by Shayla Black
“Has he ever been into adult-baby play?”
Hammer had braced himself for a question about Liam’s mood, his troubles, his lack of honesty—anything except his fetishes. “What?”
She blushed. For all that Raine had finished growing up in a BDSM club, she’d never participated until the last few weeks. Some things she understood purely from observation. “You know, ‘daddy’ play. Diapers, bottles, rocking, and powdering butts. Is he into that?”
Her question made it clear she didn’t like the idea at all.
Hammer didn’t think he had to lie about that…but he also hadn’t known that Liam had spent any time as a sadist. “He’s never expressed even a remote interest. Why do you ask?”
Raine let out a little sigh, but that line of confusion still wrinkled her brow. “I found this just after my shower.”
She reached into the pocket of her jacket and slammed something on the table between them. It sounded plastic as it hit the faux wooden surface, but nothing could have surprised him more than to see a pacifier sitting between them.
Instantly, he knew Gwyneth had left it behind for Liam—or Raine—to find. Even before they’d returned to Shadows, that bitch had been planting what she hoped were seeds of destruction.
He gritted his teeth and swallowed back rage. His goddamn blood pressure must have shot up fifty points. Macen felt like a pressure cooker ready to explode.
“That’s definitely odd,” he finally choked out.
“You don’t know anything about it?”
He shrugged, trying really hard to keep his promise to Liam and not lie to Raine. “Maybe it belongs to one of the other club members who used it in their play. Maybe it got caught up in the laundry and—”
“I found it in the bathroom, in one of Liam’s drawers with his toiletries.”
Oh, that bitch. Hammer really wished he could just kill Gwyneth. He’d be doing the world a big favor. “I don’t know for sure. Let’s talk to Liam about it tonight. I doubt he’s interested in making you his baby girl, not in that way.”
“Good.” She shoved it back in her pocket. “After my terrible relationship with my own father, I can’t imagine taking pleasure in playing with a man pretending to assume that role.”
That didn’t surprise Hammer at all. “We may be perverts, but I’ve never had any interest in little girls, pretend or otherwise. I wouldn’t touch you for how many years? I can’t imagine Liam feeling any differently.” At her halfhearted nod, he tapped a finger under her chin. “Smile.”
Raine tried, but her confusion bled through. Hammer wished he could say more to soothe her.
The waiter returned, setting down numerous plates teeming with pancakes, bacon, eggs, hash browns, and toast. Hammer’s empty stomach demanded attention. He’d never realized how many calories sex consumed, and they’d had a lot of it in the past twelve hours.
The forty-something guy darted back with a fresh glass of orange juice for Raine. When Macen stopped eating to thank him, he noticed that she’d barely picked at her food. Concern gripped Hammer again.
“Eat up,” he encouraged. He would have ordered her if he’d thought it would do any good.
A painful fifteen minutes later, she’d barely consumed an egg and a piece of toast. Hammer had devoured most of his, but they still had a mountain of leftovers.
As the waiter cleared everything away, he excused himself and headed to the men’s room. When the door closed behind him, he dug out his phone and fired off a text to Liam.
Hammer: What’s your status? We’re heading back to the club. That ok? BTW, Raine found a pacifier. Guess who left that…
Pacing, he waited for a reply. Seconds passed to minutes. Growing more anxious and pissed off, Hammer clenched his teeth and texted Liam again.
Hammer: If you haven’t taken out the trash, keep the bag contained. I’ll tell Raine to nap. I’ll text you when she’s asleep. We’ll meet at bar.
“Fuck!” Hammer growled. He despised not knowing what was going on.
Shoving his phone away, he sucked in a couple of deep breaths. He had to keep his shit wired tight until Liam was ready to sit Raine down and talk.
Pasting on a smile, he returned to the table. Raine slouched in the booth, leaning her head against the wall.
“You’re exhausted,” Hammer murmured as he held out a hand to her. “We’re going back to the club, and I’m going to tuck you into bed.”
“I won’t argue with you,” she answered sleepily as she crawled out.
“There’s a first.”
She stood and glared. “Ha. Ha. Very funny.”
One of her acid smiles was better than no smile at all. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”
“Will you nap with me?” she asked as they headed to the car.
He tangled his fingers with hers. “For a bit. But I still have a club to run.”
The sunlight shining on her face made her glow. Hammer couldn’t resist trailing a knuckle down her soft cheek or pressing his lips to hers.
“Mmm,” Raine purred as he pulled back. “I like you like this.”
“Like what?”
“Affectionate. Loving. Soft.”
