Revealed: His Secret Child (5 page)

And passion. The one area he'd never held back from her.

His hand tightened around hers and the remembrance of that passion flickered.

Gillian felt it in the pit of her stomach, felt it bring color to her cheeks. Her physical response was as unexpected as it was unwanted. She didn't, couldn't, wouldn't still feel anything for Max. It was the only way she'd be able to survive this marriage.

“How long have you been in Vista del Mar?” Laura asked.

Max, still looking at her, lifted an eyebrow, sharing the fact that he, too, didn't know the answer.

“Six months,” she said to him, then turned to Laura. “I love it there. It's a wonderful place to raise a child.”

“More importantly, Dodgers or Angels?” Jake interrupted his storytelling to ask.

Gillian shook her head. “I've heard about the divided
loyalties in this family and there's no way I'm getting drawn into it.”

“She's Angels,” Max announced on her behalf.

“I knew I liked you,” Jake said with a smile and a glance of triumph sent Carter's way, before turning back to the book he was reading to Ethan.

Conversation limped along for ten more minutes till Laura excused herself to check on dinner, suggesting as she left that Max show Gillian their and Ethan's rooms.

Leaving Ethan engrossed in the next story Jake was reading, Gillian headed up the stairs behind Max. They didn't speak as he led her along the hallway, finally stopping at an open door. “This will be Ethan's room. It's a bit girly because it's been set up for my nieces. We'll get some stuff in here for Ethan.”

“I don't think I should be away from him tonight. It's his first night here.” There were twin beds, she'd happily sleep in one of them.

Max crossed the room and opened another door to reveal an adjoining room dominated by a king-size bed. He stepped back so Gillian could enter. “This is our bedroom. We can leave the door between the two open.”

“Our?”

G
illian's throat ran dry as she stared at the lushly draped king-size bed and the implications rained down on her.

She hadn't thought it possible for things to get any worse. She'd been wrong. The trouble was she'd had all she could do to keep up with the present moment as the day lurched and leaped from crisis to calamity. She hadn't thought ahead.

“Yes, our, but don't worry, I won't touch you.” His voice was cool, any hint of the remembered heat she thought she'd seen earlier had gone. “The bed's big enough. We have to share because my parents will already have enough doubts about our sudden marriage. I'm not giving them any further cause for concern. We'll be doing things together like a normal couple, like a normal family.”

Too much, too fast.

How could she be expected to share a bed with him, a man she'd once had such a passionate relationship with, a man she'd once hoped could love her? How did they pretend to be
normal parents, with a normal relationship in public, while in private he could look so coldly at her?

He demonstrated how after dinner.

The meal had been pleasant, if she ignored the underlying strain of tension and the occasional looks she caught among Max's family, but they made an effort to welcome her. And Max had been warm and affectionate. She could almost believe he meant it. Within his family he was different, though even from them he seemed to hold something of himself back.

His parents and brothers were nice people. People who in other circumstances she would have been completely relaxed around.

As it was, she was glad of the excuse of needing to bathe Ethan when she stood from the table. She hid her surprise when Max stood, too.

Together they knelt at the side of the bath while Ethan splashed and played with the bath toys, keeping up a stream of chatter. But the silence between them, as they shared this simple parenting task, was almost companionable.

Ethan dive-bombed a little red tugboat into the bath, sending up a fountain of water that splashed both Max and her, soaking their fronts. Before she'd realized it they were laughing together.

“Not your usual Saturday night?” Gillian asked as their laughter quieted and she eyed the shirt plastered to the contours of his chest.

Max's gaze softened on her. “No. This is a first for me. And to be honest, if anyone had asked, I would have said I couldn't think of anything I'd less like to do, but right now there isn't anywhere in the world I'd rather be.”

Gillian looked away and studied her hands dangling over the rim of the bubble-filled bath. “I'm sorry for not telling you.”

Ethan made motor noises as he pushed the tugboat around,
driving it into a duck and then a dragon. Finally, thinking he wasn't going to answer, she glanced at Max. His blue eyes were so serious. “I don't know if I can forgive you for it but…I can understand why you did it. After what I'd said. What I believed at the time. And knowing how I would have reacted.”

She shrugged. His concession was more than she'd expected.

And maybe it was a place they could move forward from.

At Gillian's prompting, Ethan stood and she reached for a towel, wrapping him in it.

“I'll lift him out if you like,” Max offered. “You'll get wet. Wetter.”

“So will you.”

