same modulated tone. “The adults concerned discussed the situation and felt you would be better off raised in a secure environment with a family who loves you.”
“I fail to see how lies translate into love,” he retorted.
“I hope you’ll come to understand why we made the decision. In time, when you’re less bitter and angry, maybe you’ll see that we had your best interests at heart.” She shook her head. “I don’t understand. Brad promised. He agreed it was best not to say anything—”
“But he did.” Pain and anger knotted together in his gut. “And in a whacked-out sort of way, that’s some comfort. At least he had a conscience. Maybe I got his gene for telling the truth instead of yours to perpetuate a lie.”
“Luke, listen—”
He turned away and walked toward the door. He heard her footsteps behind him. She put a hand on his arm and he couldn’t break her hold without more force than he was willing to use. Meeting her gaze, he put his hand on the knob.
“Luke, you can be as angry as you want at me. But don’t you dare take this out on your father. And don’t pretend you don’t know who I mean. Tom Marchetti loves you—you are his son.”
“When you bury your head in the sand, you leave your rear end exposed,” he shot back.
She went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “I will not tolerate any disrespect toward your father.”
As much as he hated to admit she was right about anything, the truth was Tom Marchetti was a victim, too. He wasn’t the one who had slept with someone else.
“Don’t—” Whatever she saw on his face made her release his arm.
Without a word from her to stop him, he left the house. He walked across the back grass, skirted the pool area ringed with Malibu lights, and stopped beside his sports car parked in the alley.
The anger, pain, bewilderment and betrayal that had dogged him since Maddie broke the news cascaded over him in a tidal wave that threatened to drown him. How could he have not known his whole life was a fabrication? The woman who had taught him right from wrong, who had given him a moral foundation to live by, had lied to him in the most elemental way. How could he not be bitter and furious?
Happy childhood memories washed over him. Times spent with his siblings, his mother—the man he’d never had a reason to question as his father. How could they let him grow up believing he was a part of that? As a teen, he’d been grounded from his car for trying to pull a fast one. Yet she expected him to act as if nothing had changed for him. How hypocritical was that? Everything had changed.
Leaning against the driver’s door, he ran both hands through his hair. His mother had given him the answers, just as Maddie had said. And she was right. He definitely planned to call a lawyer. But a stranger couldn’t respond to the questions he had. In fact, there was one big one at the top of his list, one that overshadowed everything else.
“Who the hell am I?” he whispered into the dark night.
Chapter Three
A week after breaking the news to Luke, Madison stared at the blinking cursor on her office computer screen and silently begged it to spit out just the right words. He had taken her advice, made an appointment and would be there any minute. She had to hand him over to her associate. And she had to tell him she was going to have a baby. She’d done the test—several times, different brands. Pink and plus signs danced before her eyes until she couldn’t doubt it any longer. He had a right to know. But how could she dump that news on him now?
How could she not?
The intercom on her desk buzzed. She pushed the button. “Yes, Connie?”
“Mr. Marchetti is here to see you.”
“Send him in,” she said, then clicked off.
Moments later her office door opened, and in he walked. She was vaguely surprised that he wasn’t wearing business attire since it was the middle of the workday. But she had to admit his worn jeans and the black T-shirt that hugged his broad chest and muscular biceps could redefine business casual. As far as the females in the workforce were concerned.
The room seemed to shrink when he stood in front of her desk. Suddenly she didn’t have enough oxygen, and it wouldn’t have mattered if she had a tank of the stuff hooked up to a mask over her face. Besides it was a flammable chemical and could create a dangerous situation. Whenever she and Luke were in the same room they set off sparks like burning logs shifting in the fireplace. The stage was set for a monumental conflagration—emotional, personal, professional.
“Hello, Luke. How are you?”
“How do you think I am?”
She studied his face, the dark circles under his eyes, the deep creases bracketing his nose and mouth. He looked so tired. In spite of all her self-warnings, her heart went out to him before she could snatch it back. “Are you sleeping? You look awful.”
“Thanks very much,” he said, one corner of his mouth quirking up. He sat in one of the powder-blue barrel-backed chairs in front of her desk. “That’s the pot calling the kettle black. You don’t look so hot yourself.”
There was a reason for that, but she couldn’t just blurt it out. He would start to think she was Typhoid Mary. Every time he saw her she told him something life altering. He would start avoiding her like the plague. That might be for the best, she thought, as at the same time something deep inside her protested.
“I’m fine. Busy.” She laced her trembling fingers together and rested her clasped hands on the paperwork piled on her desk. “What can I do for you?”
“I want to discuss the will.”
“You talked to your mother?”
He nodded. “She confirmed that Brad Stephenson is my biological father.”
“I’m so sorry, Luke. I know it will take some time for you to deal with all the ramifications—”
“Like his estate,” he said crisply. “We should get business out of the way first.”
She ignored his implication that he had a second reason for being there. Probably personal. She had to nip that in the bud. But disregarding the wave of heat radiating through her at the very idea was considerably more difficult. “I’ll buzz Nate McDonald,” she said starting to reach for the phone. “I’ll send you down the hall to his office if he’s available. He has the file.”
Luke leaned forward and stopped her with a soft touch from his large, warm hand. “I want you.”
A shiver raced over her arm and down her back from the physical contact, but mostly from the intensity in his gaze, focusing so unwaveringly on her. She swallowed hard. “I can’t. We already talked about this.”
“Okay,” he said, nodding with resignation. “I need to grovel. I suppose I deserve it.” He gently squeezed her hand, then removed his own. “I apologize for doubting you. I should never have questioned your honesty and integrity.”
“Apology unnecessary but gladly accepted,” she said, missing the
