Kayla's Daddy

by Laura Bradford

  “Kayla’s father was from a very wealthy family. The multigenerational kind of wealth. My grandmother did everything she could to keep a roof over my head—babysitting, making quilts, tutoring, you name it. Doug and I were as opposite as two people could be in terms of upbringing. Monetary upbringing, anyway.”

  “So how did you end up together?”

  “I think the fact that I was different from anything he’d ever known is why he gravitated toward me. I was an unknown, I guess. We dated through the latter part of college and after graduation. Eventually I got pregnant with Kayla, and that’s when things changed. When the differences between us became an issue.”

  “You mean the fact he had money?” Tate asked.

  She nodded. “No longer would he be able to just take me to movies or out to eat. If we got married and had a child, I’d have to be a part of his real world. A world with important people and fancy parties. A world where women stayed home and spent their days checking in on the nanny and chairing various charity events. A world he didn’t think I could fit into.”

  “So he left you and your child?” The disbelief in Regina’s voice mirrored the sentiment in Tate’s heart.

  Again, Phoebe nodded. “He wanted to pretend we didn’t exist. So it would be less messy. He offered to support us for life. He just didn’t want us to be a part of his, or to have any part of ours.”

  “Wait. I knew it didn’t work out…but this guy tried to buy you off?” Tate heard the incredulousness in his voice, saw a few nearby heads turn in their direction.

  Phoebe shifted uncomfortably, her own voice dropping to a near whisper. “Sadly, yes.”

  “But you’ve been working two jobs, worrying about rent.” He felt his face growing warm with anger.

  “That’s because I told him no. If he didn’t want to be a part of our lives, didn’t believe I could fit into his, I wanted no part of his offer.”

  “Good for you,” Regina said, folding her arms across her chest in solidarity.

  “But he owed you that much,” Tate insisted.

  “Maybe. But I want Kayla to believe she’s worth more in life. And the only way to show her that is to demonstrate it.” Phoebe looked down at the table. “It’s not easy. But it’s right.”

  “Does he see her at all?” Tate was having difficulty wrapping his mind around Phoebe’s story.

  “No. He wanted a clean split. Felt it was better for everyone that way.” When she glanced up again, a sober look replaced the happiness of earlier. “I feel bad for Kayla sometimes. But she deserves better. I know that.”

  “You’re damn right she does,” he declared angrily, then felt Regina’s hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, it’s just—”

  “It’s okay,” Phoebe interrupted, a slow smile appearing across her face. “Life goes on. For me and for Kayla. We don’t need Doug Rider in our lives.”

  Regina’s gasp was all the confirmation Tate needed that he had, indeed, heard the correct name. “Did you say Doug Rider?”

  Phoebe nodded. “Why? Do you know him?”

  Tate set his elbow on the table in front of them and ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah. I met him at a few parties over the past few months. He’s the guy building that house I showed you.”

  “The three-million-dollar one?” she asked with a frown, as if grappling to make the connection. But if she was angry or hurt, it didn’t show.

  “Yeah.”

  For several long minutes they sat in silence, the party continuing around them. Couples danced, business associates conversed, the waitstaff hustled to and fro, filling drinks and offering appetizers from overflowing trays.

  It was incomprehensible to Tate how someone could walk away from his own child and show no desire to meet her or be part of her life. He wanted to say something, anything, to make it right, but there was nothing he could say. No way to explain the unexplainable.

  The lull was soon broken by Phoebe’s sweet voice, happy and sure. “That’s okay. He can have his mansion. I’ll take Quinton Lane any day of the week. We’re loved there. Truly loved. And that’s worth more than any fancy rec room or indoor pool.”

  “But you have to work so hard,” he interjected, the frustration he felt evident in each word.

  “You’re right, I do. But it’s par for the course when you’re reaching for a dream. If dreams came easily they wouldn’t be so special.”

  Regina reached across the table and patted Phoebe’s hand. “Your world sounds a whole lot better to me.”

