His Secret Baby. Marie Ferrarella
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It was more than just his gut that was involved, although that had been the initial proponent. When he’d received that e-mail that had sent him looking for Eve, he’d gotten Spenser at the department to do a little research for him. The reformed computer hacker put together a file that contained a great deal of information on the woman standing beside him.
Adam handed her a plate. “Now stop being stubborn and have something to eat before—”
As if on cue, the baby monitor on the counter came to life. Something that sounded very close to mewling filled the room.
“The baby cries?” she guessed, ending his sentence for him.
He nodded, then murmured, “Too late.” He glanced over his shoulder, although there was no way he could see Brooklyn’s room. “Eat,” he told Eve, indicating her plate and the selection of entrees. “If you tell me which way to her bedroom, I’ll go see what Her Majesty wants.”
The aroma of the still-hot food caused her stomach to contract and growl. The spread before her proved to be too much of a temptation.
“It’s upstairs,” she told him. “Second room on your right.”
She watched as Adam walked out of the kitchen. With all her heart, she wished she could banish her lingering suspicions about him. If it weren’t for her nagging doubts, she would admit he was damn near perfect in this new paternal role.
He was rising to the occasion far better than she was, Eve thought, helping herself to a corn-husk-wrapped tamale. Though she dearly loved this brand-new addition in her life, a part of her was still afraid she was going to wind up being a very poor mother.
When Adam didn’t return within a few minutes, carrying a hungry baby in his arms, Eve began to wonder what was taking him so long. Only one way to find out. Bracing her hands on the counter, she slid off the stool and went to investigate.
Although she wanted to hurry up the stairs, she forced herself to take it slow. It annoyed her no end that she still felt pretty weak. The last nap the baby had taken, she’d taken one, too. Filled with admiration for mothers who continued to be powerhouses, Eve couldn’t wait to be her old self again.
Walking into the baby’s room, she saw that Adam was at the changing table—one of the gifts Josiah had given the baby that she had accepted—putting the finishing touches on the disposable diaper he’d just secured around Brooklyn’s tiny bottom.
He sensed rather than heard or saw Eve in the doorway. “She needed changing.”
She crossed to him. “You change diapers?” she asked incredulously.
He’d changed more than his share of Mona’s diapers. The knack was something akin to riding a bicycle. You never really forgot how—especially when plastic tabs were involved.
“It’s not exactly like changing water into wine,” he pointed out, glancing at her awed expression. “Anyone can do it if they need to.” Picking his daughter up off the changing table, he smoothed down her tiny dress and turned around to look at Eve. “There, I think we’ll all be a little more comfortable having her dirty diaper a thing of the past.”
Who would have thought he’d take to parenting better than she did? “You are full of surprises, Adam Smythe.” She didn’t bother to hide the admiration in her voice.
They were sharing a moment. It took a great deal of self-control not to tell her that his name wasn’t Smythe, but Serrano. But Adam managed to hold his piece and only commented, “You’d be surprised,” making certain that the proper smile was on his lips.
Not entirely. The stray thought popped up in her head, taunting her. She banked it down, refusing to let it bring her down. The man was trying, that was all that mattered.
Taking the baby from him, she pointed toward the hall and the stairs that were beyond. “I’d better feed her. You go ahead and have dinner. Brooklyn and I’ll be along as soon as she’s finished.”
“You know, if you prepare a few bottles ahead of time, we could take turns feeding her,” he suggested, turning from the doorway.
Eve was already sitting in the rocking chair holding Brooklyn to her breast. The infant eagerly suckled as if she hadn’t been fed for days instead of a little less than four hours ago.
Adam’s breath caught in his throat. He couldn’t remember when he’d ever seen anything even remotely as beautiful.
Belatedly, he realized he was staring. Clearing his throat, he abruptly looked away, even though he would have been content just to stand there, watching the scene all evening.
“I’ll wait for you in the kitchen,” he murmured to the bedroom door just before he left the room.
Eve smiled to herself. Again, his actions surprised her. Adam Smythe was a very complex individual, with a lot of different layers. And she was getting a lot of mixed signals here. How did she tell them apart? Just what was real and what was imagined?
More than anything, she wished she knew what to believe and just who and what Adam Smythe really was. But she didn’t see that happening anytime soon. And who knew? He might be gone tomorrow.
She tried to prepare herself, secretly hoping that tomorrow wouldn’t come for a very long time.
Within a week, they fell into a routine, one that Adam was loathe to give up or even change in the slightest manner. Every night he would come home to her, to them, and share both the responsibilities and the rewards of caring for Brooklyn. And for what it was worth, all three of them seemed to be thriving.
The weather had even cooperated, in a manner of speaking. An unexpected storm off the coast of Colombia had sent residents along the coast scrambling for their lives. More importantly, at least for Adam, was that the shipment of drugs loaded into the belly of an airplane bound for California had been lost when the plane suddenly went down.
With great bravado, Daniel Sederholm had insisted that another shipment could be on its way as quickly as within ten days. Though the setback had his handler’s teeth on edge, Adam had ten more days to enjoy this secret life he’d miraculously stumbled into. Ten more days to pretend that the world wouldn’t come knocking on his door, dragging him away at a moment’s notice.
Ten more days to watch his daughter grow and have both Brooklyn and her mother burrow their way even further into his heart.
As if they hadn’t deeply entrenched themselves there already.
“So I take it that he’s moved in?” Josiah asked Eve.
It was midafternoon and her self-appointed guardian angel had come by for a visit. Outside, his driver, Lucas, sat in his restored classic Mercedes, engrossed in the latest page-turner put out by the current darling of the bestseller list. Meanwhile, Josiah sat in Eve’s living room, quietly studying the young woman he regarded as another daughter over the rim of his teacup. Fragrant vanilla-flavored coffee wafted up to penetrate his senses, soothing him. He was flattered that she kept his coffee of choice on hand for his visits.
For his part, he’d been as patient as he could, giving Eve almost two weeks to settle into a routine before finally inviting himself over to see how she was doing. It had taken him exactly five minutes to