by Jule McBride
“...and I was enrolled in a class in every school in the city. Columbia, NYU, the midtown CUNY. They were already pretty sure that the people burglarizing the outlying areas were students. Which they were—” He glanced at her. “Lewis and Christopher were enrolled at NYU.”
“I had classes with them.” She shot him a steely stare, hoping to communicate that she didn’t believe a word he said.
He turned fully away from the window, leaned his head against the bars and shoved his hands deep into his trouser pockets. His gaze was as unflinching as hers, but his voice remained calmer. “You have no reason not to believe me.”
“Oh, no!” she exclaimed. “And why is that?”
“Because nothing else makes sense.”
She sighed, then tried her best to sound bored. “So, you grew your hair long....”
“It was long already.”
“But you dyed it, and grew a mustache and beard and lost a lot of weight....”
“Gained,” he corrected. “Since then.”
“I can’t believe I’m hearing this,” she said flatly.
His gaze still met hers dead-on. His low, throaty, almost bitter chuckle filled the air. “Oh, but sweetheart,” he continued. “It gets even better.”
No matter how much she wanted to, she couldn’t tear her eyes from his. He was so self-possessed. All her senses heightened when she took in his casual attitude and understated elegance. Only his eyes alerted her to the emotions that seethed beneath his surface. “I’ll just bet it does,” she said coolly.
“Sometimes truth’s stranger than fiction.”
“Especially when we get to the part where you save my life.” She blew out a piqued sigh.
“You followed me....” His voice lowered a notch. “Because of you, two rookie cops who didn’t have a clue what was going on stormed into your parents’ house.”
A lump lodged in her throat and she swallowed, knowing that much was true. She arched a brow in his direction. Whatever he’s going to say is a lie. “Go on.”
He shook his head. “Why did you follow me?”
“I was wrong to call the police?” she snapped. Her eyes widened. “I was just supposed to sit there while you carted off all of our worldly possessions?”
“The only thing that got carted off was me,” he said flatly. “On a stretcher.” He suddenly shrugged, as if the rightness or wrongness of her actions didn’t concern him. “The two cops burst in, Christopher pulled a gun, and one of the rookies fired a shot, hitting me instead of Christopher. The bullet grazed my jaw.”
He absently rubbed a thumb across the scar now, as if to prove it. Had she really nearly gotten him killed? “So you took a bullet for Christopher.” She spoke in an overly innocent tone, realizing she’d just caught him in one of his infernal lies. “That’s not exactly saving my life, now is it Jake...Anton?”
He looked as if he wanted to kill her. “Well, after that shot was fired, you suddenly hopped out of the front seat of a cruiser and ran toward the house. Why did you do that, Cyn?” It wasn’t a question, it was a demand for an answer.
Because I was afraid you were going to be killed. And I was going to save your life. But then you flew through the door, with blood on your face, and I got scared. More scared than I’d ever been. She sighed shakily but didn’t answer him.
“And Christopher, either because he wanted revenge because you’d turned us in, or because he needed to fire some cover shots, so he could get away, aimed right at you.”
That’s why you ran into the yard? All she remembered was seeing his face, feeling scared, hearing a shot and seeing him leap into the air. She’d turned and fled. Now she realized that it explained the scar on his calf. “You’re lying,” she said weakly.
“Feel guilty yet?”
If I believe this, every word of it, I have no excuse to keep him from Amanda. Her heart suddenly thudded in her chest. Her worst nightmare had just come true. Jake Jackson had come back to claim their daughter. And for a second time he’d stolen into her life under completely false pretenses.
“You’re lying,” she said with resolve, her voice as cold as the winter day.
“You just can’t face it, can you?”
“You can tell ten million lies—” She strained to keep her voice level. “But you’ll never get within sight of Amanda again.”
He crossed the room silently, looking every inch the predator. The sheer energy radiating from the man had her backing herself up against the door. He stopped right in front of her. Then he sprawled an arm alongside the door; his elbow claimed the space next to her head. He leaned so close his hips grazed hers. “You want to repeat that?”
