Inherited:OneChild(30)

No, not just his niece. Annalise's daughter.

She hadn't accepted the position of Isabella's nanny with the intent of   attracting a wealthy husband. It hadn't been about him at all. All her   attention, all her focus, had been directed toward Isabella and helping   her child recover from a hideous trauma that had forever changed her   young life.

Even by giving Isabella up for adoption, Annalise had proven that she'd   put Isabella first and done what was best for his niece. Marrying him   had simply been one more step in that process. He might have wanted her   focus to widen enough to include him. But that wasn't her first  priority  and never would be. Her child was Annalise's priority. He  closed his  eyes.

Their child.

His gaze drifted to Isabella and he accepted the inescapable truth. She   was his niece and he'd always keep her parent's memory alive for her.   But at some point, he'd stopped thinking of her as an extension of   Joanne and Paul, and begun to think of her as part of himself. A vital   part.

As though sensing his attention, Isabella's head jerked up and she   looked at him and beamed with happiness. Sweeping Mister Mayhem into her   arms, she trotted over to him and climbed into his lap. He hugged her   close, inhaling the sweet, baby scent of her. From tragedy had come an   existence he'd never believed possible.

It didn't matter what it took. It didn't matter what he had to   sacrifice. It didn't even matter that he'd never be first in Annalise's   life or heart. He and Isabella needed her and he'd do whatever  necessary  to bring his wife home. But there was something he had to do  first.

He gathered Isabella close and prayed he'd find the right words. "Do you   remember when we talked about finding people to adopt Madam's puppies,   like you were adopted?" he asked.

Isabella nodded, though he could tell she still pouted a bit at the thought.

"Do you also remember me telling you about your other mommy? She's the   one who gave birth to you before you were adopted?" When Isabella nodded   again, he rested his cheek against the soft curls crowning her head.  He  gathered his self-control and spoke gently. Carefully. Lovingly.   "There's something I need to tell you about your birth mommy … "



Jack arrived at the boatyard early that same afternoon. Sun pounded down   on him as he walked the weathered planks toward the large charter  yacht  he'd been informed belonged to Robert Stefano. He saw Annalise's  father  before the other man caught sight of him. It gave Jack a few  seconds to  further assess the man and get some sort of handle on him.

Lean and muscular, Robert Stefano wore cutoff shorts and a sleeveless   tee, which made him look all the younger and more virile than when he'd   first introduced himself. He didn't wear a cap and the sun picked out   the burnished streaks that were so similar to Isabella's. He must have   realized that he was being watched. His head jerked up and he stiffened,   like one predator sensing the presence of another. Slowly, he swung   around. Cursing roundly, he stalked down the pier, planting himself   square in Jack's path. He folded his well-muscled arms across an equally   muscular chest.                       
       
           



       

"What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded.

Jack assessed his opponent-who also happened to be his father-in-law. He   could take the man if he had to. Maybe. He imitated Robert's stance.   "I've come for my wife, even if I have to go through you to get to her.   But when I leave, it's with Annalise. Now, I can do it with your   cooperation, or without. Your choice."

"I vote for 'without.' She's not a real wife to you. She's just a means   to an end, and I won't let you use her. So turn around, son." A vicious   smile slashed across Robert's face. "You don't stand a chance against   me. I eat pencil pushers like you for breakfast."

Jack planted himself, hoping for peace, but prepared for the battle of   his life. "Annalise tells me you raised her on your own after her mother   died."

"I did." Open grief touched his tanned face before being ruthlessly   suppressed. "I let that girl down when she was sixteen. I won't let her   down now."

"Sounds like we have ourselves a problem, because I don't want to let   Isabella down. She needs Annalise." He drew a deep breath and confessed,   "I need Annalise."

Suspicion glinted in Robert's green eyes. "For your niece?"

Jack shook his head. "For me. It just took me a while to realize that.   Isabella was the excuse I used to bind Annalise to me without admitting   why I wanted her."

Robert's arms dropped to his sides and he cocked his head to one side in   a gesture eerily similar to Annalise's. "And why is that?"

Jack didn't bother to pull his punches or hide behind his pride. He put   it all out there for the other man to rummage through. "Because I love   your daughter."

Robert eyed him for a long moment, before nodding in satisfaction. "Then   what are you doing wasting your time jawing with me?" He stepped  aside.  "Go tell my daughter how you feel and put her out of her  misery."

"I'll get right on that." Jack didn't hesitate. He passed by the other man and walked toward his future.

"Mason?" Robert waited until Jack turned. "That's two of mine in your care. I will be watching you."

Jack nodded. He could accept that. "I'd be doing the exact same thing if   I were in your position." He swung aboard only to have Robert stop him   again.

"Oh, and Mason?"

"Yes, sir?"

"You couldn't have taken me."

Jack grinned. "I would have enjoyed trying."

Robert returned the grin. "Yeah. Me, too."

A cursory glance told Jack that Annalise wasn't topside. He crossed the   deck to the steps leading to the shadowed interior. His wife stood in   the small, efficient galley, her back to him. He paused and allowed   himself the luxury of watching her graceful movements as she went about   the mundane task of putting a meal together.

She'd swept her hair into a casual ponytail, and the ringlets bounced   with each dip and sway of her body. She wore a thin cotton tee that   hugged her curves and screeched to a halt a scant couple of inches short   of a pair of low-slung shorts that bared her endless legs to his view.   He was about to announce his presence when she spoke without turning.

"I have your lunch ready, Dad. Grab a beer out of the fridge if you want one."

"I don't want a beer, thanks."

Her spine went rigid and she carefully returned the plate to the counter   with hands that trembled. She drew a careful breath before spinning   around. "Jack."

"Annalise."

One look warned that her control was as tenuous as his own.   Unfortunately, he still couldn't read her as well as he'd hoped. Why had   she married him? Was it just for Isabella, or was there more? He'd   obsessed over the question ever since his conversation with Mrs. Locke.   He wanted to be able to take one look and see the answer in her face.   But it wasn't there, and unadulterated fear threatened to bring him to   his knees.

"I've been expecting a call from Derek," she said. "I'm surprised you came, instead."

Gathering every shred of composure at his command, Jack leaned his hip   against the counter and shrugged. "What's this got to do with Derek?   You're my wife, not his."

Her chin assumed a combative angle. "For now."

"Forever," he stated decisively.

She shook her head. "Forget it, Jack. I won't live with someone who believes I'm capable of-"

"Stop." He cut her off with that one, quiet word. Perhaps it was the way   he said it-naked pain leaking into the single syllable. Whatever the   reason, it worked and she stumbled to a halt. "Please, sweetheart.   You're killing me."                       
       
           



       

She gazed at him with a heartbreaking defenselessness that he   recognized, mainly because he felt it, too. It was an emotion he'd never   experienced before … until now. He'd always been the tough one. He'd   always held himself at a safe distance, refusing to allow himself to   feel or show the vulnerability she displayed so openly. And what had   that gotten him? Money. Success. But what were those in comparison to an   empty heart and a cold bed, and a little girl waiting for a mother?   He'd had a taste of heaven, and he would do anything and everything to   have that back.