget because he missed what they'd had. Missed the laughter and softness. The thoughtful exchanges. The hot rush that surged through him when that wild smile burst across her lips. He missed her body. Her heart. The show of too much emotion shining in her eyes when she was beneath him—that had been damn near impossible
to give up. He wanted it back. Wanted to grab her shoulders and shake until she saw sense, stopped being so bullheaded and took the life he was offering her.

Watching him with wary eyes, she let out a defeated sigh and turned, giving him her back.

Screw this
.

He had months before the baby came—before he
had
to get his shackle around her ring finger. Yes, he wanted resolution sooner. Like last week. But today he wasn't getting anywhere. Payton needed comfort, and he'd be damned if he wasn't going to lend her some.

Ignoring the aching memory of her eager acceptance of his hold—that perfect fit—he pulled Payton's tension-stiff frame into his arms and didn't let go. He stroked a hand down her back, bent his head to hers, and whispered into her hair. “Payton, stop fighting me. I know you're upset and we don't see eye to eye on…most anything these days. But this is new for us both. We're going to figure it out together. Okay?”

Her body shuddered once, and then she gave in. Softening against him as the tension sapped from her frame. “I'm going crazy, Nate. I'm so upset. And I—I—”

“Shh. I'll be there for you,” he promised. “Both of you. No matter what.”

Her head bowed forward, the crown rubbing against the center of his chest as she succumbed to a quiet sob.

Ducking to the side, he caught her against him, sweeping an arm beneath her knees. She didn't fight him as he carried her to the corner of the couch closest to the fire and held her in his lap as her tears soaked his shirt.

He'd take care of her. Whether she wanted him to or not, he'd make her happy. She just had to stop fighting him first.

 

She'd fallen asleep. It was a mistake, but curled in the strength of Nate's arms she'd felt so safe and calm and she'd been so
tired…and then she'd let go. Let fatigue take her. Only now she wasn't tired. But she was still folded into his lap, enveloped in his clean masculine scent, closer than she'd been to him in a month, compounding her mistake with each breath drawn and every passing second she lingered.

Tilting her head, she peered up to his sleeping face. The lines of strain around his eyes, recently etched so deep, were softened and smoothed. His mouth relaxed into the near-smile that was its natural state.

A heavy breath filled the chest beneath her, followed by the rough growl of Nate waking. God, she loved that sound.

He was offering her a lifetime of hearing it. A lifetime of mornings waking to the hard-hewn planes of his face, the security of his arms.

He surveyed her through half-lidded eyes, a slow curve touching his lips before his focus sharpened on her. Heated.

She knew what that steam-rising, jungle gaze meant.
Trouble
.

She tried to pull back, but couldn't—literally.

“Oh!” Her hair tugged against the buttons of the oxford she'd been crashed out on.

Nate shifted up, only minimally pulling at the caught hair. “Hold on, sweetheart. Let me—”

“Ouch!”

“Sorry, whoa, stop squirming.”

Keenly aware of her positioning, Payton stilled, her fingers attempting to pull the loose strands from the caught batch. But Nate brushed her hand away.

“Just give me a second.” He reached to his back and pulled the shirt over his head, careful to keep the snagged buttons in one place. And then she was free. Sort of. Free from being physically attached to Nate's chest. Only her hair, falling in a tangled curtain in front of her eyes, was still wound up in his buttons. And she was still sitting in his lap.

“Okay, I see it here.”

Good. She couldn't see a thing.

Long fingers sifted through the heavy mass, sending shivers of pleasure coursing over her skin.

Not good.

“I can get it.” She reached out a staying hand, only to retract it with a jerk when she encountered warm, hard flesh. Nate. Bare-chested and less than six inches away.

“Probably not without scissors. I can see what I'm doing, just hold still.”

Another gentle tug and the shirt partially fell away. “That's one.”

“What?” she squeaked.

“You're snagged on two here. Probably that little nuzzling thing you do when you're asleep. I guess I must've been shirtless all the other times.”

Her mouth went dry. As he was shirtless now. She let out a slow breath and closed her eyes, only to find the stimulus of his touch intensified—his hand sifting gently through her hair, readjusting, gathering, gripping tight and then gentling again—

The shirt came free and she thought she'd been spared, except when Nate tossed it aside she could see what had been opposite that soft button-down— Bare skin and hard-packed muscle. The perfect tight discs of his nipples. The fine line of hair bisecting his torso, trailing into his pants and flaring wide across his pecs. All of it flickering golden in the dying firelight.

