by Chris Lange
“I have a son.”
He seemed to be looking less at her than through her, his hard body not quite resting on the back of the couch, a nerve twitching along his jaw. Gone was his fury at believing someone else slid his dick into her, caressed her breasts, and kissed her skin, throat, and lips. Only immense surprise now sparkled in his gaze as she dropped his jacket on a chair and held the fabric of her dress.
“You do, Garrett. I named him John, after your father.”
A burst of gratefulness crossed his features then another emotion glimmered in his eyes. Maybe he needed a moment alone to gather his thoughts because he’d appeared out of sorts since the babysitter left. Perfect timing as they had more urgent things to do.
“Listen,” she said, “I’m gonna have a shower. There’s a bottle of scotch in this cabinet if you want a drink, and food in the kitchen. Will you be all right?”
He nodded without seeing her. As long as he could hear her, hope remained to bring him out of his daddy trance. She hurried to the bathroom, stripped out of the fabulous and expensive gown she’d never wear again, turned on the faucet, and let the hot jet loosen her bunched muscles.
Now he knew.
Revealing her secret to him would undoubtedly stir up trouble, yet tears of relief and joy mingled with the cascading water. Her heart expanded as though the organ had been constricted for a long time. Or walled up. Garrett knew, for better or for worse, and guilt oozed out of her drenched body.
When this odd, unexpected happiness didn’t relent, she got out of the shower stall, yanked the towel out of its ring then dried off in front of the mirror. Her skin glowed under the bathroom light, her nipples perking at the idea of Garrett sitting in her living room. Despite the years, he never forgot her.
The notion of her having a mysterious lover infuriated him to the point where he failed to keep his composure, dragged her to the hotel bed, and fucked her hard enough to make up for lost time.
First she came in his hand, and then she climaxed under the thrusts of his powerful cock because she couldn’t forget him either. Not because she gave birth to his child and raised him with undying love, but because Garrett was the one man who would always rule her heart.
With the large towel wrapped around her and droplets still sticking to her neck, she tiptoed across the corridor. A win or lose game must be on television, the audience booing a poor contestant. Rules were tough for unprepared players. Was Garrett watching the show or thinking of his newfound son?
Once in her bedroom, she wriggled into a pair of fresh jeans and sneakers. Going into the other universe would probably require walking, running, falling, jumping over fences, and maybe dying. The immortal wanted her. Even if she rounded up a whole pack of fierce warriors, he’d get her.
Fear grabbed her guts every time she’d been there, but things changed. Her pulse still throbbed at the base of her neck as she put on a top, yet anger and determination quashed her bouts of panic. Her life wasn’t the only one on the line anymore. Human or not, no being would harm Johnny.
She grabbed a loose-fitting jacket from the back of a chair, switched off the light, and headed back to the living room. When she entered it, a cheering crowd on TV welcomed a new contestant, but Garrett was nowhere in sight. Given that the kitchen stood in darkness, where the heck did he go?
The front door of the apartment was still locked from the inside. Light on her feet, she took slow steps toward Johnny’s bedroom, and the sight she discovered caught the breath in her throat.
His blond hair in disarray and concealing half of his forehead, her beautiful boy slept, one cheek buried into the pillow, his small fingers clutching the edge of the blanket. His shut lids twitched, the rapid movement of his eyeballs underneath reminiscent of dreams. Beside him, Garrett sat on a chair.
Bent toward the bed, he watched his son with such intensity that a shiver made her stomach flutter. An unusual air softened his features while he stared at the child without moving a muscle. Although presented with a fact he couldn’t imagine, his initial surprise had vanished, replaced by a look of amazement and love that touched her to the core.
“Garrett?”
Her whisper didn’t ignite any reaction. Still leaning, he kept on observing Johnny as if the slightest sound might disrupt his slumber. She shifted on her feet, unwilling to push him when he seemed so happy.
“He resembles you,” Garrett whispered.
She barely heard his murmur. Cautious to make as little noise as possible, she approached the father and son. “Not when he’s awake.”
The boy did have her fair hair and perhaps the shape of her eyes, but he got the rest from his dad. Johnny slept for now, deep in dreamland and oblivious of the man sitting right next to his bed.
Another step and she placed a hand on Garrett’s shoulder, emotion threatening to bring back the waterworks. “I love him so much, sometimes I slip in here at night just to watch him sleep. I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to him.”
Garrett’s arm muscles strained under her fingers. He must be thinking of the danger the immortal represented, not only to her anymore but also to his son. Was he afraid for them both? Would he struggle and fight for them?
When he looked up, his gaze didn’t show dread but anger. “Why have you not told me?”
The same question again. Were his brain cells deficient all of a sudden or did he enjoy slinging mud at her?
“I’ve already explained it. Let’s not go over this, please.”
“Has he not the right to meet his father? Have I conducted myself in such an unsatisfactory manner that you’d deny me knowledge of my own son? Speak, Tracy, for I must understand.”
