Playing to Win

by Shelley Munro

  Reaching her front door, she threw it open. And then wished she hadn’t. Idiot. Too late to shut it now.

  Her brows rose as she met Lane Gerrard’s hooded stare. “Yes?”

  “I wondered if we could talk,” he said.

  Anger flashed in her beautiful eyes, and he silently acknowledged the lost ground caused by losing his temper this morning. “Surely we can resolve this problem. We’re both adults. Please.” Hopefully, she’d agree to his request for DNA testing. It was the simplest solution.

  The “please” seemed to help. Kate Alexander stepped back, her posture rigid and defiant as she gestured for him to enter. “Come through to the kitchen. I’m in the middle of making dinner.”

  Lane trailed Kate, unable to resist a sigh of appreciation at the way the fabric of her jeans clung to her butt. He released a soft breath. She wasn’t tall but bore all the crucial curves. Oh yeah. Under normal circumstances, he’d ply her with flowers, romance her into his bed and keep her there for a long session of mutually satisfying sex.

  But nothing about this situation came close to normal.

  She hated his guts. And who could blame her? The way he’d stormed into her home earlier was hardly conducive to reasonable discussion. He’d really ticked her off with his crude accusations. No wonder she’d chucked him out. But, hell. Anger didn’t begin to describe his feelings when he’d first read the article. Then he’d heard from his mother. He hadn’t thought, he’d just reacted out of plain guilt at messing up his mother’s convalescence.

  This time he’d keep calm. Perhaps he shouldn’t insult Kate either. Sharp words and accusations hadn’t helped this morning.

  Early in his sporting career, he’d learned that being in the public eye made him fair game for manipulative and greedy people looking to make a quick buck. Reporters craved the breaking story, and they chased hard to make it happen. A person in the public eye needed to maintain a squeaky-clean image. Not always easy, but he tried for his sponsors as much as himself.

  Experience made Lane careful in his relationships. The one disastrous blunder made while still a green kid kept him cautious. The women he dated knew the score and he scrupulously avoided the team groupies who followed their games. Katherine Alexander had made a mistake—her last where he was concerned. He’d be damned if he’d allow his name associated with a child who wasn’t his.

  The woman flew into the kitchen. Lane quickened his pace to keep up.

  “You haven’t let it out have you, Jamie?” she demanded when she marched in the room.

  “No, Kate,” the small boy seated at the table said. He sounded exasperated but grinned at his mother anyway. “It’s too sick to move.”

  Lane froze at the doorway. He stared at the child, shock bombarding his mind. The dark-haired boy could pass as one of his nephews. He looked like Charlie and Alex. Hell, the boy could be a double image of himself at the same age. His photo would fit right in with the others hanging on his parents’ walls. Lane’s throat worked while he groped for words. Could this boy be his son? How? When?

  Was Kate Alexander telling the truth?

  Lane shook his head, trying to deny the proof in front of his eyes. But there remained no doubt in his mind. Somehow, this boy carried the Gerrard genes. He stumbled to the table and slid into a chair without waiting for an invitation. Questions pounded his brain, demanding answers. He was at a loss to know where to start.

  “Hello,” he finally croaked in the direction of the boy.

  Kate Alexander came to his rescue. “Jamie, this is Mr. Gerrard. He’s come to talk to us about the story in the newspaper.”

  The boy’s head jolted in Lane’s direction. “My father is dead,” he muttered, before angling his body away from Lane in a full-out snub.

  Lane shot a helpless look at Kate. His hand trembled and he stuffed it in his pocket out of sight. Ridiculous. He was a grown man, but in the presence of this small boy, his self-assurance had seeped out his shoes.

  “We need to talk. Would you like to stay for dinner?” Kate’s voice held sympathy. “It’s nothing fancy. Corned beef and vegetables.”

  Camp out with the enemy. Lane considered her offer then shrugged. It was magnanimous considering the way he’d treated her earlier. If the situation were reversed, he didn’t think he would have shown the same generosity. He surveyed her for an instant longer before nodding. Why not? Heck—he couldn’t even state she positively was the enemy. It wouldn’t hurt to get to know her and the child. The answers lay here, not in the tabloid stories. “Thank you. I’d like that.” His attention wandered to the boy—Jamie.

