The Billionaire's Secret Baby. CAROL DEVINE
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“I’m A Tarkenton, Meg. I Get Away With Everything.” Letter to Reader Title Page About the Author Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Copyright
“I’m A Tarkenton, Meg. I Get Away With Everything.”
“You won’t get away with Katie. I’ll take her to the ends of the earth to keep her away from you, Jack.”
“I’m one of the privileged few who has the resources to follow you there. You won’t be able to hide her, not from me. I have too much money and too many connections. And when I do find her, I’ll use your refusal to acknowledge me as her father against you, not only in a court of law, but in the court of public opinion.”
“You want to ruin her life by making this public? Is that it?”
“I’m her father. I am not going to go away. I laid out my proposal. You can either turn this into a public custody battle or marry me and keep Katie’s paternity private. Unlike you, I believe both her parents have Katie’s best interests at heart.”
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The Billionaire’s Secret Baby
Carol Devine
About the Author
CAROL DEVINE lives in Colorado with her husband and three sons, including identical twins. When she’s not playing pickup games of basketball and hunting for lost Reeboks, she’s holed up in her office, dreaming of romantic heroes.
Her writing has won numerous awards, including the Romance Writers of America’s 1992 Golden Heart for Short Contemporary Series Romance. She has also served as president of Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers.
One
Meg Masterson Betz couldn’t believe it. The father of her child had dared come to her husband’s funeral.
Jack Tarkenton edged the crowd of mourners, standing a little apart, larger than life, richer than rich, his signature mane of lion-colored hair stirring in the fall breeze. Powerfully built and conservatively dressed, he looked so much like his late, great father, Meg recognized him instantly.
She wasn’t the only one. Near the line of limousines parked along the cemetery road, the paparazzi and media types had mobilized and were madly taking pictures of the latest Tarkenton arrival.
Grateful for the black veil concealing her face, Meg made sure she had a firm grip on her daughter’s hand. Katie was behaving extremely well for a four-year-old, but the last thing she needed was a dozen cameras in her face.
Unfortunately, that was the price of being related to the famous Tarkenton family, even if only by marriage. Like the Kennedys, the Tarkentons attracted attention wherever they went. And Jack, as his late father’s only son, namesake and heir apparent, was the most famous Tarkenton of them all.
Double-breasted Armani boxed his shoulders with the clean and proper lines of the classiest in charcoal wool suits. A pristine shirt and maroon tie echoed this concession to convention.
Really, Meg thought. The briefest in beach attire was more his thing. Apparently, Jack wasn’t slumming today.
A pair of sunglasses cut the bronzed boldness of his well-known face in two. That disturbed her,