The Billionaire's Secret Baby (Silhouette Desire 90's)

by Carol Devine

  “I’m A Tarkenton, Meg. I Get Away With Everything.”

  Letter to Reader

  Title Page

  Books by Carol Devine

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Copyright

  “I’m A Tarkenton, Meg. I Get Away With Everything.”

  “You won’t get away with Katie. I’ll take her to the ends of the earth to keep her away from you, Jack.”

  “I’m one of the privileged few who has the resources to follow you there. You won’t be able to hide her, not from me. I have too much money and too many connections. And when I do find her, I’ll use your refusal to acknowledge me as her father against you, not only in a court of law, but in the court of public opinion.”

  “You want to ruin her life by making this public? Is that it?”

  “I’m her father. I am not going to go away. I laid out my proposal. You can either turn this into a public custody battle or marry me and keep Katie’s paternity private. Unlike you, I believe both her parents have Katie’s best interests at heart.”

  Dear Reader,

  This May we invite you to delve into six delicious new titles from Silhouette Desire!

  We begin with the brand-new title you’ve been eagerly awaiting from the incomparable Ann Major. Love Me True, our May MAN OF THE MONTH, is a riveting reunion romance offering the high drama and glamour that are Ann’s hallmarks.

  The enjoyment continues in FORTUNE’S CHILDREN THE BRIDES with The Groom’s Revenge by Susan Crosby. A young working woman is swept off her feet by a wealthy CEO who’s married her with more than love on his mind—he wants revenge on the father who never claimed her, Stuart Fortune. A “must read” for all you fans of Daphne Du Maurier’s Rebecca!

  Barbara McMahon’s moving story The Cowboy and the Virgin portrays the awakening—both sensual and emotional—of an innocent young woman who falls for a ranching Romeo. But can she turn the tables and corral him? Beverly Barton’s emotional miniseries 3 BABIES FOR 3 BROTHERS concludes with Having His Baby. Experience the birth of a father as well as a child when a rugged rancher is transformed by the discovery of his secret baby—and the influence of her pretty mom. Then, in her exotic SONS OF THE DESERT title, The Solitary Sheikh, Alexandra Sellers depicts a hard-hearted sheikh who finds happiness with his daughters’ aristocratic tutor. And The Billionaire’s Secret Baby by Carol Devine is a compelling marriage-of-convenience story.

  Now more than ever, Silhouette Desire offers you the most passionate, powerful and provocative of sensual romances. Make yourself merry this May with all six Desire novels—and buy another set for your mom or a close friend for Mother’s Day!

  Enjoy!

  Joan Marlow Golan

  Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire

  Please address questions and book requests to

  Silhouette Reader Service

  U S - 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

  Canadian: PO. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

  THE BILLIONAIRE′S SECRET BABY

  CAROL DEVINE

  Books by Carol Devine

  Silhouette Desire

  Beauty and the Beastmaster #816

  A Man of the Land #909

  The Billionaire’s Secret Baby #1218

  CAROL DEVINE lives in Colorado with her husband and three sons, including identical twins. When she’s not playing pickup games of basketball and hunting for lost Reeboks, she’s holed up in her office, dreaming of romantic heroes.

  Her writing has won numerous awards, including the Romance Writers of America’s 1992 Golden Heart for Short Contemporary Series Romance. She has also served as president of Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers.

  One

  Meg Masterson Betz couldn’t believe it. The father of her child had dared come to her husband’s funeral.

  Jack Tarkenton edged the crowd of mourners, standing a little apart, larger than life, richer than rich, his signature mane of lion-colored hair stirring in the fall breeze. Powerfully built and conservatively dressed, he looked so much like his late, great father, Meg recognized him instantly.

  She wasn’t the only one. Near the line of limousines parked along the cemetery road, the paparazzi and media types had mobilized and were madly taking pictures of the latest Tarkenton arrival.

  Grateful for the black veil concealing her face, Meg made sure she had a firm grip on her daughter’s hand. Katie was behaving extremely well for a four-year-old, but the last thing she needed was a dozen cameras in her face.

  Unfortunately, that was the price of being related to the famous Tarkenton family, even if only by marriage. Like the Kennedys, the Tarkentons attracted attention wherever they went. And Jack, as his late father’s only son, namesake and heir apparent, was the most famous Tarkenton of them all.

  Double-breasted Armani boxed his shoulders with the clean and proper lines of the classiest in charcoal wool suits. A pristine shirt and maroon tie echoed this concession to convention.

  Really, Meg thought. The briefest in beach attire was more his thing. Apparently, Jack wasn’t slumming today.

  A pair of sunglasses cut the bronzed boldness of his well-known face in two. That disturbed her, to have him this close and not be able to see his eyes. The uncompromising set of his jaw, however, made her remember the aggressive self-assurance behind the sunglasses all too well.

  Why was he here? He hadn’t known Allen. He certainly didn’t know her. Not really. The only connection she had to John B. Tarkenton Jr. was her brother’s marriage to his sister. That marriage and her child.

  His child.