  His son?

  Or one of his brothers?

  Either way, Lane saw trouble ahead. If Jamie was John’s child, Sabrina would be hurt and upset, but their marriage appeared strong and would survive. On the other hand, if Jamie were Will’s, then this child’s presence would destroy his brother’s marriage. Will and Tanya were still patching things up after a trial separation. On top of that, no matter how things turned out, his mother would worry and that wasn’t good.

  The child was a ticking bomb.

  It didn’t take Lane long to weigh the consequences. He couldn’t let his brothers take the heat. Not yet. He clenched his jaw, his resolve strengthening. He would have to assume parentage until he learned the truth. All he needed to do was keep the press at bay.

  Jamie looked up and Lane’s heart jolted. Recognition seared through him as he met the boy’s gaze. Deep down in his gut, he sensed it.

  This boy was his son.

  Chapter Three

  “Know anything about rats?” The words sounded as though they were pulled unwillingly from the boy. He steadfastly refused to look at Lane, staring at the box containing the rat instead.

  Enemy number one. Hell.

  “Um…” Lane cleared the lump of pent-up anxiety in his throat while unease crawled through his veins. Not a single instinct jumped out to tell him how to handle this unreal situation. The phone rang and Kate left to answer, leaving him alone with Jamie. The silence lengthened and finally Lane had to break the rising tension inside. “My brothers and I had a pet rat when we were your age.”

  Jamie shunted the box in his direction but still kept his distance. “This one’s sick.”

  Lane regarded the twitching body of the rat. He glanced back at the boy. His features stared back at him. Shock reverberated through him yet again. A Gerrard, Lane thought in confusion. “How long have you had him?”

  “He came in the mail today.”

  Lane blinked. He glanced at Kate when she stepped back into the kitchen. “It came in the mail?” Even though she’d invited him to dinner, she watched him with suspicion, her slim body stiff and upright. She treated him like the enemy too, and it galled. He didn’t want an adversary, he wanted… Whoa, slow down. No matter what his wants were, the lady wouldn’t consider him. Not after today. Besides, there were too many complications.

  Way too many.

  Kate grabbed a bright pink cloth from near the sink and wiped down the counter with sharp, jerky strokes. “A courier dropped the package off today. Jamie opened it before you arrived. The rat was inside.”

  Lane’s top lip curled. “Great friends you have.”

  She tensed, her hand squeezing the cloth even more tightly. “It didn’t come from friends. The package didn’t contain a note.”

  Lane digested the information before pursing his lips in a silent whistle. “A joke?”

  Her voice grew as taut as her stance. “I don’t know. My close friends know I have a phobia when it comes to rats, mice…”

  Lane scrutinized the box carefully. When he eyed the black and white rat at closer quarters, a familiar smell struck him. The rat struggled to rise and toppled over, its sides heaving in distress. “I’m not sure,” he said, glancing up at Kate, “but I think the rat is drunk.”

  Kate gasped, dropping the dishcloth into the sink. “Drunk!”

  “I think someone’s fed the rat food soaked in
alcohol so it would remain quiet and sleep until the courier delivered the package. It’s a wonder they didn’t kill it.” A feeble twitch in the box attracted his attention. “It might die yet.”

  “Oh.” Kate leaned against the sink, her face pale despite her light tan. Lane knew she’d grasped the implications, but hadn’t voiced them because of her son. He tipped his head in a nod. Her thinking matched his exactly. Someone wanted to scare her and judging by her anxious face, they were succeeding.

  She straightened, her chest rising sharply when she sucked in a breath. His eyes zeroed in on the creamy cleavage on display at the neckline of her pink shirt. Oh, man. His gaze swept upward and collided with an indignant glare.

  “Jamie, would you go and pick some mint from the garden by the clothesline please?” she asked. Her blue eyes glinted militantly while the impatient tap of her right foot didn’t bode well for him.

  Lane decided to get in first. Change the subject before she tore a strip off him. “I think you should call the police.”