“Trust me, precious. I’m not soft at the moment,” he teased as he glanced at the erection straining against his zipper.
“If we can stay awake long enough, maybe we should fix that.” She winked.
As many times as he’d turned Raine away in the past, Hammer didn’t think he could ever do it again. His days of denying how much he loved her were over. He just hoped that Gwyneth and her machinations didn’t turn Raine against him and Liam in the end.
Chapter Five
Liam strode down the corridor toward the remodeled rooms—and Gwyneth. He’d spent the last four hours dodging her calls while trying to figure out if Kyle was his son. A babe with Gwyneth… Oh, god. Though the boy couldn’t choose who his mother was, Liam didn’t relish dealing with that bitch for the next eighteen years, especially while he tried to cement his precarious threesome with Raine and Hammer.
This morning in the car, he’d taken his frustration out on the wee lass. The unreasonable jealousy had twisted his thoughts, clouded his judgment. Why else would he have rejected her? The way she’d withdrawn to ward off the pain he’d inflicted still soured his gut with raw guilt and shame.
And despite knowing how badly he’d screwed up, Liam wondered right now what his best friend was doing to the woman they loved.
Fuck. He tried to shake the vision free and concentrate on the coming battle with Gwyneth. But the news of Bill’s threat waited there to gnaw at his composure, too.
God, the day was already a catastrophe. Hammer’s lie to Raine only added to the shit. And Liam didn’t dare ask what else could go wrong. Nor could he let his ex-wife see him rattled. He needed to put himself on lockdown—fast.
As he reached the end of the hall, Liam donned a mask of indifference, then opened the door Pike had stashed Gwyneth behind.
From the portal, he surveyed the room. In a playpen sat the boy with a smattering of dark curls atop his round head and big, dark eyes. They had that much in common. He jerked a little blue rattle in his tiny fist and cried loudly. Tears soaked his bright red cheeks.
Where is your mother?
Liam heard the hum of a blow dryer behind the closed bathroom door. The baby was upset, and Gwyneth thought it was a fine time to do her hair?
With a sigh, he glanced back to the tyke. Now was as good a time as any to see if he could find more than a hint of resemblance.
Carefully, he lifted the baby and brought him closer. Ten fingers. Ten toes. Fat cheeks, a roly-poly belly, and a tiny little mouth. Could this be his son? If so, shouldn’t he recognize his own progeny on some level? He frowned.
“She named you Kyle, did she?”
At the sound of his voice, the boy calmed, those big eyes following Liam as his lower lip pouted and quivered between occasional hiccups. Liam repressed a smile. Then he felt something wet
on his thigh and realized the babe’s nappy was drenched.
Seeing a half-opened bag of diapers and a box of wipes beside it, he scooped up one of each. Holding the baby away from his shirt, he laid the child on the bed. Kyle immediately began crying again, but Liam softly shushed him as he examined the diaper, wondering exactly how it fit together. A tab at each hip appeared to keep it secure.
When Liam removed the wet diaper, a miracle occurred. Kyle—most definitely a boy—quit crying. Liam’s ears stopped ringing. A minute or two later, he’d wiped the baby down and swaddled him in a new nappy. Not bad for a first attempt.
Liam brought Kyle against his chest. He and the boy examined one another.
This could be my son.
And maybe not. After all, while they’d been married, Gwyneth had been fucking her personal trainer.
Those little lips trembled again, and Liam gave him a teasing scowl. “Shh. There’s no bawling in a BDSM club. You’ll scare the members away.”
A little frown fell between those bright brown eyes—a startling resemblance to his own—then a chubby fist made its way to the mouth, and Kyle began sucking.
“Are you hungry, then? You look like you could use a decent steak.”
“He’ll have to make do with formula and strained vegetables,” said a familiar voice.
Liam turned to find Gwyneth standing in the door to the bathroom, a little smile hovering on her face.
His ex-wife looked markedly different since he’d seen her last. Her long platinum hair still hung sleek and straight, but her face was mostly naked. She wore a shapeless black sweater and a pair of faded blue jeans, sans shoes. Liam frowned. He couldn’t recall Gwyneth ever looking so casual. Hell, he didn’t remember her even owning a pair of jeans when they’d been married. In fact, without Prada, Vuitton, and camera-ready makeup, he almost didn’t recognize her. The cool, elegant wife he remembered had been replaced by a seemingly normal, if tired, new mother simply trying to cope.
He almost felt sorry for her…but not quite.
Before today, he’d seen her exactly once since their divorce. For him, that had been one time too many. As far as he was concerned, he had moved on and found true love. Gwyneth being here could only fuck that up.
