Her Secret, His Love-Child Read online

  Had Strauss seen Katrina dressed like this? Had he peeled the figure-hugging black top and faded tracksuit-bottoms off the sleek lines of her body before making love to her?

  ‘Who is Peter Strauss to you?’ He knew he shouldn’t ask the question but was unable to hold it back.

  She stiffened beneath the loose hold he had on her throat and her cat-like green eyes flashed quick-silver. ‘That is none of your business. Our relationship is over, remember?’ she said, tossing her head.

  Her fragrance filtered into the air. Alex inhaled without meaning to, filling his lungs with the smell of her.

  His head spun.

  His heart pounded.

  His body hardened.

  Let her go, a little voice in his head instructed with warning. Let her go before you do something stupid.

  Alex prided himself on his logic. The little voice in his head made a lot of sense.

  Still, Alex couldn’t bring himself to release her.

  Frustration imploded inside of him.

  She was right.

  He knew she was right.

  ‘I don’t care who you sleep with,’ Alex said harshly, wondering whether she knew he was lying through his teeth. ‘You can sleep with ten men for all I care.’ If she did, he would commit murder. ‘I’m thinking of the child. She needs to be brought up in a moral environment.’

  ‘The child has a name,’ Katrina said pointedly. ‘And I think that’s a little bit rich coming from you!’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Meaning you’ve had more women than you can probably count, so I don’t think you should be pointing fingers.’

  His fingers curled more closely around her throat. ‘Don’t push me, Katrina.’

  ‘Or what? What will you do? Kiss me again like you did this morning?’ she goaded.

  His eyes dropped to her mouth. She had the most beautiful mouth, just made for kissing.

  ‘Yes,’ he said huskily, and did what he’d wanted to do since he’d walked into the room.

  Acting on gut instinct, he bent his head and claimed her mouth with his.

  Unlike this morning, Katrina didn’t put up even a show of resistance.

  This time, she kissed him right back with a depth of hunger that struck deep inside him.

  Groaning in the back of his throat, Alex hooked an arm around the small of her back and pulled her closer until nothing, not even air, came between them.

  He ignored the fact that their relationship was over and he shouldn’t be kissing her at all.

  He ignored the fact that a young child, in all likelihood his daughter, lay sleeping innocently in the bedroom behind them.

  He ignored everything except touching her and tasting her and relishing the familiar feel of her in his arms.

  He deepened the kiss. Her arms made their way up and around his neck, where she dug her fingers into his hair.

  The flash-fire of primitive desire laid claim to every ounce of tissue in his body. Muscles strained to get closer to her. His skin shrank around his bones. His heart and his pulse didn’t feel as if they belonged to him as they beat out a frantic tattoo.

  He urged her backwards, instinctively seeking and finding the lounge. The backs of her knees hit the edge of a seat and he tumbled her on to the cushions.

  He looked down. One spaghetti-thin strap had slipped off a creamy shoulder, baring the swell of her breast to his gaze.

  His body throbbed—hard.

  And, then again, even harder.

  Then his eyes landed on a stuffed toy sitting in the corner of the lounge.

  It was a brown gorilla. And it appeared to be staring at him.

  Alex froze.

  This was madness. Absolute and utter madness.

  Until this situation was sorted, he shouldn’t be touching her.

  He took a step backwards.

  And then another.

  Then he said, ‘We can’t do this.’

  Katrina flopped back against the sofa.

  She was weak, breathing heavily, body pulsing.

  He was right; they shouldn’t be doing this.

  She closed her eyes.

  Why, oh why, had she let Alex kiss her? And why, oh why, had she kissed him back? He thought she was a liar and a cheat. He thought she was low enough to try and foist another man’s child on him. She needed her head read for letting him anywhere near her.

  She breathed in deeply and willed her heart to stop its frantic beating.

  ‘I think you’d better leave,’ she murmured without looking at him.

  Katrina could feel him looking at her bent head.