  “There’s nothing to tell them. The packaging consisted of plain brown paper. There was no note.”

  Irritation gave her a sexy sparkle and Lane bit back the appreciative grin, glad his questioning had diverted her blast of temper. “What about the courier company?”

  She frowned, her doubt apparent even before she shook her head. “I signed for the package. I suppose they might have details.”

  “Call the police,” Lane urged. “At least your complaint will be on record.” His lips twisted in a travesty of a smile. “With all the publicity in the papers, you may have attracted a stalker.”

  They both heard the stomp of Jamie’s steps, signaling his return with the mint. “We’ll talk after dinner,” she said, “after Jamie goes to bed.”

  “Kate, can I keep the rat?”

  Lane could tell by her expression, she didn’t want the rodent in the house. He waited for her to make an excuse to get rid of it.

  “I suppose so…but I’m warning you, Jamie Alexander, if the rat gets free, it’s history! I think I saw an old budgie cage up in the attic. We’ll clean it out and you can put the rat inside for tonight.”

  Lane would have bet a twenty that the rat would go. She’d surprised him. “I’ll help.”

  “I don’t need help.” Jamie raced off before either adult could comment.

  A rustling sound came from the box. The rat stirred, its whiskers twitching with more vigor. He caught Kate’s dainty shudder when she cast a fleeting look toward the box. Throughout the meal preparations, she kept a wary eye on the rodent, only relaxing when Jamie transferred the rat to his new quarters.

  Half an hour later, they sat down to dinner. For Lane, the mealtime was bittersweet. He sat at the table with his son, but somehow the milestone of becoming a father had escaped his notice. He would never have forgotten sleeping with the woman seated opposite him.

  No way.

  Her glossy brown hair and the fair skin with the dusting of golden freckles were attractive in a girl-next-door kind of way. Lane found himself wondering about those freckles and where else they might appear on her body. He had known many beautiful women, but Kate Alexander fascinated him with her inner toughness, cloaked as it was in her femininity. The way she’d stood her ground this morning, meeting him head-on and unwilling to give an inch, had left a good impression.

  Lane knew without conceit, women chased him for his looks and his money. It came as a pleasant surprise to meet a woman like Kate. Cool and mysterious, she reminded him of an iceberg with nine-tenths hidden below the surface. The unknown intrigued him and he wanted to explore that uncharted territory. The throb in his groin deepened to a persistent ache that threatened to embarrass him.

  In an act of self-preservation, he turned his attention to Jamie and was once again struck by the family likeness—black hair, gray eyes and tall for his age.

  Lane sighed and it held a touch of frustration. As much as he wanted to get to know the boy, he needed to talk to Kate first.

  Kate. Hell. His thoughts were grim when he caught her watching him. Their gazes caught and held. Yeah, they needed to talk. Despite the way his libido had started to shoot to attention each time he came anywhere near her, he had to ignore the tug of attraction and concentrate on a solution. For all their sakes.

  Lane laid his knife and fork on his plate before looking away from temptation to check his watch. What time did kids go to bed these days anyway?

  * * * * *

  Kate led the way to the den, coffee tray in hand. Nerves quivered in her stomach and the tray wobbled in a subtle shake. Time to talk to Lane Gerrard, but what did she say? Jamie was legally her son, but what if he wanted custody? The man made her nervous—the way he watched her with his cool gray eyes, dissecting her every move.

  She placed the tray on a low wooden table and resisted the urge to swallow when she noted his expectant gaze. Down to business. Well, she supposed that was best. The man bothered her in a way she hadn’t expected. Yes, he’d driven her to chocolate earlier but this felt different. Worse. Lane abraded her nerves and made her aware—incredibly aware—of her femininity in a way that hadn’t happened for a long time.

  He had to leave. Yeah, she needed him to leave in order to rebuild her crumbling defenses.

  She sucked in a slow breath and let it ease out before forcing a smile. “Do you take milk and sugar?” Yeah, this polite hostess stuff was the way to shove him out the door in a hurry.

  “Milk, no sugar.”