  “Thank you.” She flashed a smile at his secretary, then slowly scanned the crowd of partygoers before finally turning her khaki-green eyes to meet his. “It’s the only world where I truly fit.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Phoebe leaned her head against the seat back and closed her eyes, the corners of her mouth tilting upward at the memory of dancing in Tate’s arms, his body pressed against hers. The yearning in his eyes had mirrored her own, she knew. It had been a long time since she’d felt even a hint of interest for a man, let alone the all-out desire she felt for Tate Williams.

  And it scared her.

  Sure, there were as many differences between Tate and Doug as there were similarities. But the biggest commonality the two men shared was also the very thing that had made Kayla’s dad run for the hills.

  Lifestyle. Or, more aptly stated, money.

  “I loved having you there tonight. It made the promotion a million times more special.”

  She opened her eyes at the feel of Tate’s finger on her jaw and turned to look at him as they sped along Route 52 on the way back to Quinton Lane. “You really mean that, don’t you?”

  “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.” He grasped her hand in his, their forearms resting side by side on the center console. “I wasn’t wild about the idea of a party when Regina gave me the heads-up, but then I figured it might be a chance to spend some time with you.”

  Phoebe looked down at his fingers entwined with hers, and felt her body begin to hum. The tenderness he conveyed in a simple touch of her face was something she wanted to experience elsewhere—along other parts of her body.

  “Why wouldn’t you want to celebrate?” she asked, desperate to steer her thoughts from the path they were hurtling down.

  “I’m not a party sort of guy. Not that stuffy kind, anyway.”

  She snapped her head up. “Stuffy?”

  “Yeah.” He glanced quickly to his left and switched lanes. “You know what I mean. The caviar, the wine…the pastries that are more about looks than taste.”

  “But you said at your office the other day that you attend these kinds of parties often.”

  “I do. Because of my job. But that doesn’t mean I like them.”

  What he’d said matched her own feelings.

  “My mom, on the other hand, could throw one heck of a party. Homemade lasagna, cold cuts, chicken wings, brownies and beer. God, I miss those. Miss the atmosphere. Miss the genuine conversations and multifaceted people.” His voice trailed off and his mouth set in an unreadable expression.

  The sentiment didn’t come as a surprise when Phoebe thought back over the evening. While polite and friendly with everyone at the party, Tate seemed to return again and again to Regina, a move Phoebe now realized was as much about his comfort zone as it was anything else.

  “Once a Quinton Laner, always a Quinton Laner….”

  Mr. Borden’s words paraded through her thoughts, reminding her that, unlike Doug, Tate hadn’t grown up around money. A fact that might serve to balance the difference between his current lifestyle and hers.

  “Pizza and brownies?” she asked playfully. “You just described a Quinton Lane party to a T. All except the beer part, anyway—now it’s energy drinks and V8.”

  “I wouldn’t know.” He turned off the highway and headed toward the older section of Cedarville, the stars in the black sky twinkling overhead. “The day my mom died is the day I fell off that invite list once and for all. But in all fairne
ss, I probably wasn’t on it for a number of years before that, either…. She just foisted me on them. Tried to, anyway. I always found an excuse not to attend, and I suspect they were thrilled I did.”

  Her heart ached for the pain and betrayal he still felt from a misunderstanding that had happened years earlier. “I suspect most of them realize they were in the wrong.” She peered at him as he pulled to a stop outside her home, noted the way his jaw tightened as he turned off the engine.

  “Let’s let sleeping dogs lie. Besides, tonight has been too magical to end on such a sour note.” She saw him swallow, heard the pleading in his voice, felt the desire in his touch as he leaned across the console and kissed her ever so gently. “Any chance I could take you up on that offer you made earlier? The one about coming in for a little while?”

  Reaching up, she skimmed the back of her hand across his cheek, wanting desperately to taste his lips again. “I’d like that.”

  The air around them was heavy with desire as they walked up the steps to her front door. She wanted him, plain and simple. But she was also smart enough to know that was her body talking.