  Meg flinched at the thought. Sometimes she hated her penchant for honesty. It cut like a knife to remember how stupid she had been. When Allen offered to marry her and raise the child as his own, holding back the truth was a discipline she had to constantly work at to maintain. Having a kind and decent husband like Allen helped, but Katie was the one who made her strong. That’s what came from having children.

  You have a God-given chance to make things right, even when you started wrong.

  Meg glanced at her daughter’s dark head. The coffee-brown curls matched her own. Katie’s brown eyes matched her father’s, however, and that was the one truth Meg would carry to her grave as Allen had carried it to his. Steadfast and loyal, he’d been Katie’s father in every way that mattered. Thanks to him, Jack Tarkenton would never know he had even fathered a child. He wasn’t going to get a chance to corrupt her little girl.

  Shuddering, Meg turned her attention to the minister as he delivered the final prayer. By prearranged signal, he spread his arms wide and spoke to the entire assemblage. “And now the widow and daughter of Allen Betz would like a private moment. If you would kindly exit to the left, the burial site will be opened to the public in a few minutes’ time.”

  Meg squeezed Katie’s hand. “You ready, sweetie? It’s time.”

  Katie looked up with her big brown eyes and nodded, her long, dark curls glinting in the late-morning sun. Such a pretty child. Such a solemn child. Allen’s death had hit her hard.

  Meg led the way past the mourners spilling out onto the lawn and halted at the casket. Kneeling, she placed her hand on the polished wood surface and bowed her head. Katie imitated every move.

  The sight of the small hand on the polished
wood brought a lump to Meg’s throat. All her instincts, maternal and otherwise, told her this was the right thing to do. Katie needed to grieve. But that was poor comfort to a mother’s desire to shield her child’s heart.

  Meg thought of Allen, gentle Allen, and her sorrow twisted into a strange type of guilt. In the three days since the car accident that took his life, she had yet to shed a tear. All she knew was that she should have loved him better. She should have loved him more.

  The click and whir of cameras—present only because of the Tarkentons—made her grief feel less than real, like it was put on for show. Meg put a shielding arm around Katie and pulled her close. Was nothing sacred anymore? The last thing either of them needed was to be the subject of prying eyes.

  Upset with the photographers, with Jack, with herself, Meg helped Katie to her feet. Together they walked to the minister, and Meg thanked him for the service. Katie echoed the sentiment by silently offering to shake the elderly man’s hand.

  “God bless and keep you, child,” he said.

  Katie’s newest aunt, Sarah Masterson, came forward next. Despite her maternity dress and the swell of her belly, she held out her arms, her heartfelt hug steadying Meg. Sarah then knelt and offered her arms to Katie.

  Katie walked right into them, taking to her new aunt like a fish to water, much as her Uncle Zach had done. Meg accepted his hug with gratitude, finding solace in his down-to-earth rancher’s strength. “You okay?” he asked, placing his black cowboy hat on his head.

  Meg nodded to relieve the worry in his sky blue eyes. “Thank you for flying all the way to New Jersey from Wyoming, Zach. It means more than I can say. And to have Sarah here, too. I’ve never seen Katie accept anybody so readily.”

  “Sarah and I thought we’d take Katie off your hands for a while. There’s a duck pond over yonder, in the middle of the cemetery grounds.”

  “Yes, by all means. Please make sure she stays away from the photographers.”

  “Will do.” He touched the brim of his hat, then knelt next to his wife and tweaked Katie’s nose. “Hey, bright eyes. Your Aunt Sarah and I are going to check out the ducks. Want to come?”

  Katie nodded with her usual gravity. Zach scooped her up, setting her burgundy dress swinging like a bell. Meg mouthed a thank-you to Sarah and the three of them set off together, creating a picture of what was to come in a few months’ time when Zach and Sarah had a child of their own.

  Allen had wanted a child of his own, too.

  Meg hid her distress at the thought and turned to greet the other mourners. She pressed their hands in sincerity, moved to speak personally to the many who had come. She even managed a smile when her oldest brother, Bram, slipped a strong and supportive arm around her waist. “You holding up?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Now, Meg, tell the truth.” Amanda, Bram’s blond wife, touched Meg’s hand. “This is your big brother, remember? The Master of all Mastersons. You can tell him anything.”

  Hesitating, Meg sighed. “The truth is, I am a little worn. But that’s to be expected, isn’t it?”

  Amanda murmured in sympathy and pressed Meg’s hand. The circle of family widened as Meg was embraced by her other brother, Joe, and her sister, Elizabeth. Last came her mother, Mary Masterson, who pressed fresh tissues into Meg’s hands. “Can I do anything else for you, honey?”

  “You’re doing it, Mama.” Meg reached to bring the entire family into a shared embrace. “You’re all doing it.”

  Elizabeth smiled through her freely flowing tears. “Hey, I’m the big sister here. I’m the one who is supposed to be bucking you up.”

  “But you are.” Meg gave Elizabeth a squeeze. But Meg’s gaze inevitably strayed to Katie, safe with Sarah and Zach at the pond.

  “Hard to believe our baby brother is going to be a father soon,” Bram commented.

  “I know,” Meg replied, relieved at the change of subject. “I thought he would be the last to settle down. But once I met Sarah and saw how special she is, I began to understand.”