“You’re not getting anywhere near my daughter!” Her voice sounded high-pitched and thin. Her mouth went dry and her breasts suddenly felt full and heavy. With his lips so near and his breath warming her skin, there was just no way she could fight her body’s traitorous response.
“Need I remind you,” he drawled, “she’s my daughter, too.”
He had come for Amanda. And she had to be strong. “You steal into my life,” she returned coldly, “and each time, you pretend to be someone other than who you really are. Now, like four years ago, what you intend to do is rob me. Cop or no cop, you’re a thief.”
“And you’re a liar,” he countered, leaning just an inch closer. “What about your marriage that never was? Or poor, dead Harry? Or how you live as a grieving widow? Or about how you mean to deny me rights to what’s mine?” His eyes now looked as dark as a starless night. “Sounds to me like you’re the thief, Cyn.”
Whose heart did she hear beating, she wondered, suddenly feeling dizzy. Her own or his? “You’ve used me one too many times,” she managed to say huskily. “This time, to get to Amanda. Last time—” His eyes held her spellbound. She forced herself to blink. “I—I don’t know why.”
“It was my job,” he nearly whispered.
“And you did it so very well.” The words caught in the air as if each one had a barbed hook buried deep inside it. “I bet you enjoyed it—seducing a rich, extremely overprotected college kid until you made her...”
“I did enjoy it.” His hand dropped to the sleeve of her luxurious coat. “But what was it that I made you do?”
Everything in his dangerously dark gaze reminded her that she’d always gone willingly into his arms. Her mouth had become so dry that her throat ached. “Nothing,” she croaked.
“Did I make you love me, Cyn Sweet?”
The truth made her feel a little faint. She clenched her jaw. “Did you use me, Jake Jackson?”
“Anton Santa,” he corrected. His eyes narrowed. “I had no family, no money and nowhere to go,” he continued persuasively. “I’ll admit, I liked the excitement of my job, and that I was hungry....” The last word hung in the air as his gaze roved over her face. “To make good,” he finished abruptly.
“You did use me,” she said in shock.
His jaw hardened and his eyes seemed to judge her. “What did you love? The man you see now? The man I am? Or some scruffy bad boy from down South? Some guy with a motorcycle and a leather jacket, of whom your parents would never approve.”
She licked her lips against their dryness. “Touché,” she whispered.
“That’s why you didn’t recognize me,” he continued with that hypnotic voice.
“What are you talking about?”
“You didn’t recognize me because you were in love with a myth. And then, when you felt betrayed, my looks got all scrambled up in your mind. Maybe you couldn’t even remember what I looked like at all.”
Cyn’s mind raced while she listened to him. “You’re sending the notes!” she burst out. “You sent them so that you could get this job, so that you could see Amanda—”
He gasped. “What?”
She stared at him, not knowing what was truth and what were lies, and only knowing that perhaps none of it mattered because she still craved his lips.
His eyes widened, a
s if all his questions had suddenly been answered. “Why did you follow me?” he demanded again.
She decided to tell him. Maybe the truth would hurt him. Maybe he’d realize what he’d lost by betraying her. “I thought you were with another woman,” she said.
“And where were you last night?”
Did he think she’d been with another man? “At The Carlyle.” As much as she wanted to let him wonder, she wasn’t about to appear dishonest. “Alone.”
“Oh, Cyn,” he whispered, his expression softening.
“Don’t ‘Oh, Cyn’ me. You’ve no excuse for not calling me during the trial. You could have explained.”
“I was in the hospital, doped up, with my whole head bandaged. My boss wanted my cover kept a secret, so that I could go after Christopher when I got out.”
His every word was making her furious again. “You could have made someone tell me the truth.”
“I was about to—” His voice was raspy, tinged with longing. “When you announced your engagement.”
She sucked in a quick breath. Maybe he’d really loved her. But if she believed it, she’d have to forget the past, and he’d take Amanda. “You sent those notes!” she accused again.