  ‘Are you OK?’ he asked finally.

  Her eyes snapped open before flashing to his. ‘I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?’

  ‘Why indeed?’

  Alex walked to the door and pulled it open. ‘I’ll call you when I get the results.’

  ‘You do that,’ she said, just before the door closed with a quiet click.

  Katrina was cleaning the fridge two days later, trying to take her mind off the fact that today was the day the DNA test results were due, when the doorbell rang.

  Immediately, she tensed.

  What if it was Alex?

  She hadn’t received her set of results yet, but that didn’t mean Alex hadn’t received his.

  How was he going to react to the news that Samantha was indeed his daughter?

  Stripping off her green rubber-gloves, she tossed them on to the sideboard before hurrying to the door. She paused and took a deep breath before pulling it open.

  It was Alex.

  But it was an Alex she’d never seen before.

  He looked ill. Grey. Strained. Older.

  She gripped his arm, which was rock-hard with tension.

  ‘Alex, what’s wrong? Are you sick? Do you want me to call a doctor?’

  He shook his head but didn’t answer her.

  She all but pulled him into the apartment.

  It was then she noticed the piece of paper gripped in his clenched fist.

  Her heart plummeted to her toes with sickening speed, then jolted into the back of her throat.

  ‘Is that…is that the test results?’ she choked out.

  Alex looked at his hand as if surprised to see he was still clutching the document.

  He nodded, his fist unclenching as if it was spring loaded.

  The paper bearing the logo of the laboratory dropped to the carpet.

  Katrina didn’t bother picking it up. Didn’t bother because she knew the results.

  Alex lifted his head and stared at her. His face was empty of expression and Katrina registered that he was in some kind of shock.

  ‘Samantha is my daughter,’ he said simply, his voice so low she could barely hear him.

  Katrina nodded.

  ‘I’m a father,’ he croaked.

  Again, she nodded. ‘Yes. Yes, you are.’

  He ran a hand through his hair and around the back of his neck. ‘I thought I was prepared for this. When you suggested the DNA test, I knew you had to be pretty sure I was the father. But seeing it in black and white…’ He shook his head. ‘It’s knocked me for six.’

  Katrina could see that. She’d never seen Alex like this.

  But she found it hard to be sympathetic. She’d told him the truth so many times, she’d practically turned blue in the face. But he hadn’t listened to her.

  Not once.

  Even when she’d suggested the DNA test he hadn’t given her an inch.

  ‘Do you have something to drink?’ Alex asked.

  ‘I presume you’re not referring to tea or coffee?’

  ‘Whiskey, if you have it?’

  ‘I think Peter has some,’ she said.

  She went to the kitchen cabinet where Peter kept his alcohol. Finding a bottle of whiskey towards the back, she poured a decent measure into a tumbler she pulled from the adjoining cupboard.

  ‘Here,’ she said, holding the glass out towards him.

  Alex walked tow
ards her as stiffly as a store mannequin come to life, took the glass and threw the whiskey down his throat in one fell swoop. The liquid must have burned on the way down, but he looked like he relished the sensation, and when he turned towards her a moment later the spark of life was back in his eyes.

  ‘I want to see her.’ His voice was stronger now, his face determined. This was the Alex she knew so well. The successful businessman who knew exactly where he was going and what he wanted.

  ‘Of course.’ Katrina didn’t hesitate. She’d approached Alex because she wanted him to be a part of Samantha’s life. It looked like that started now. She pointed to the corner of the room near the window. ‘She’s in her pram.’

  He nodded. His eyes were fixed with unwavering concentration on the pram as he crossed the room and looked down.

  Alex bent over the pram, his heart kicking like a bucking bronco in his chest.

  As soon as he did so, the baby smiled up at him.

  She had his eyes, Alex realised, his heart squeezing tight in his chest, an emotion he hadn’t felt before blossoming inside him.

  Or had she?

  Didn’t all babies have blue eyes when they were born?