With a tentative smile, she approached, presenting her cheek for him to kiss.
Liam handed her the baby and backed away. “Gwyneth.”
She took the boy, the welcome in her face faltering. “It’s good to see you. Isn’t it, Kyle?”
“Why are you here?”
The child opened his little mouth, and his face scrunched up in displeasure. His lungs expanded, and an ear-piercing wail tore from his throat.
Wincing, Gwyneth shot Liam a pained expression. The squalling babe grabbed at her pale hair as she anxiously patted his back. “The travel has been hard on him. He’s off his sleep schedule.”
As she pulled a tissue from her pocket and cleaned the boy’s cheeks and nose, Liam continued to scan the little face.
Once the lad had calmed, he pinned his ex with a curious gaze. “Whose child is that?”
She drew in a deep breath, collecting herself, before stepping toward him. “Please sit down, Liam. I—we—have come a long way because there’s something important I must tell you. I realize this is sudden, but I hope you’ll hear me out.”
Liam tensed as she sat on the edge of the bed and juggled the baby in her lap, waiting for him to take a seat in the nearby chair.
He didn’t. “You’re lucky I took your call at all, much less came to see you. Answer my question. Whose baby is that?”
She took a deep breath. “This is Kyle. He’s our son.”
Actually hearing his worst fear spoken aloud sent icy dread sliding down his spine. The gravity of the situation hit him full force. He darted a glance between Gwyneth and the boy. Was it possible? He wished like hell he could remember the night of the benefit.
Liam crossed his arms over his chest, trying to read her expression. He saw nothing except an anxious, slightly doe-eyed stare he didn’t quite believe.
But why would she be here if he hadn’t fathered her son? Gwyneth didn’t need money. Not only had he given her half of his fortune in the divorce, she was the youngest daughter of a very wealthy, doting father. She didn’t need a husband to raise a baby; she could just hire a nanny. When this child had been conceived, they’d already been divorced, so it wasn’t as if she needed to dupe her trusting spouse into believing another man’s seed was his own. And if she’d waited all this time to inform him that he’d become a father, she didn’t need a last name for the birth certificate.
So what did she want? And why had she come to him?
“Is he now?” Liam asked.
She looked a little crestfallen. “Yes. I know I’ve shocked you. But…” Gwyneth sent him a pleading stare. “I couldn’t keep you apart from your son any longer, darling.”
Gwyneth expected him to believe that his feelings suddenly mattered? That didn’t sound like the woman he remembered.
Liam gave her a contemptuous snort. “Christ, woman. Let’s get one thing straight before you say another word. I’m not your darling, your dearest, your husband, or anything else anymore.”
She had the good grace to look contrite.
“Why did it take you six months to reach the conclusion that I need to know my supposed son?”
“Five and a half, actually,” she hedged.
Because those two weeks make a huge difference.
“Why didn’t you bother telling me you were bloody pregnant in the first place? You had nine months to reach out then.”
Liam was quickly losing his patience. He glanced at the lone chair in the room near her—and remained standing.
“Well, that night, after the benefit, in my hotel room…it was like old times. You were charming and loving. It was glorious.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. I was drunk.”
Her shoulders stiffened. “Our lovemaking was magical. I was thrilled you wanted me again. I thought it was a new beginning for us, Liam.”
Nausea turned his stomach. Was it possible he’d been soused enough to fuck her? If he had, he doubted he’d thought of anything as practical as birth control.
“But when you woke, you were surly and couldn’t leave fast enough. I’d just realized I was still in love with you, so I was devastated.” She teared up. “Yes, I’d made terrible mistakes during our marriage—”
“That doesn’t matter now. Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant?”
“Well, I moved to London to lick my wounds. Then my father fell terminally ill.” She stopped as if anticipating sympathy. When he gave none, she continued. “Between caretaking and settling into my new flat, I didn’t realize I was pregnant. Once the doctor confirmed it, I tried to reach you. But you’d changed your number. I knew you no longer wanted me, and I was hurt. I grieved. I became determined to raise your baby on my own to make up for the wrongs I’d done to you.”
“Or rather, you decided that because I wasn’t your prince charming, you’d punish me by withholding my son.”
She swallowed. “No. You left me no way to contact you.”
“Please. I might have changed my mobile number, but you knew where I lived up until a few months ago. You could have written me a letter, e-mailed, or called my work.”
“I didn’t think the post or an electronic message was the proper way to tell you that you’d soon be a father. I didn’t contact your business because you’re often traveling, and your