Her Little Secret, His Hidden Heir(12)

When Danny began to fuss and wouldn't take another bite, Marc set aside the jars and spoon, and brushed his hands together.

"I'd like to pick him up for a minute," he said, splitting his gaze   between his expensive suit and his infant son, who was doing his best   imitation of a compost pile, "but … "

"Definitely not," Vanessa agreed, grabbing a damp cloth to wipe the   worst of the excess food from Danny's mouth and chin. "Let Aunt Helen   get him cleaned up and maybe you can hold him when we get back, if he's   still awake."

Marc didn't look completely pleased with that idea, but since the   alternative was ruining a suit that probably cost more than most   people's monthly mortgage payment, he wisely refrained from reaching out   and getting covered by Gerber's finest.

"Shouldn't we go?" she prompted as he pushed to his feet and Aunt Helen rounded the table to scoop Danny from the swing.

Still looking reluctant to leave, Marc nodded and followed her back   through the house to the front door. Outside, he led her to his car,   which was parked at the curb, and helped her inside.

"What do you do when he's a mess like that?" Marc asked once he'd climbed in beside her.

She twisted in her seat to face him, noticing the frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. "What do you mean?"

"How do you not pick up your own child?"

Vanessa blinked, wondering if she'd heard him correctly. Oh, she heard   the words clearly enough, but was that a hint of guilt stealing through   his tone? Guilt from a man she hadn't thought understood the concept?   Who'd let her walk away without a fight, with barely an explanation?

"Marc." Shaking her head, she ducked her chin to keep him from seeing   the amusement tugging at her lips. "I know this is all new to you. I   know finding out about Danny was quite a shock, but you have nothing to   feel guilty about. He's a baby. As long as all of his needs are met, he   doesn't care who's feeding him, who's holding him, who's changing his   diaper."                       
       
           



       

If anything, Marc's frown deepened. "That isn't true. Infants know the   difference between their parents and simply a babysitter, between their   mother and their father."

"All right," she acquiesced, "but rest assured that there are plenty of   times I don't pick him up right after he's eaten because I don't want   him to get food on my clothes. Or worse yet, yurk on me."

"Yurk?"

"It's what Aunt Helen and I call a 'yucky burp,'" she explained,   wrinkling her nose in distaste. "Believe me, once you've had soured milk   or formula spit up all over you, you learn fast not to wear nice   clothes around a baby and to keep a towel handy."

Without a thought of what she was doing, she reached across the console   and patted his thigh. "If you're going to be in town for a while to   spend time with him, get yourself some nice, cheap jeans and T-shirts,   and expect them to get dirty on a regular basis. But don't worry about   tonight. I didn't hold him this morning, either, because I was dressed   up for my meeting with you. That's one of the great things about having   Aunt Helen around. I can't do everything all by myself and she helps to   pick up the slack."

Meeting her gaze, Marc wrapped his fingers around hers, holding her hand   in place, even when she tried to pull it away. "I should be the one   helping you with Danny, not your aunt. But don't worry, we're going to   talk about that over dinner. Among other things."



Despite the threat of The Big Talk and being pinned to her chair like a   bug under Marc's intense scrutiny and personal version of the Spanish   Inquisition, dinner was actually quite enjoyable. He took her to the   hotel's dining room, which was actually one of the more moderately   upscale restaurants in town and attempted to ply her with wine and crab   cakes. Of course, since she was breast-feeding, the wine was a no-no,   but the crab cakes were delicious. Maybe because he let her eat them in   peace.

As soon as the waitress topped off their coffees and they'd made their   dessert selections, however, she knew the stay of execution was over.   Marc cupped his hands around the ceramic mug and leaned forward in his   seat, causing her to tense slightly in her own.

"What was the pregnancy like?" he asked, getting straight to the point, as usual.

Vanessa blew out a small breath, relieved that he was at least starting   out with an easy question instead of immediately launching into demands   and ugly accusations.

"It was pretty typical, I think," she told him. "Bearing in mind I'd   never been pregnant before and didn't really know what to expect. But   there were no complications and even the morning sickness wasn't too   bad. It didn't always limit itself to mornings, which made getting the   bakery open and working twelve-hour days a bit of an adventure," she   added with a chuckle, "but it wasn't as terrible as I'd expected."

From there he wanted to know every detail of Danny's birth. Date, time,   length, weight, how long her labor had lasted-all facts that she'd  taken  for granted. In his shoes, though, she could imagine how  desperate she  would be to learn and memorize every one of them.

"I should have been there," he said softly, staring down at the table.   Then he lifted his gaze to hers. "I deserved to be there. For all of   it."

Her heart lurched and she braced herself for the onslaught, for every   bit of anger and resentment she knew he had to be feeling … and that she   probably deserved. But instead of lashing out, his voice remained level.

"As much as it bothers me, there's no going back, we can only move forward. So here's the deal, Vanessa."

His green eyes bore into her, the same look she suspected he gave rival   business associates during mergers and tricky acquisitions.

"Now that I know about Danny, I want in on everything. I'll stick around   here for a while, until you get used to that idea. Until I get the  hang  of being a father and he starts to recognize me that way. But  after  that, I'm going to want to take him home."

At that, at the mention of his home, not hers, Vanessa went still, her   shoulders stiffening and her fingers tightening on the handle of her   coffee cup.

"That's not a threat," he added quickly, obviously noticing how tense   her body had gone. "I'm not saying I want to take him back to Pittsburgh   forever. I honestly don't know yet how we're going to work out the   logistics of that, but we can discuss it later. I'm only talking about a   visit so I can introduce him to my family, let my mother know she has   another grandchild."                       
       
           



       

Oh, Eleanor would love that, Vanessa thought with derision. She'd be   thrilled with another grandchild, especially another male grandchild to   carry on the Keller name. But that grandchild's mother was another   story-and Marc's mother would only truly be happy with Vanessa out of   the picture.

"And what if I don't agree? To any of it."

One dark brow winged upward. "Then I'll be forced to threaten, I   suppose. But is that really the direction you want to go? I've been   pretty amicable about this entire situation so far, even though I think   we both know I have more than enough reason to be furious over it."

Taking a sip of his coffee, he tipped his head to the side, looking much calmer than she felt.

"If you want me to be furious and toss around ugly threats you know I   can follow through on, that's fine, just say the word. But if you'd   rather act like two mature adults determined to create the best   environment possible for their child, then I suggest you go along with   my plans."

"Do I have a choice?" she grumbled, understanding better than ever the adage about being stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Marc's smile was equal parts cocky and confident. "You had the choice of   whether or not to tell me you were pregnant in the first place, and  you  decided not to, so … not really. The ball is in my court now."





Six




The ball was most definitely in Marc's court-along with everything else.   But then, she'd known that the minute he'd walked up the stairs to the   bakery's second-floor apartment and discovered he had a son, hadn't  she?  Her only option now was to play nice and hope he would continue to  do  the same.