  He wasn’t sure, but he preferred to think she took after him.

  ‘Hello, Samantha,’ he said, his voice little more than a croak, his throat so tight he could barely speak.

  The baby gurgled and thrashed her little arms and legs.

  She was wearing some pink all-in-one thing with a bright-pink bunny motif on her chest. She looked so cute, his heart wrenched again.

  ‘She’s beautiful.’

  Katrina appeared in his peripheral vision. ‘Yes. Yes, she is.’

  ‘She’s so tiny.’

  Katrina laughed. ‘She may be small, but she has a good set of lungs on her.’

  He turned, a smile tilting the corners of his mouth. ‘Does she?’

  Katrina nodded. ‘Yes. She’s a determined little miss. I’d say she takes after you in that regard. When she’s hungry, or needs changing, she makes sure everyone in a ten-mile radius know about it.’

  ‘How old is she?’ he asked, staring back into the pram.

  ‘She was born on the nineteenth of April, so she’s a little over seven weeks old. She weighed two-point-eight kilograms and was fifty-point-seven centimetres long.’

  Alex felt his heart turn over. ‘I wish I’d been there to see her born.’ For the first time, he thought about what Katrina must have gone through. ‘Was it a difficult birth?’

  She shrugged. ‘Difficult enough, I suppose. I was in labour for twenty-one hours.’

  ‘But you’re all right?’

  She nodded. ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘And Samantha?’

  ‘She’s fine too.’ She smiled. ‘She has all her fingers and toes.’

  ‘I should have been there,’ he ground out, hands clenched into fists at his side.

  Guilt ate into him.

  He’d spent years trying not to follow in his father’s footsteps.

  And on a business front he’d succeeded.

  More than succeeded.

  He’d worked two jobs to pay for his university fees. He’d studied when other students had been out partying. And when he’d got his first real job he’d worked his tail off, clawing his way to the top with sheer grit and determination.

  On a personal front, it was a different story.

  Although he was popular with the ladies, Alex didn’t want to have the kind of relationship his parents had had. Marriage had trapped them in a cauldron of constant fighting and unhappiness.

  He preferred to keep his relationships short, sweet and simple.

  The minute things started to go south, he just walked away.

  And as to having children? Well, they’d been off the agenda too.

  Since his father’s blood pumped through his veins, there was a chance—even if it was only a slim one—that he would follow in his father’s footsteps.

  After all, he’d inherited lots of other things from him: the physical resemblance was almost uncanny. Alex had seen photos of his father when he was younger, and it was like looking at a photo of himself as he was today.

  But it was the other traits—little things that didn’t mean a lot on their own but when put together meant something else entirely—that sent a chill down his spine.

  They were both left-handed.

  They were both allergic to peanuts and strawberries.

  They both had a habit of running their hands through their hair and around the back of their necks. Every now and then, Alex would catch himself doing it and would shiver at the likeness.

  The list was endless.

  If he’d inherited all of those things, what was to say his father’s abusive nature hadn’t been inbred in him and was just waiting for the right time to show itself?

  James Webber had abused his children without a second thought.

  Alex had considered it far better not to have children in the first place than to risk hurting them later on.

  But against all the odds he had become a father.

  And what had he done?

  The first thing he’d done was let his daughter down.

  He’d abandoned Samantha—and Katrina—when they’d needed him.

  Katrina moved away from him. ‘Yes. You should have been.’

  Alex stiffened at the recrimination in her voice. Although he had a lot to answer for, he was not alone in that. Anger crackled up his spine. ‘I’m willing to take partial responsibility for what happened,’ he said harshly. ‘But so should you. If you hadn’t disappeared the way you did, then we wouldn’t be in this situation.’

  She jutted her chin defiantly into the air, her eyes spitting emerald fire at him. ‘Don’t try to blame this on me, Alex. I told you I was pregnant with your child and all you did was insult me. You preferred to think I’d been sleeping around.’

  ‘I told you I was in shock. You should have tried again.’