His hand savagely cupped her chin and he leaned so close that the tips of their noses nearly touched. “There are bad guys,” he said softly. “And they’re out there and they’re real. But I’m not one of them, Cyn.”
His mouth settled on hers with a quick vengeance, as if a kiss could convince her. She wanted to wrench away but couldn’t, not when his lips probed hers farther apart and his hand dropped into her hair in the softest caress she’d ever felt. She found herself weakening against the door, softening against his strength, and kissing him back.
It wasn’t fair that no other man had ever felt so right or fit so snugly against her. It wasn’t fair that only he could kiss her with such dangerous, almost primal need. Her knees nearly buckled beneath her as he drew back then pressed his lips to hers again. Completely against her will, she felt herself arch toward him as his tongue plunged between her lips. Her breasts tingled with awareness, the aching tips straining against the lace of her underwear.
I can’t do this! She violently jerked away. His hand cupped the back of her head swiftly, before it connected with the door. They merely gazed at each other, their breaths coming in gasps.
“Would it really be so terrible,” he finally said, “to have me in your life...to have a father for Amanda?”
“We have a life.” A pleading tone stole into her voice. “A good, stable life. And you used me. I can’t forget it.”
His gaze dropped from her eyes to her lips, then to her chest. He sighed. “C’mon, Cyn,” he said calmly. “Get away from the door.”
She stepped away before she’d thought it through, then watched him get his coat. He’s leaving. Good. As he opened the door, her relief was replaced by heartfelt terror. She assured herself it wasn’t because she was losing him, but because she needed him to protect Amanda. “Where are you going?” she asked uncertainly.
“Where do you think?” he returned. “To get my daughter.”
* * *
“STOP! STOP RIGHT THERE! At least wait! You can’t just...”
For the second time in two days, Cyn was chasing him through the parking garage. This time, her high heels clicked and clattered against the concrete. She was running. Hard.
He’d already learned that she didn’t take no for an answer, so he unlocked the passenger door first, then held it open for her. She whooshed past him breathlessly, in a rush of that sweet-smelling perfume. Once she was inside, he slammed the door.
“Do you mind telling me what you—er—what you—” She gasped as he slid into the driver’s seat and started the car. Too winded to continue, she threw her head back against the headrest and gulped down long, deep breaths while he pulled out of his space and onto Eighty-eighth Street.
“I mean—” She whirled around to face him. “Once you get Amanda, just what exactly do you intend to do with her?”
“You know,” he said, glancing at her. “I was kind of hoping you’d help me figure that one out.”
Her expression softened a little. “Oh,” she murmured in surprise.
His hands tightened on the wheel. “If it hadn’t been for some very strange coinci—”
“If it was a coincidence.”
“I didn’t send the notes.” He sighed. He didn’t believe they’d met again, by coincidence, either. The first notes had been juvenile, and Paxton had a childish streak. Was it possible he’d known that Jackson and Santa were the same man? Had Paxton sent the notes, in hope of reuniting his daughter with the father of her child? If so, why hadn’t he admitted it when he’d been asked directly about the identity of Amanda’s father?
“As far as I knew,” Santa finally said, “you were still married to Harry Stevens. I would never have come here. But now that I have...now that I’ve seen Amanda, I can’t just walk away.”
“You mean, you’re not going to tell her when we get to The Plaza?” Cyn asked.
The sheer hope in her voice made him mad all over again. What right did she have to deny him his daughter? “When I saw Amanda,” he managed to point out reasonably, “I thought she might be mine. I’ve known that she is for over twenty-four hours, and I haven’t told her.” He braked at a light. “Eventually, I mean for Amanda to know she has a father. An honest one who cares about her.” The light changed and he pressed the gas. When he glanced at Cyn, she looked a little flushed.
“All right,” she finally said. “I can never forgive you for using me...but all right.”