When he put it like this, the pain and guilt she’d lived with for the past four years rushed back to compress her chest. What if she’d been wrong all along? She took her fingers off his shoulder, a pang of consternation now assaulting her from all sides. Because the real question was: would Garrett have married Miss Perfect if he’d known about Johnny?
She stared at the gold ring on his left hand, a sickening feeling rising up her throat. Because of his child, he might have called off the wedding and she wouldn’t be Tracy Richardson anymore but Lady Burnes.
“What does it matter?” she said. “It’s too late anyway.”
“I shan’t content myself with this riposte.”
“Well you’d better ’cos that’s all you’ll get.”
His haughty frown raised her hackles. Peer of Queen Victoria or not, he didn’t own her or Johnny, and he had no business judging her. She was the one who spent nights awake when their son got sick. She was the one who healed his cuts and bruises. She’d taken care of him since the day he was born and she provided for him.
Period.
Although Garrett remained his biological father, they were doing fine without him and it would stay that way. Damn, but telling him the truth turned out to be the biggest mistake she’d made in a long time. And for what? So that he’d regard her with respect instead of the cold and contemptuous looks he gave her when believing she had a lover.
Bad move.
“Come on,” she said, “get up. I don’t want to wake Johnny. Besides, we can keep arguing in the living room.”
“His name is John.”
What now? Did Garrett also need her to remind him of the particulars? Gosh, but he was acting really peculiar tonight. Yet she should try to tone it down or they’d end up arguing and waking her son. “Yeah, I know that. I chose to call him Johnny, remember?”
“I beg your pardon as it seems my plea isn’t explicit enough. My son’s name is John Burnes, not Richardson.”
Air spurted out of her lungs. The man came back into her life mere hours ago and he already dictated new rules? Over her dead body. A surge of heat made her shiver, and she spat out her exa
speration.
“Shut up, Garrett. Don’t make me mad.”
He pushed to his feet, her sudden outburst probably stirring up the irritation still lingering inside him. “You shan’t address me in this manner.”
His raised voice prompted her to direct her attention at the bed. Too late she saw Johnny opening his eyes, disturbed and roused by their loud argument. The boy blinked, looked at her for an instant, and then at the man standing beside her. Surprise and wonderment lighting his gaze, he spoke a single word.
“Daddy.”
The bewilderment in Garrett’s eyes couldn’t be mistaken. When he cast her a baffled glance, his meaning struck her more strongly than if he had said aloud: “How does he know I’m his father?”
Her irritation decreasing with every passing second, she cocked her head toward the back wall of the bedroom. There, she had hung Garrett’s portrait, the best and last piece of work she ever achieved. The weak glow from the lamp didn’t dispel much darkness so he stared at his own face with squinted eyes. “Who’s the artist?”
“I am.”
As he wouldn’t drown her in praise, she kneeled before the bed and passed a gentle hand through Johnny’s hair. “Go back to sleep, sweetie. It isn’t morning yet.”
“But Mom, Daddy’s here.”
“I know, but you can talk to him in the morning.”
She hated the lie as soon as it came out of her mouth. Far from seeming tired, the boy straightened up to observe his father.
“Mommy said you were far away. Are you back?”
Garrett wrenched his eyes away from the painting to look at his son. With a single move, he sat back down on the chair. “Indeed.”
No way. No fucking way. Instilling wrong ideas in Johnny’s head would only lead to huge disappointment, probably tears over the loss of an elusive father. Then she’d have to comfort her baby for days while Garrett went back to his world and lived happily ever after with his perfect princess.
Dreams rarely squared with reality. She had to straighten out the situation right this instant, before they both went further into fantasyland. Her mind whirling to come up with a plausible reason, she opened her mouth to speak.
Johnny beat her to the punch. “Really? Will you live with me and Mom?”
She immediately sensed Garrett’s hesitation, her nerves attuned to the tiniest of his moves, flinches, and expressions. When he didn’t answer straight away, she stroked the boy’s cheek with tenderness.
“We don’t know yet, baby.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s complicated.”
“I can help.”
She smiled at the boy’s spontaneous offer, her heart throbbing with love. Without being on a friendly basis with many three-year-old children, she’d always found him bright for his age and eager to embrace novelty.
“We’ll see about that,” she said. “For now, go back to sleep.”
“No. I wanna see Daddy.”
Her son could also be damn stubborn when told to do things, and where the heck did he get that from? As he confronted her by jutting his lower lip out in a pout, Garrett reacted to the blunt refusal.
“One ought to be taught civility and obedience. Hence you shall heed your mother’s bidding and address me as Father.”
Johnny frowned, looking so much like his dad in that second that she had to clear her throat to mask a giggle. Words eluding her, she watched with growing amusement as the boy focused his attention on her.
“How come Daddy don’t speak English? Is he French?”
This time she burst out laughing, unable to quell the mirth dilating her stomach. Garrett’s creased brow, tight jaw, and stiff shoulders not boding well, she ventilated at length before replying.