  Tate Williams was handsome, intelligent, sweet, kind and incredibly sexy. He could make her knees grow weak with a single look, her body tingle with an innocent touch. But the world he inhabited made her hesitate, caused her internal radar to flash.

  Her hand was trembling as she pulled her house key from her purse and inserted it into the lock. If he noticed, he didn’t comment, and she was grateful. The last thing she wanted to do was try and sort through her jumbled feelings right then and there.

  Pushing the door open, she stepped into the foyer and motioned for Tate to follow. The downward cast of his eyes caught her by surprise. Had she misread his request to come inside?

  “Hello, dear. Did you have fun?”

  Phoebe smiled at her neighbor. “Oh, I did. It was wonderful. Thank you so much for watching Kayla so I could go.” She glanced again at Tate, noted the slight rigidity in his posture—and suddenly understood the reason. “Mrs. Haskell, you remember Tate Williams, don’t you?”

  He looked up, a curious mixture of apprehension and hope on his face as he waited for the woman’s reply.

  “Of course I do. Tate and John were good friends for a very long time. How are you, dear?”

  A slow smile appeared across his face as he accepted the woman’s gentle hug. “I’m doing well, thank you. I appreciate you watching Phoebe’s little princess so she could come with me tonight.”

  Mrs. Haskell reached around the corner and retrieved her book from an end table. “My pleasure. Kayla is an absolute joy.” The woman grasped Phoebe’s hand in hers and lowered her voice a notch. “She seemed to be having a little trouble with her gums as the evening wore on, and I gave her a little Tylenol before bed. I haven’t heard a peep from her since.”

  “Thank you.” Phoebe walked her neighbor to the door and watched until she was safely down the road before turning off the porch light. Slowly, she turned around, her heart thumping at the realization that she and Tate were virtually alone. It had been ages since she’d been with a man in any way.

  “Come with me,” he said, his voice husky. Turning on his heel, he led her into the family room and over to the couch.

  “Would you like something to drink? I actually bought a bottle of wine at the store last night.” She knew she sounded nervous, yet couldn’t seem to calm herself enough to act naturally.

  He shook his head as he sat, then pulled her down beside him. “I just want to spend a little quiet time with you.”

  The thumping of her heart increased as the sides of their bodies brushed together, first unintentionally, then quite deliberately. The heat emanating from his skin was unmistakable, and it made her want him even more.

  Leaning forward just enough to make eye contact, he cupped her face in his hands. “This is all I’ve wanted since you showed up at my door two weeks ago, ready to play post master.”

  She searched his golden-brown eyes for something that would warn her off—a hint of evil, a snatch of arrogance, anything. But if it was there, she wasn’t seeing it. She was simply feeling—the warmth of his skin, the firmness of his touch, the intense longing as his lips closed on hers, the eager probing of his tongue….

  Suddenly she wasn’t Phoebe Jennings, rejected lover, any longer. She was simply a woman with an intense need to know Tate Williams in a way she hadn’t known another man in a very long time. And as their kiss intensified, she slid her arms around his back, reveling in the feel of his muscles beneath her fingers and the sensation of his hands in her hair, pulling her head back so he could kiss her chin, her neck, the base of her throat.

  When his mouth reached the strap of her silk camisole, he stopped to look at her as if seeking permission to continue. She said nothing, choosing instead to let her eyes tell him everything he needed to know.

  With a gentle, yet deliberate finger, Tate slid one strap, then the other, from her shoulders, his gaze lingering on her chest as the camisole slipped to her waist, revealing the skimpy, black lace bra underneath. He moaned, then bowed his head to continue exploring her skin with his lips, while his hands found her breasts.

  “Oh, Tate,” she whispered as he unfastened the clasp of her bra and pushed the fabric from her breasts. In an instant his mouth was on one, and then the other, his tongue teasing her nipples as they hardened with desire.