He was so surprised, he nearly missed the circular entrance to The Plaza. He concentrated on driving for a moment, until he’d braked again. He stared ahead at the long line of limos and cabs that were also waiting for the parking valet. “You’ll let me tell her?” he finally asked.
For long moments, she didn’t say anything. He glanced through his side window. Various ice sculpture angels were displayed in front of the hotel. As beautiful as they were, they were nothing next to the flesh-and-blood woman beside him. When he glanced at her, she tilted her head and gazed at him.
“Amanda was told that Harry Stevens was her father,” she said softly. “Then she overheard the truth.” She shot him a sad smile. “Mom certainly never approved of the way Daddy handled things. I mean, having me marry Harry was sort of his idea. And Harry—because he wanted to marry me, for real—agreed. It was Daddy who later sort of declared him dead. And then one thing led to another,” she finished in a rush.
Santa nodded. He’d heard all this before. “So?”
“Well, Amanda heard Mom and Dad arguing about it, and then she found out about...Jake. Amanda thinks Jake, who is in jail, is her father.”
For the first time, how things might look from Amanda’s point of view really sank in. “How could you let her think a criminal’s her—”
“Santa, that’s what I thought!”
At least she was calling him Santa now, he thought. Maybe Cyn could forgive him, too, in time. “Well, she can’t go through life thinking that.”
Suddenly her eyes shimmered and looked misty. He almost hoped she’d break down and cry, so he could pull her close, under the guise of comfort. She gulped audibly and blinked. “I just need to think it through,” she said softly.
Was it the truth? Or was she buying time, while she figured out how to get him out of their lives? He shook his head, as if to clear it of confusion. If nothing else, she was the mother of his child, and he was going to trust her. He had to.
“Amanda’s so young,” she continued. “I don’t want her to be any more confused than she already is. Maybe we should even bring in a counselor. I want to decide when to tell her.” Cyn scooted across the seat and one of her long slender fingers reached up and traced the scar on his jaw. “Can you understand that?”
He nodded. The last thing he wanted to do was to confuse his little girl. �
��Why didn’t you stop Paxton from telling all those lies?” he asked. “Why did you let him make such a mess of things?”
“I’d been through the ordeal of the trial. You were gone. I was twenty-four, unmarried and pregnant,” she said, a hint of bitterness touching her voice.
Everything in her tone said he’d broken her heart. He expected her to say it outright. Instead, she scooted back across the seat. “You’ll have to leave my apartment as soon as possible.” The farther away from him she got, the more her voice seemed to harden with resolve. “There can be nothing between us. First, because I’ll never want a man who lies to me. And second, because this is going to be confusing enough for Amanda as it is.”
“I’ll leave as soon as Amanda’s safe,” he said gruffly. He tried to tell himself that he’d gotten what he’d wanted—Amanda. To hell with Cyn.
He realized horns were blaring all around him and glanced through the windshield. Sure enough, all the cars in front of them were gone. One glance into Cyn’s eyes, he thought, and the whole world ceased to exist. Forget it. Just concentrate on getting Amanda.
* * *
“MOMMY! I ATE THREE candy bars and watched lots of TV!” Amanda flew into Cyn’s arms. She was getting heavy, but Cyn managed to swing her around in countless, dizzying circles. Then they collapsed on the bed in The Plaza’s suite.
“Tickle fest!” Cyn exclaimed, wiggling her fingers against Amanda’s ribs.
“Grandmama and Granddaddy are gonna take me to the Christmas trees from around the world!” Amanda broke into a fit of giggles. “I won’t go if Mr. Santa can’t.” Amanda rolled away from Cyn and shot a guilty glance at the rent-a-cop. “And Mr. Thomas is gonna come.”
Cyn glanced up. She’d left Amanda with Mr. Thomas and her mother, but both her parents were in the suite. Together. In the same room. For a moment the only sound came from the TV. It’s a Wonderful Life was on. Cyn blinked, then looked at Santa. He seemed surprised, too.
“Santa Claus!” Amanda lunged off the bed and shot toward Santa. He caught her in his arms and settled her on his hip.