Fine time for that to happen.
He gazed down at the baby. The fluffy ears atop her round head made her look incredibly cute. Her mouth moved and she blew a raspberry, then her face broke into a smile.
A wave of emotion swamped Nick. Only one thing was certain. Jennie wasn’t his. He’d known it when Jilly had stopped all the talk about their baby. Even though he’d never called her on it, and maintained the fiction that the IVF had been successful—with his sperm. So how had he allowed this to happen? How could this little imp have crawled into the empty space in his heart?
Naturally, Candace wanted Jennie back. What mother wouldn’t?
A tight chill settled over him.
Well, he wasn’t going to make it easy.
For whatever reason, Candace had chosen to give Jennie up. She might regret her decision, but she’d made it, she’d signed a surrogacy agreement and he could find the document and make sure she stuck with whatever terms it entailed. He was sure Jilly would’ve adopted Jennie…he’d need to check whether he could’ve been included in the adoption without his knowledge.
But Jennie had been living with him for the past six months and Candace hadn’t shown any interest in the baby during that time. No court would ignore that.
A premonition of the battle to come flashed before his eyes. He’d find out all the facts, get top legal advice. As far as he was concerned, he had as much right to the baby as Candace. More, in his mind. Then there was the fact that he’d been misled…made to believe the baby was his wife’s child. Surely that would carry weight, too?
Because he wasn’t about to give Jennie up. Not without a fight.
Candace would have to live with the choice she had made.
Nick’s study was a surprise.
Candace hadn’t been inside Nick’s private domain before, and it was a total departure from the highly polished and reflective black-white-and-acid-yellow decor of the rest of the house.
This space was welcoming…
Homey.
Under normal circumstances the deep-brown leather sofas would’ve invited her to sink down, and the rows of books on the wooden shelves would’ve tempted her to browse between the covers. But now the sight of Nick standing with his back to her—arms akimbo, looking out the window into the darkness beyond—caused her stomach to knot. She was all too conscious of the huge divide between them. She was a nurse, a working woman, accustomed to long shifts; he was a millionaire, a man with a fortune at his command.
But what did it matter that he wore three-hundred-dollar jeans while hers had cost thirty dollars at Kmart? Or that his loafers were made of the finest Italian leather, whereas her slippers had come out of the supermarket bargain box? What did wealth matter when it came to love?
He swung around. His face was sterner than she’d ever seen it. “I have some questions I want answered.” He gestured to the nearest sofa. “Sit down.”
Candace perched on the edge and her strung-out nerves almost gave out. She pulled herself together. “I assume you wanted to see me because you have the test results and you’ve discovered that I was telling you the truth—and now you’re ready to apologize to me.”
Nick made a choking sound. “Apologize?”
“You’ve been treating me like I was some lowlife liar instead of the Good Samaritan who agreed to help you and your wife.”
“Hang on a mo—”
“Jilly told me you were both undyingly grateful for a chance to have a baby.” Candace flinched as the word undyingly hovered between them.
Before she could say sorry for her tactless word choice, he’d settled himself on the other end of the sofa she was on, and Candace reminded herself that Nick Valentine’s own behavior in this mess was certainly less than laudable.
“Jilly was—”
“—delightful.” Candace glared sideways at him. “You should’ve taken a leaf out your wife’s book. In all the months I was pregnant you never once came to visit.”
His face went blank. “Why the hell should I have come to visit you?”
“To say thank you for the enormous gift I gave you both.” Her throat thickened and she felt like she was about to cry. Damned if she would. “But no, your work was too damn important.”
“Wait, I didn’t know—”
“How long were you married?” She wasn’t interested in what he thought, didn’t want to hear his justifications. When he didn’t answer she repeated, “How long?”
“Seven years.” Nick muttered, clearly reluctant to admit it.
“Did you love your wife?”
“That’s none of your business!”