More Than Perfect(62)

 When he and Angie had first made their devil’s bargain, somehow, someway, she’d managed to release him from that. How had it happened? When had it happened? Without him even being fully aware of it, she’d infiltrated his life, knocking down barriers, easing that long, lean glorious body of hers into every aspect of his world, even the private corners where she didn’t belong. He closed his eyes. Where she’d become so damn necessary. Vital. Needed. Oh, hell. Where he’d fallen in love with her and slowly—like a tender shoot shoving its way through an earth still half-frozen from winter’s barren chill—ever so slowly, come alive again.

 Which only made her betrayal all the more cutting. Then he’d arrived home and found her in a wedding dress. God in heaven. She’d been breathtaking. Radiant. And the expression on her face… It had been that of a woman caught in a moment of perfect happiness. Until he’d stolen that moment from her. Until he’d stripped her of the dream the way she’d stripped herself of her wedding gown. And if the sight of her in that gown had threatened to bring him to his knees, it didn’t begin to compare to what he’d experienced seeing her in those filmy bits of ivory, barely held together with satin bows of promise. Bows he’d have given anything to untie, one by one by everlasting one.

 Frustration welled up inside. “Damn it, if she didn’t betray me, why didn’t she stay? Why didn’t she fight?”

 There had to be a reason and the only one he came up with was that he’d been right about her working for the Ridgeways. And yet… Now that he’d had more time to reflect, seen the quiet pain and hurt anger of her response—or lack of response—it simply didn’t add up. He blew out a sigh. Mikey glanced up at him and babbled out a question.

 “Yeah, we’re going after her. And this time we’re not leaving until she tells us why she had Jett set her up as my perfect wife. And then there will be bows to untie.” He gave Mikey a man-to-man look. “That’s a bit like hell to pay, only a lot more fun.”

 He snatched up Mikey’s diaper bag, intent on giving chase and that’s when he saw the envelope poking out of one of the zippered pockets, his name neatly scripted across the outside. He instantly recognized Angie’s handwriting. Finally. An explanation.

 “Let’s hear what she has to say for herself.” He slid a hip on the arm of the couch, tucked Mikey more securely into the crook of one arm and opened the envelope. It took him almost a full minute to process the information. “Oh, God.”

 The test results drifted from his grasp and his second arm wrapped solidly around Mikey. Around his son. He reached out a trembling hand, stroking it along Mikey’s downy cheek, his black gaze locking with an equally black gaze. He had a son. All this time, Mikey was his and he never knew. Never even suspected, not after that initial paternity test. Worst of all, he’d had his son in his life for a full three months and refused to allow himself to get too close, to open himself up to the bond steadily growing between them. And why?

 Fear.

 Fear of abandonment. Fear of giving himself over to love. Fear of losing control.

 Fear of allowing another person in, a person who could hurt him, compromise him emotionally.

 He closed his eyes. How close had he come to losing his son? If the Ridgeways had won custody of Mikey would it even have occurred to him to demand a second paternity test? Highly doubtful. If it hadn’t been for Angie…

 He slowly straightened. Angie. How the bloody hell had she known? And how had she gotten a sample of his DNA to have tested in the first place? If Mikey truly was his son and she’d figured out what no one else had, then it didn’t make sense that she was in the employ of the Ridgeways. Nothing made any sense anymore. Only one person possessed the answers he required.

 Angie. He needed to find Angie.





It had been an endless night, one in which Angie had gotten next to no sleep. She’d returned home after her fight with Lucius, not quite certain what to do with herself in the little cottage that was her home, and yet, wasn’t anymore.

 She’d wandered from room to room while minutes ticked into hours and evening transitioned to night. Little by little, she realized Lucius wouldn’t come. Night deepened into that still, dense time where hope slipped away while fears gathered and wandered freely. And still he didn’t come. Not until dawn chased away the darkness that seemed to have seeped into the walls and furnishings, into the very pores of the house, did Angie finally fall asleep on the couch, curled into a tight ball, an afghan wrapped around her for warmth and comfort.