  ‘Uh-uh. No way!’ She shook her head vigorously from side to side. ‘Do you have any idea how offensive you were? Even if I’d been feeling one-hundred percent, I still wouldn’t have wanted to face that again. And, since my morning sickness had well and truly kicked in by then the thought of confronting you made me want to throw up.’

  Even though Alex had actively avoided having anything to do with children, and the families having them, he had heard enough to know how debilitating morning sickness could be. The fact that Katrina had suffered from it without his support merely deepened his guilt.

  ‘OK. You’ve made your point. But do you realise it was less than forty-eight hours before I went to your apartment to talk to you?’

  Her eyes spat that emerald fire at him again, until Alex half-expected his hair to catch fire. ‘If you expect me to applaud you for that, then you’re wrong. You should have followed me home straight away and apologised.’

  Alex ran a hand through his hair and around the back of his neck, noticed what he was doing and ruthlessly dragged his hand back down to his side. ‘You’re right. I should have.’

  ‘But you didn’t. As a result, I went through my pregnancy and the birth alone without anyone there to support me.’

  Alex clamped his hands into fists at his side, an invisible hand clawing at his insides. ‘You had no one with you?’

  ‘No.’

  Alex turned back to the pram, not so much to look at his daughter as not to look at Katrina. He should have been there to provide her with the support she needed.

  It was all well and good kicking himself now, but it couldn’t undo the damage he’d done.

  As if deciding that she preferred him smiling to scowling, Samantha suddenly started to cry. Despite the gravity of their conversation, Alex found himself smiling as the sound ripped into his eardrums. ‘I see what you mean. That’s some sound.’

  ‘She’s only just started. Give her a few minutes to get to full throttle, and you’ll know what she’s really capable of.’<
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  Alex grimaced. ‘God forbid!’ He turned expectantly to Katrina. ‘Aren’t you supposed to pick her up when she cries?’

  She gestured with one hand. ‘You’re the closest.’

  Alex took a step back from the pram. And then another. His heart knocked on his breast bone. ‘I couldn’t. I might drop her.’

  ‘I’m sure you won’t. Just make sure you support her head and neck.’

  Alex looked back into the pram. Samantha’s face was rapidly changing from pale red to beetroot, and the volume of her cries had grown several decibels.

  Dragging in a breath, he gingerly reached in and picked her up.

  She weighed practically nothing and almost fit into the palms of his hands. ‘You’re just perfect, aren’t you?’ he whispered, feeling the truth of that statement reverberate deep inside him.

  Samantha stopped crying and stared up at him. Carefully, he shifted her into the crook of his arm.

  She smelled sweet—powdery. Babyish. Completely and utterly unique.

  An invisible hand reached into his chest and clamped around his heart. He could hardly breathe, as if a steel band had been slipped around him and tightened until it hurt.

  Samantha was his.

  Flesh of his flesh.

  Blood of his blood.

  Something primitive surged inside.

  He wanted to hug Samantha to his chest and never let go.

  It was a deep-rooted feeling of possession he’d never felt before.

  He looked at his daughter and felt tears sting the back of his eyes.

  He stroked a gentle hand over her hair, several shades lighter than his own. ‘My hair was that colour when I was born. It got darker as I got older.’

  ‘No doubt Sam’s will do the same,’ Katrina acknowledged.

  He swallowed, once. Twice. Three times.

  He dragged in a breath. Then another.

  And made a silent promise to his daughter—a promise to do all the things his father should have done but hadn’t.

  And a promise not to do the things his father should not have done but had.

  Carefully, he held the baby out to Katrina. ‘Here. You’d better take her.’ He sniffed. ‘I think she needs changing.’

  Katrina took Samantha from him and walked to the small dining table, one end of which had been set up as a baby-change table.

  Alex thrust his now-empty hands deep into his trouser pockets as he watched Katrina expertly unsnap the fastenings of the jump suit and begin changing his daughter’s nappy.