She swallowed, raising her eyes to meet the blue of Nate's—steadily fixed on her. A muscle twitched in his jaw.

“Thank you,” she whispered, backing off his lap, her gaze dropping to his chest once more as she stepped free.

He didn't answer, just sat there, brows drawn down, watching as she silently collected her things. At the door she turned
to him, seeing the man she'd fallen in love with staring back at her for the first time in a month. No antagonism. No calculating manipulation. Just Nate. Wanting her.

She pushed a tremulous smile to her lips. “I'll talk to you tomorrow.” And then she fled.

At the snick of the door closing, Nate shoved off the couch with a violent curse.

How the hell could he have been so blind? So stupid!

He'd been going about this all wrong. Wasting precious time respecting Payton's boundaries. Believing the physical interaction—always so easy between them—had become a necessary casualty in his pursuit of her hand. Like an idiot, he'd kept his distance, waiting for her to realize that marrying him was her best option before revisiting the sexual chemistry between them. But that had been backwards thinking, and all it had won him was a month of frustrated nights and the woman he wanted getting too damn comfortable with an arm's length space-cushion.

What he'd just seen—that smolder of lust banked not quite well enough—told him he didn't need space or understanding. He needed seduction. Dirty, down-low seduction that would get Payton writhing, naked beneath him.

The sex had always been more emotional than she'd wanted to admit. He'd known it from the start. Even that first night, he'd seen it in her eyes. She couldn't leave her heart out of anything she did, least of all making love.

So he needed to get her back into his bed. Use his body to batter down her defenses. Unlock the emotions and wants she'd tried to banish. And once he got her there, made her moan and gasp and look up at him with those eyes that gave too much away, he'd hold on and wouldn't let go. He'd make her feel so good she wouldn't think twice when they hopped on a plane to Vegas.

And that was how it was going to have to go. Fast. No time
for second thoughts or backtracking. The only problem was actually getting her beneath him.

If she saw him coming, she'd shut him down a mile away.

So the trick would be to exploit her weakness without letting on what he was doing. Based on the way their proximity and his state of undress affected her tonight, he had a good idea of where to start.

It wasn't fair play, but playing fair hadn't gotten him where he needed to go. He wanted her back. Wanted this whole matter resolved. Payton in his bed. His ring on her finger. Their baby between them.

And now he had a plan.

P
AYTON
stood before the closed door to her apartment, hand hovering above the knob as she mentally shored up her defenses. Nate was on his way up. Invariably looking like a new page in some man-by-month calendar, and too dangerously good for her peace of mind. He always looked good. And she'd generally been able to handle it. Register the attraction, tamp it down, sweep it aside. Right up until the night a week ago when she'd gotten her hair stuck in his shirt. Ever since she'd been fighting a losing battle against temptation.

It was unsettling. And what made matters worse, Nate had stopped berating her with the merits of marriage. Oh, she wanted to believe he'd suddenly come to terms with the impossibility of that scenario for her, but this was
Nate.
Relentless. Ruthless. Single-minded in his unwavering determination to make the world bend to his will, Nate. Now that she'd been on the receiving end of all that intensive focus, she didn't believe for one minute he'd actually given up the fight.

Which meant he'd be coming at her in some new devious manner. Unless of course the hormones had made her paranoid in addition to everything else: Hungry, sick, weepy, tired, irritable, sentimental…the list went on and on.

“Hey, Payton, you planning to let me in?”

Startled, she grabbed for the knob, shaking off her suspicion in the hopes of spending a pleasant morning with the
father of her child. Whether his change in attitude was legitimate or not, she couldn't deny that Nate in “friend” mode was far superior to Nate as “adversary”.

Swinging the door open, an apology poised on her lips, she stared in stunned disbelief…at her high-school fantasy come to life.

Nate Evans dressed in black soccer shorts, jersey, guards and cleats, a ball tucked under his arm and a sport bag slung over his shoulder.

Oh…my…

“I know we'd talked about looking into those Lamaze classes, but Rafe needed a fill-in for this morning's game.” One shoulder propped against the doorjamb, not really in or out, he cocked his head toward the hall. “Wondered if you'd like to put the research off until afternoon and get out for some fresh air now?”