  Reluctantly, he released her breast and looked up at her as she nudged the bottom of his chin. “Let’s go upstairs,” she whispered.

  As she stood, he took hold of her camisole and slid it up and off her body, her bra falling to the floor. Clad only in her black skirt and heels, she led him toward the stairs.

  “God, you are beautiful, Phoebe Jennings,” he murmured against her ear as he pulled her to him at the foot of the steps.

  Her fingers found the buttons of his shirt and slowly undid each one, giving her hands free rein of his muscular chest. She looked up at him, felt an electric charge run through her body at the naked longing in his eyes.

  For her.

  Somehow they found their way up the stairs and past Kayla’s closed door. Found their way into Phoebe’s room and over to the bed. Silently, Tate sat on the edge of the mattress and pulled her toward him. Slowly, methodically, he unfastened her skirt and watched it fall to the floor, a look of sheer admiration on his face as he eyed her bare legs and black lace panties.

  She wanted nothing more than to know this man completely. To give herself to him in every sense of the word. Boldly, she reached over and undid his pants, felt the most intimate parts of herself growing wet with desire at the sight of his body craning toward hers.

  He pulled her to him, their heat mingling as he laid her down and lowered himself to her, their bodies joining effortlessly. She felt his length inside her, straining against her, and her head began to spin as their breathing slowly synchronized. Again and again they moved in rhythm, the heady sensations intensifying until they couldn’t resist any longer, and gave in together.

  HE WOKE TO THE SOUND of happy chatter and the smell of bacon frying. Slowly, Tate turned his head and looked at the indent in the pillow beside his own, recalling the way they’d made love again and again throughout the night, their bodies craving one another with an undeniable force.

  Phoebe Jennings was an amazing lover. She was sweet and warm, adventurous yet shy, tender and giving. But it was the way she looked at him as he thrust into her that solidified what he’d been feeling with growing intensity all week.

  He’d fallen in love with a woman who’d shown up at his door simply to deliver a letter. A woman who took time from her busy schedule to right someone else’s wrong. Who saw a task through to completion. Who cared about the people in her world and brightened a room simply by entering it. A woman who walked away from the easy life in favor of teaching her daughter a lesson about dreams and pride.

  A woman he couldn’t wait to see.

  Swinging h
is feet to the floor, Tate pushed himself off the bed and grabbed for the suit pants peeking out from the pile of Phoebe’s clothing. He looked around for his shirt, grinning as he recalled the moment she’d peeled it from his chest.

  The babble from downstairs grew louder as he took the steps two at a time, snatching his shirt from the hall table and shrugging into it as he headed toward the kitchen. He rounded the corner and stopped, a sense of comfort resonating through him at the sight of Phoebe and Kayla chatting at the table.

  Suddenly he knew, without a doubt, what had been missing from his life for so long. It wasn’t the next architectural success. It wasn’t the understanding of his old neighbors. It wasn’t a group he could be comfortable hanging out with.

  It was this.

  A family.

  “I—I—I.” Kayla’s tiny hand shot into the air as she spotted him watching them from the doorway.

  “Hi yourself, sweetie.” He puffed out his chest in mock pride as Phoebe looked over her shoulder, her smile so beautiful it nearly took his breath away. “See? I’m a quick learner.”

  She lowered her eyebrows in confusion.

  “Baby talk. She just said hi.”

  “Uh, no. That meant she needs a diaper change.” Phoebe stood up and crossed the distance between them in a few short steps.

  He felt deflated. “Really?”

  “No.” Phoebe wrapped her arms around his neck and cuddled against him, her lips warm against his ear as she whispered a naughty greeting not suitable for all ages.

  Growling quietly, he kissed her temple. “Mmm. Okay, that greeting more than makes up for your teasing just now.”

  “Good.” She stepped backward and motioned to the empty chair. “I just finished making some pancakes and bacon. I figured you might be a bit famished this morning.”

  “Dancing always does that,” he quipped, tapping the tip of her nose with his index finger as her mouth opened in protest.