“I don't mind if my brothers can see through
my
shirt. You on the other hand…”

She looked down at the green blouse she'd changed into earlier. She'd been so distracted by the contours of Max's chest that she'd forgotten to consider her own
contours,
and the way the pale cotton would cling.

“Oh.” The heat of a blush crept up her face. Ridiculous since Max had seen way more of her than the outline of her breasts. But that was then and that was different. “Thanks.”

He lifted Ethan from the water. Together they readied him for bed, dressing him in his pajamas, then Max carried him to his bedroom. They tucked him in and sat on the side of Ethan's bed for a few minutes before Max, realizing Gillian's desire to be alone for a while, kissed his son good-night and left. In the doorway he turned back, his gaze soft on them before walking down the hallway.

With just a night-light for illumination, Gillian looked at her little boy as his eyelids drifted closed. He was so like his
father. She shook her head. For a few minutes this morning she'd thought today was going to be an ordinary Saturday.

And now her whole world had been turned upside down.

She was married to Max, a man who didn't love her, but who she could only hope would grow to love Ethan and be there for him for the long haul. If being married to him helped ensure that, she had to at least try to be glad of it.

Not frightened.

She wasn't even sure what the fear was about. She trusted Max. He had a deep integrity. He'd said going into their original relationship what he did and didn't want. So if he said he wouldn't touch her, he wouldn't.

The fear came from watching his tenderness with Ethan, and wanting some of it for herself. She'd cared for Max once, more than she'd let on because she'd known he didn't want that from her. She had to be stronger than to care for him again.

She'd learned to live with loneliness, without his presence or warmth. She could go on without it now.

With Ethan asleep she had no excuse to linger up here so she made her way downstairs, pausing near the bottom when she heard her name. The sound came from the home office she'd noticed off the entry.

“I'm not the only one of us with a hell of a lot of questions.” Carter's low voice carried to her.

Her hand tightened on the banister.

“Keep them to yourself because if they're about Gillian and me they're none of your damn business.” Max's tone was mild but unbending.

“If she's after the Preston wealth then they are my business.”

She should keep moving or make some kind of sound so that they knew she was nearby.

“She's not.” Max's words were clipped.

“Just tell me she signed a prenup?”

Max paused. “Yes.”

“I hope it's iron-clad. You're worth a fortune. It's pretty tempting.”

“Don't worry about it, Carter. She's not like that.” Max defended her. Now there was a surprise. “I can guarantee she didn't marry me for my money.” Gillian almost smiled. That much was definitely true. Max had mentioned that Carter's engagement had ended when he'd discovered his fiancée was more interested in his wealth than him. So his cynicism was understandable.

“She's pretty and everything. I'll give you that. And she seems nice,” Carter said, still not sounding convinced.

“She is nice.” There was a warning edge to Max's voice. “And yes, she's pretty, but she's also honest and kind and has the courage of her convictions. She always stands up for the underdog. That spirit was the thing that first drew me to her.”

Carter laughed.

“Okay.” Max's voice softened and Gillian thought she heard a hint of amusement. “Maybe it was the second thing. But trust me on this, Carter, I know what I'm doing.”

“You usually do, but this seems to have come out of nowhere.”

Gillian held her breath. What would Max say to that? Because for him it really had come out of nowhere, approximately twelve hours ago. How much would he tell his brother?

“If Ethan didn't look so much like you and Dylan at the same age…” Carter said.

Dylan? Gillian frowned. She mentally reviewed the names of the siblings Max had given her. There'd been no mention of a Dylan in the family. Perhaps a cousin?

“But he does look like me, exactly like me, so let's drop
this.” His tone had changed again, the warning edge back and sharper than before.

She didn't want to be the cause of disharmony between the brothers. Gillian backed up a step or two and let her heels click on the stairs as she walked down and past the office door on her way to the living room. Max and Carter entered a few seconds after her.

Stephen offered her a drink but Gillian declined. “I know it's early but it's been a long day. I think I'll go to bed, too.” She'd go to bed and hopefully be sound asleep before Max came up.

“Of course,” said Jake, smiling, who then looked at Max. “It's your wedding night. I guess you'll both be wanting an early night.”

Max rested his hand on Gillian's shoulder and she almost jumped at the touch. Her nerves were strung so tight she'd be lucky if she slept at all tonight. His hand firmed, his thumb rubbed at the tense muscle beneath it and a knowing gleam lit his eyes as he looked at her. “Yeah. We'll both say good-night.” If she didn't know better she could almost believe… She mentally shook her head. She did know better.

