EIGHTEEN
He had to put her down.
Alek continued to rock the chair he was sitting in by lightly pushing with his foot. He released the tiny hand with its teensy fingers so he could stare at his daughter’s perfect little face again. Soft, round cheeks, tiny chin, button nose, bow lips—that pursed and made a sucking motion every little while that without fail made him smile and choke up. Her hair was a few shades lighter than his. What color were her eyes?
He had to put her down.
Shit. He would gladly have walked to Old Westbury so that he could keep her in his arms. He lingered, needing to feel her just a little longer, and it wasn’t until another ten minutes had passed that he finally got up and placed her back in the crib.
Time to go out and close this chapter of Sacha’s life, he thought as he reluctantly left the nursery.
The moment he walked out and saw her rise from the sofa, looking drawn and anxious, her eyes red-rimmed, the peace he’d found being in his daughter’s presence shriveled. Sacha had changed out of her evening wear and now had on a pair of black yoga pants and a loose-fitting long-sleeve pink tee. She looked young and innocent. But wasn’t.
How often had Sheppard sat on that sofa, cradling his daughter? Had he fed her? Lounged with Sacha’s feet in his lap while she held the baby and they talked about their day? Babysat on his own while Sacha went shopping?
What had she looked like with a round belly? Had her pregnancy been hard? Easy? Did she breastfeed? Bottle? Cloth diapers? Store bought? Had there been complications? He thought of Eva and her gestational diabetes. Had the delivery been hard? Any complications there?
His temples pounded. There was no way he could process this. The scope of it was just too large. The part he’d played in Sacha’s deception wasn’t making the impression it should.
What he’d done by setting her up he’d done out of love and had been wrecked over it.
She had consciously and deliberately kept his daughter from him to exact revenge.
“Do you have suitcases—don’t,” he snapped when she took a breath as though she were about to speak. His voice was quiet but deadly. “You shut your mouth, get in that goddamn bedroom, and pack what you’ll need for the night. Everything else will arrive at the house tomorrow. You have thirty minutes.”
A crimson flush climbed her neck as she stood rooted to the spot. Did she think to refuse him? Why? Because in the past he’d have allowed it? He wanted to laugh. Those days were over.
Taking full advantage of his size, he moved into her. He didn’t touch. Just towered. Her lashes fanned up when she raised her eyes to him, and he almost groaned as his focus changed in an instant. He tried to pull it back.
“Do I really have to remind you how I was raised, Sacha? Tell me you haven’t forgotten what a spoiled bastard I am.” He brought his hand to her waist because he had to fucking touch her. “If I wanted to, I could have you taken away right this minute. I could arrange for you to be in Russia by lunchtime tomorrow, tucked away in the middle of nowhere. With one phone call, I could make it so you never saw our daughter again.”
Her gold eyes began to shimmer as she stared up at him. “You do not have to go so far. You already know I am willing to do this your way. Please do not make us suffer by separating us.”
“But wasn’t that your intent? To keep me separated from her?” He released her with a light shove toward the bedroom. What if this meeting hadn’t taken place until Lekzi was ten years old? Twenty? “Get out of my sight before I forget that I live by a code that prevents me from doing to you what many of my associates would have already done.”
He turned away and wanted to punch himself in the face. Right in the mouth. Because he couldn’t get past the urge he had to take hers and suck those trembling breaths right out of her. He was hungry. For her. Even with everything else going on, he wanted to kiss her. Strip her. Fuck her where they stood. Why the hell was he getting tangled up with lust? He was hot and hard and uncomfortable.
And if felt fucking amazing. He hadn’t felt this alive in sixteen abysmal months.
But it was also twisted, considering the circumstances. A sick, gnarled desire jumbled together with all the other mangled emotions he was supposed to be keeping at bay. Unexpectedly, adding to it, was an unreasonable but crippling fear. It rose up out of nowhere to clobber him.
“If I am willing to be civil about this, the least you can do is attempt the same.”
He wheeled around and grabbed her by the arm to jerk her forward. “You’d be wise not to make demands of me right now,” he rasped. “You have no idea how close to the edge I am. Jesus Christ, after everything—” He cursed and tried to block the thoughts winging around, torturing him. “I never expected this from you. Never! How the fuck could you do this? I just spent thirty minutes with my seven-month-old daughter. Thirty fucking minutes! I knew nothing of her existence, nothing of her birth. You robbed me of the opportunity to wonder, to dream and prepare. I didn’t even have the chance to worry that something might go wrong!” He shook her as terror overtook him. “What if something had gone wrong? What if we lost her and I never knew? What if I lost you and I wasn’t even aware?”