She swallowed, trying to loosen her throat enough to spit out a simple, smart, “No, thank you”. Only she truly loved soccer. It had been ages since she'd seen a game and, as she remembered it, there wasn't much better than watching Nate play. Besides, he was right, it was a beautiful day—crisp and sunny, in the low fifties. She'd been planning a walk down at the lakefront anyway so it didn't make sense not to go just because her libido had all but rolled over to beg at the sight of Nate outfitted in soccer gear.

God help her, what was she going to do?

Forty minutes later, Payton was comfortably situated in a folding chair Nate had dragged out of the trunk of his car. She had a bottle of water, an organic green apple and a clear view of the players warming up before the game. Nate juggled the ball a few times, causing her gaze to drift down to his legs, the heavy muscles of his thighs flexing and bunching as he deftly passed the ball from knee to knee and then caught it in his hands and brought it back to his chest.

Those legs. Her mouth watered…

What was she doing? The days of pining were over. She wasn't waiting for her favorite player to notice her anymore. He'd noticed. Knocked her up and thrown her over already. Now the only game she could afford to play was keep away. And mooning over the silky caress of his shorts as he limbered up his legs was a definite violation of the rules.

So why then, minutes later, when he scored his first goal and shot her one of those victorious smiles that never ceased to devastate her heart, was she jumping from her seat cheering with the unrestrained enthusiasm of a fourteen-year-old girl dreaming of love and happily-ever-after?

Two things not on offer.

With that in mind, she tempered her reaction and returned to her seat. Forced the cool reserve she'd long ago perfected and watched Nate tear down the field. Held steady when she caught the flinty shift in his eyes.

He was assessing. Calculating. Strategizing for a tactical advantage in a game that had nothing to do with landing a ball in the goal.

He was playing her.

Driving forward, circling back and taking shot after shot until he found a way to outmaneuver her defense. He wanted the win. Her and the baby under his roof and in his care. He wanted to do the “right thing”, only he couldn't seem to grasp how
not right
living that life would be for any of them.

Nate said he didn't want their child to miss out on the full-time love and attention living with both of its parents would afford. But what he wasn't considering were the implications of growing up in an environment of pretend. Children knew. Though they might not be able to discern the complexities of why, they sensed when something in their home was off. Like an imbalance of power or detachment of emotion.

Nate had never wanted to marry her. He'd never wanted
a child. And though he said all the right things, talked such a good game about raising their baby, she'd yet to see any indication from him that the child growing inside of her was more than something to claim. He knew it was there. He knew how fathers were
supposed
to feel. What they were supposed to do. But he didn't actually have those feelings himself. And no matter how he might want to provide a perfect life, no one could convincingly fake an attachment they didn't feel forever, something Nate knew from firsthand experience.

Add to that a mother's heartbreak made new through each passing day of make-believe affection—what kind of life would that be for their child?

The kind she didn't want to imagine and wouldn't allow to come to pass. She couldn't make Nate feel. She couldn't make him love. But she could ensure that her child always had a safe haven to return to. A place where the love was unconditional and abundant and the emotional stability wouldn't waiver.

She could do it. So long as she remembered that marrying Nate was not an option.

 

The game had been fast paced and exciting. The teams evenly matched, exactly the kind of challenge Nate thrived on. But the thrill of the win was dampened by the loss of ground he couldn't explain, except to say, one minute he'd had Payton looking at him as she had all those years before. And the next she'd closed down. Shuttered her emotions and put all that distance back between them.

Unwilling to concede any form of defeat, he jogged over to where she stood at the sidelines, blanket and chair clutched in her arms like a shield—against him.

Going to take more than that, sweetheart.

Giving her his grin, he grabbed her load and tucked it under one arm.

She blinked, looking just nervous enough to truly whet his appetite.

Go ahead and run. Try it.

“So congratulations,” she said with a timid wave toward the field behind them.

“Yeah, good game, wasn't it?” He wiped the sweat from his brow with a sweep of his forearm, and caught the hungry drift of her gaze following his motions.

“You were terrific.”

“It felt good to get on the field again.” Have an outlet for some of the tension accumulated over the last month. Though as outlets went, he had a better one in mind. One he intended to make use of before the day's end.

Suddenly he couldn't wait to get back to Payton's place and put his plan into action. He ducked down to grab his athletic bag, straightened and then froze as the dark brown eyes he always thought of as soft and vulnerable bore straight into him—cold and hard.