  “I hear she’s been his saving grace.”

  Meg startled at the distinctive, deep voice of Jack Tarkenton. To her dismay, he joined the family throng as though he belonged. To see him casually appraising her, sans sunglasses, caused Meg to shrink inside.

  The personal nature of his comment startled everyone else as well. Even his sister Amanda appeared taken aback. “Jack, I didn’t realize you even knew who Sarah and Zach were.”

  “It would be difficult to miss the newest member of the Masterson family. Zach ought to be congratulated on his good taste.”

  “I wouldn’t congratulate him too much if I were you, Jack,” Bram warned. “He knows your reputation with the ladies.”

  “Speaking of ladies...” Jack offered a handshake to Meg. “I wanted to express my sincere sympathy for your loss. I know it’s a cliché, but if there is anything I can do to help you or your daughter, please don’t hesitate to call.”

  Aware of the clicking cameras, Meg steeled herself and took the hand. He pressed a card into her palm, a business card, of all things. As though he had a real business.

  Meg knew she was supposed to politely nod and thank him. Instead, she crumpled the card in her fist and reached for Bram’s arm, leaning on his big build and brawn. “I think it’s time for Katie and I to go home.”

  Jack Tarkenton was easy to avoid after that. The limousine was reserved for immediate family only. When he showed up at her house later that afternoon after she started receiving guests, Meg announced she and Katie needed to go upstairs and rest for a while. Even someone as callous as Jack Tarkenton couldn’t argue with that.

  She figured wrong, however. He intercepted her at the base of the stairs. “When you’re free, I’d like a moment with you—alone.”

  Speechless at his gall, she fled up the stairs with Katie in her arms. When Meg gained the landing, she stared down at him, letting her disapproval show. But he continued to follow her with those eyes, gleaming brown as the finest dark chocolate.

  Katie’s eyes.

  Hugging her daughter close, Meg hurried into Katie’s room and locked the door behind them. “It’s nap time, sweetheart.”

  “But I don’t want to take a nap.”

  “Of course you don’t,” Meg soothed, setting her down on the edge of her pink ruffled bed. “But we’ll change your clothes, anyway. You don’t want to get wrinkles all over your pretty dress.”

  “It’s Daddy’s favorite.”

  “I know.” Meg undid the buckles on Katie’s patent leather shoes and slipped them off. “I’m sure he was glad to see you wear it today.”

  “Mommy, when can I go to heaven to see Daddy?”

  Meg drew Katie’s dress off, feeling how hard this was going to be on both her and her daughter. “You miss him already, don’t you?”

  She nodded, and her large eyes pooled with tears. “I want my daddy.”

  “Oh, baby, I know.” Meg kissed the top of Katie’s head and helped her change into her pajamas. “I wish he was here, too.”

  “You do?”

  “Oh, yes. He was a wonderful daddy, a wonderful daddy to us both.”

  “When can I see him?”

  Meg gave her the plush toy rabbit she always slept with. and picked up Allen’s framed photograph on the nightstand. “Remember what I told you this morning? Daddy’s picture will stay right beside your bed. Then you can see him whenever you want.”

  “Forever?”

  “Forever.”

  Meg helped Katie set the picture safely on the nightstand. Clutching her rabbit, she lay down and stared at Allen’s picture with such studious concentration, it broke Meg’s heart. “Mommy, can I have the light on? I want Daddy to see me.”

  “I’ll leave the light on, and the light in the bathroom, too. If you get scared or need anything, you call me, okay?”

  “Okay.” Katie opened her arms for a hug. “I love you, Mommy.”

  “I love you, too, sweetheart. Da
ddy does, too.”

  Meg tucked the covers around Katie and kissed her forehead. “Sleep tight.”

  “Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

  Exiting swiftly, Meg drew the door closed to the point where she could still hear any sounds in the room, if need be. Standing in the hall, she wiped her eyes and listened the way all mothers listened, to make sure her child was settling down.

  How many times had she done this? How many times had she kissed Katie good-night? Hundreds of times. And how many times had she kissed Allen good-night?

  Hardly ever.

  “Is she asleep?”

  Jumping, Meg spotted Jack Tarkenton’s broad-shouldered silhouette standing in the shadows at the end of the hall. “I need to talk to you,” he said, his voice hushed. “Now.”

  She advanced on him, using her most forceful whisper. “I think I’ve made it abundantly clear that I have no desire whatsoever to talk with you.” She stabbed a finger at the stairs. “Please leave.”

  “Don’t make this harder than it already is, Meg. I only want a few minutes of your time.”

  “How dare you,” she whispered furiously. “How dare you come to my husband’s funeral. How dare you come to my house. How dare you come anywhere near me.”

  “Katie’s mine, Meg. I know it and you know it, so stop the righteous-sounding speech and take me to someplace private where we can talk.”

  Meg stared at him, seeing his coldness while feeling her own anger drain into the well of her deepest fear. No, this could not be happening. He could not have said—

  “You heard me. I know I’m Katie’s father.”

  “No,” she breathed. “You’re not.”

  “I was there when she was conceived, remember?”