They left the room together. Walked up the stairs side by side. Without the distraction of Ethan's presence to divert attention from where they were going, or disguise the tension between them, the silence felt fraught. They entered the room they were to spend the night in.

Alone together.

In bed.

Gillian racked her brain for something to say. Something to break that silence. Could she ask about Dylan? It would be a distraction but not, she guessed, a welcome one. Plus it would reveal that she had overheard his conversation with his brother. And she didn't want him thinking she'd been eavesdropping. Even though, she admitted, she had been.

“You take the first shower,” Max said. “I've got some things I need to do.” Okay, she didn't need to worry about providing a distraction. He crossed to the bag he'd brought from the jet, pulled out a laptop and, dropping on to the bed, stretched out his legs, opened the computer and started tapping at keys. “We'll head back to Vista del Mar straight after breakfast tomorrow,” he said without so much as looking up.

Relief that he was suddenly all business welled. Relief and a flicker of…was it disappointment?

Gillian showered and changed into her pajamas—the only proper nightwear she had—taking as much time as she could, but eventually she had no option left but to take a deep breath and walk back out into the bedroom. And see what happened next. How would he be? Remote was good, she decided. Remote was safe.

Ready to meet Max's cool gaze with distant one of her own, she stopped short when she saw him. He sat on the broad bed, propped up against the pillows, his laptop open on his lap but his head tipped back and his eyes closed. She permitted herself this unguarded moment to study him. Asleep he looked even more like Ethan, his dark lashes kissing his high cheekbones, his face softened. Asleep was even safer than remote.

Except that watching him like this made something tender within her soften in response. The unfastened top buttons of his shirt revealed a deep vee of skin.

Gillian tiptoed to the far side of the bed and lifted the covers up just enough that she could slip beneath them, pulling the crisp sheets up to her chin. She lay straight, arms by her sides, and only then chanced a glance at Max.

His eyes were only half-closed now and a small smile played about his lips. “What?” she demanded.

“Frightened of waking me?”

“No,” she lied.

His smile vanished and a glimmer lit his eyes. The trouble was he knew her too well. He'd always been able to read her.

Before, that hadn't been a problem.

He closed his laptop and stood. For long seconds he considered her. And in complete contrast to his ability to read her, Gillian had no idea whatsoever what he was thinking. Finally, he crossed to the bathroom and stopped. Turning off the bedroom light, he stood silhouetted by the light from the bathroom. Broad shoulders, lean hips. “Nice pj's, by the way,” he said, before pulling the door shut behind him.

Nice pj's? Way to show her maturity. Lemon-yellow with dancing bears. Ethan had helped her choose them. Still, it was surely better than the skimpy, silky nightwear Max had so enjoyed her wearing previously.

She lay in bed trying to sleep, but instead fixated on the sounds of Max, the running of the tap as he brushed his teeth, the rush of water as he showered. She remembered his routines. Tried to stop herself visualizing.

The scent of him, clean and male, as he slipped into bed beside her in the darkened room, was tantalizingly familiar and brought back memories all of its own.

He never used to wear anything to bed.
Please let that have changed. Please let him be wearing a lovely thick pair of blue striped flannel pajamas. And woolly socks.
She didn't want an accidentally outstretched hand in the night to encounter the warmth of his bare skin. She folded her arms across her chest, crossed her legs at the ankles, and held herself still, aware of every breath in the darkness.

“Good night, Gillian.” His voice was low and seductive.

“Good night.” Hers was little better than a squeak. It was going to be a long night.

A long night for her at least. But apparently not for him. Within minutes Max's breathing slowed and deepened. Asleep already? Was he completely unaffected by her presence,
her nearness? She should be grateful but it was almost…insulting.

She rolled onto her side, presenting her back to him as she readjusted her pillow. Sleep would come eventually but it wouldn't be anytime soon. Not for her.

Somewhere in the small hours of the night, a whimpering voice calling “Mommy” woke her. She climbed from the bed and hurried through to Ethan's room, sitting on the side of his bed to stroke his head and reassure him. He wasn't even fully awake, he'd been calling out from the depths of a dream, and her voice and touch were enough to settle him back to a calmer sleep. If only it was that easy for her. Reluctantly, she rose to return to the other bedroom and froze.

Max stood blocking the doorway.

Boxers.

The dim, orange illumination of Ethan's night-light was enough to show her that. Dark boxers. And an unfortunate expanse of contoured chest and torso. Muscle and skin. Shadows and light.