He didn't like it. She was thinking too much.

But he knew exactly how to make her stop.

Looking away, he hiked the bag over a shoulder. “Let's get out of here.”

 

The ride back into the city took longer than he'd liked. Too much time for Payton to sit quietly, contemplating her defensive strategies. He'd kept up the conversation, but her head hadn't been in it and eventually he'd left her to her thoughts.

At the apartment she'd predictably tried to put him off about the afternoon, but he had the Lamaze research as his passport and easily gained entry. From there, it was just a matter of chipping away her defenses…one garment at a time. He wished he'd had a camera for the way her jaw dropped when he jerked his jersey over his head—outwardly oblivious to
the impact of his actions, inwardly gloating over her reaction to his unsubtle striptease.

And how could she argue when he suggested they look over the different schedules and programs…after he'd cleaned up in the shower? By the time he'd headed off to her bathroom, she'd been shaking, unable to even look at him.

Perfect. And that was just the warm up.

This was the main event. Nate glared into the fogged mirror. It was go time.

 

“Hey, babe?” Nate called from down the hall.

Payton looked up from the magazine she'd been blindly staring at for the last ten minutes while futilely attempting to keep her mind out of the shower where all that lathering was taking place. Talk about wasted effort. Try as she might to stop them, images of slow-running suds slipping over hard-packed muscles, tight nipples and more flitted one after the next through her mind. Memories of the salty taste of his skin… Not good.

With a shake of her head, she stood, calling back, “Wha—?” but that was as far as she got.

“Did I leave my bag out here?” Nate stood in the hall, a white towel hanging precariously low on his hips. He smiled crookedly her way while he used another towel to rub his hair dry.

The air in her lungs leaked out in a slow hiss, leaving her empty and weak, stunned and lightheaded, hungry and horrified as she fell back into her seat.

The crooked smile vanished, pulling into a hard frown as he dropped to a knee at her side. Concern furrowed his brow. Concern and something else she couldn't quite—

“Payton, sweetheart, are you okay?”

“Yes—no,” she stammered in confusion, her chin tucking back. “I'm fine…” But then he was right there. So close she
could feel the damp heat rising off his skin, see the water beaded across his chest and shoulders, his eyelashes clinging together in darkened points that made the blue of his eyes stand out bright in vivid contrast.

“You're pale.” His voice was a low rumble at her ear, rough and midnight dark in the middle of the day. And then his big hands were moving over her, checking, gently probing… touching her in a way she knew she should stop but couldn't summon the strength to do so. “No swollen glands.”

“Nate.” Her voice was weak, thready. Something even she wouldn't listen to.

Long fingers skimmed up her neck, teasing through the hairs at her nape… “Chills.” They curled over her jaw, brushed her cheeks, and then moved in a slow caress to her forehead. “Flushed, but not feverish.”

His thumb swept a gentle arc across her cheekbone as his gaze locked with hers, pulling in slow strokes at that secret place where all her dreams dwelled.

Tell me. Tell me you love me. Give me something. Anything
.

“Your pupils are dilated,” he murmured. But there was nothing wrong with her. Nothing beyond the fact that temptation had just taken her a step closer to ruin. Making her pulse race and the air go thin and her body begin its achy plea for more of the touch she'd gone too long without.

She wanted him. Needed him. And if it were only her—but it wasn't.

She swallowed. Closed her eyes and thought about her baby before opening them again. “My eyes are fine, Nate.” She'd be fine if he stopped touching her.

“Then what is it?” he challenged, meeting her gaze head-on, the heat of it stoking her to smolder.

Tell him.
Only if she said the words, let him know how seeing him like this affected her, then he'd use it against—

Wait. The bag in the hall? He couldn't. The shower. The striptease complete with the stretching-out of all those muscles. He wouldn't dare! Only, this was Nate and he'd decided what he wanted. To hell with everyone else.

The soccer game! How long? This week for sure. Her stomach sank with dread.

Heat flamed her skin, only it had nothing to do with attraction and everything to do with outrage.

So he thought he could play her by using his body? Well, she knew a thing about that game. She knew what he liked, knew what sent him past the brink of control. And he'd just given her a lesson in how to achieve it without investing any actual emotion. Thank you, Nate. She could do that, too.

Time for Nate Evans to get a taste of his own medicine.