“He’s British, from England. That’s the country I showed you on the map the other day. Remember?
“Sure, but he don’t speak English.”
“He does, honey, I promise you. Actually, he just asked you to listen to me and to call him Father.”
“Why? Tommy and Stu call their fathers Daddy.”
This was going to be a long night, except for the fact that Raphael was already waiting for them on Bonita Street. How was she supposed to explain to a three-year-old the differences between regular American people and early twentieth-century British nobility? With a drawing?
First of all, she must reach her dad and ask him to come over. He’d mind the disturbance of course, but he was the only one she trusted with Johnny for more than three hours. The immortal’s wounds would probably be healed by tomorrow night, and she had no idea how long she’d be gone.
“Garrett.” She turned to him. “I need a word with you in private.”
Still kneeling, she quickly looked around and picked a toy off the floor before handing it to her son. “Mommy and Daddy have to talk. You stay in bed, all right?”
“Can I come?”
“No, sweetie. It’s a grown-up discussion.”
He pouted again but reached for the toy. She got to her feet with a smile while she motioned Garrett outside. Willingly or not, he let her close the door before following her into the living room.
“I’m calling Dad,” she said. “He’ll look after Johnny while we’re gone.”
“I beg your pardon, but I find I cannot leave my son.”
Yet he would. There was no way she’d let him take Johnny to the other side to transform him into a snooty kid.
“Sure you can.”
“Tracy, you speak as though you have a choice.”
The cheering on television died as she pressed power on the remote control. Fingers shaking, guts twisting, she took a long breath before turning round to face the man who meant to disrupt her life.
“That’s because I do, Garrett. I told you about Johnny out of courtesy to you, but, believe me, he isn’t going anywhere without me. I’d like you to understand that. Yet if you don’t, you can lump it.”
“Please, I can no longer listen to your attempts to try and justify yourself. John needs a name and an education I shall provide.”
Gosh, wasn’t he exactly like his condescending, snobbish mother? Even if he’d sometimes yearned for freedom in the past, the apple didn’t fall that far from the tree, did it? Well, Johnny was her apple.
“What exactly do you think I’ve been doing for the past three years? Teaching him to pick his teeth?”
“The child must learn discipline. I certainly don’t mean to undermine your achievements however—”
“However nothing!”
She stamped her foot and threw the remote control onto the couch, her shrill voice ringing in her ears. “Nothing at all. Johnny is staying with me, end of the story. Now drop it before we both say things we’ll regret.”
His irritated and haughty expression didn’t help to cool her down while she pinched the arm of the leather couch. Whether sexual or emotional, he definitely mastered the process of pushing her buttons.
“I wanna go with Daddy.”
Her head swiveled to the right. At the same moment, Garrett pivoted to face the boy who stood in the doorway. Blinking from lack of sleep, wearing his blue and red Spiderman pajamas that still were a little too big for him, he clutched his teddy bear while he ran to her. She crouched instantly, arms already open, and her heart swelled when he flung himself into her embrace.
“I wanna go. You, me, and Daddy.”
Mind blank, eyes watering, she cradled him against her chest. Johnny quivered between her arms while she kissed the top of his head, inhaling the marvelous scent of his soft hair. He craved a real family, but she’d been way too selfish to perceive his longing, let alone to do something about it.
Would he really be safer in his own world? What if taking him with them wasn’t such a bad id
ea after all? She kissed him again and then raised her face to see Garrett looking at her, a calm expression smoothing his features.
“Our son is right, Tracy, and I’m certain he’ll find protection within my walls. We must seek William at once.”
“Why? What can Dad do for us?”
“He’s built secure rooms in my garden house.”
Her father’s safety systems were top notch. Whatever his shortcomings, he could hide an elephant in a flat desert. This was her chance to protect her child, and payback would just have to wait.
“Okay,” she said, “just give me a minute to get Johnny dressed.”
Although the drive to Bonita Street didn’t take long, the boy fell asleep halfway to their destination. Lights brightened the study when they entered the house. Her father was working, even at this late hour and after a few drinks with his friends. A mildly surprised smile lit his face when he saw her.
“Tracy? Isn’t it a bit late for a visit?”
She stopped past the doorway and moved aside, long enough to let him spot Garrett and the sleeping child in his arms. Her father did see them. His features hardened, his gaze zeroing in on her as he help up a hand. “Don’t.”
Chapter 9
The great William Richardson knew she wanted his hide. Why would he feel this way if he believed his attitude toward her above reproach? Because he conned her time and time again, but his almighty reign was over. He simply didn’t know it yet. She’d fill him in though, as soon as Johnny was safe.
“Don’t fret, Dad, I won’t make a scene.”
“Good, because I didn’t lie to you.”
Shit, but if he insisted on bringing up sensitive issues, she might not be able to keep the steam inside. She’d done that enough tonight. Doing her best not to grimace, she nonetheless let sarcasm seep into her words.