  His intense gaze seared like a hot poker, making nerves leap to life. A spot of milk splashed over the lip of the china jug. Kate bit her lip, hoping she could finish pouring the coffee without mishap. What was wrong with her? This awareness, it had to stop. He was the enemy. This man might have the power to take Jamie away.

  “Who rang before?” Lane rapped out without warning.

  Kate’s hand jerked and coffee splashed over the edge of the cup in her hand. “No one in particular.”

  “Was it your contact with The Mirror?”

  Kate thumped the cup down on the small table beside him. The coffee sloshed backward and forward before it settled. “No, it wasn’t the press.”

  “Who was it then?”

  “I thought we were going to have a civil conversation,” Kate snapped. Then her shoulders slumped. She wasn’t helping. Arguing ate precious time. Think sweet. Syrupy sweet. “I don’t know who rang. I could hear breathing and a radio playing in the background.” She shrugged in dismissal. “They probably dialed the wrong number and were too embarrassed to admit it. The caller disconnected without saying a word.”

  “Has this happened before?” Lane sprawled in the armchair opposite, his legs outstretched.

  Kate squeezed her legs closer to her chair so she didn’t touch him by mistake. He took up an awful amount of space. She scowled at him, wondering how much longer this would take.

  “Kate?”

  His question? Oh yeah. “No.” She paused. “There was one call earlier this evening. Jamie answered it and the caller hung up.”

  “If you combine the phone calls with the delivery of the rat, it adds up to someone intent on harassment. Call the police.”

  Kate stiffened for what felt like the fiftieth time since the arrogant Lane Gerrard had entered her life. Well, he could think again. She didn’t do orders. “It was a wrong number. There’s nothing to tell them. Not that it’s any of your business.” Well, heck, that was certainly saccharine sweet.

  “Your call.” Lane picked up his coffee cup and took a sip, seemingly relaxed and at ease while her insides felt as if they’d snap under the strain. “Now about the newspaper story,” he said.

  Kate’s spine hit the back of her chair. “I didn’t sell that story to the press.” Her eyes narrowed on seeing his expressionless face. A dead giveaway. He still blamed her. “I didn’t,” she repeated, her chin jerking upward in defiance.

  He let out a tired sigh. “It doesn’t matter. Jamie could pa
ss as a double for me when I was the same age. He looks like my nephews. Jamie is a Gerrard. You must see the resemblance. Who is his father?” He hesitated. “One of my brothers?”

  “I don’t know,” Kate admitted.

  “You don’t know.”

  Kate winced. It wasn’t difficult to guess his thoughts, something along the lines of a loose woman with no morals.

  A whore.

  “Why don’t you know? Did you sleep with so many men, you couldn’t be sure of the father’s identity?”

  “No!” Kate snapped. No mistaking that tone for anything but snide. She glared at the sanctimonious male, not wanting to answer, but knowing she had to because unfortunately, he spoke the truth. This man or one of his brothers might be Jamie’s father. She had noted the resemblance—it was difficult not to when they were in the same room. She didn’t have the right to deprive Jamie of a father figure. And if Lane were Jamie’s father, he deserved answers. She just wished she knew the answers herself. “Jamie isn’t my biological son.”

  His eyebrows shot to his hairline. “Where’s his mother?”

  “Jamie is my nephew. His mother—Nicole—died from cancer almost four years ago.”

  “I’m sorry.” His words held genuine compassion. “She can’t have been very old. My mother…” His words trailed off and he jumped from his seat to pace the length of den, dodging the couch and the coffee table. She felt the rush of air when he paced past and wondered about his mother.

  He turned to face her, determination tightening his jaw. “I’d like to have a DNA test done. The test should provide answers—some at least.”

  Panic hit Kate at his words. God, what if the test proved Lane was Jamie’s father and he took Jamie from her. No, she couldn’t take the chance. They didn’t need a male figure in their lives. Jamie and she were doing just fine together. “I—no. Look, I have no expectations of you.” Kate glimpsed masculine frustration and steeled herself for a fight. He couldn’t force her to allow a DNA test. It wasn’t as if she wanted financial aid.