of her father, of course. As chief brand officer, it was Nathan’s responsibility to reinvent Western Oil’s image.
“Well, if you’ll excuse me,” Beth said. “I have to see a man about a cake.” Beth shot her a brief, commiserative smile before she scurried off, bailing on Ana when she needed her most.
She hoped Nathan would walk away too. Instead, he chose that moment to acknowledge her son, who was wiggling restlessly, eager for attention.
“This is your son?” he asked.
She nodded. “This is Max.”
The hint of a smile softened his expression. “He’s cute. He has your eyes.”
Attention hound that he was, Max squealed and flailed his arms. Nathan reached out to take his tiny fist in his hand and Ana’s knees went weak. Father and son, making contact for the first time … and hopefully the last. Sudden tears burned the corners of her eyes, and a sense of loss so sharp sliced through every one of her defenses. She needed to get out of here before she did something stupid, like blurt out the truth and turn a bad situation into a catastrophe.
She clutched Max closer to her, which he did not appreciate. He shrieked and squirmed, flailing his chubby little arms, knocking his wool cap off his head.
Damn it!
Before she could reach for it, Nathan crouched down and grabbed it from the grass. She cupped her hand around Max’s head, hoping to cover his birthmark, but when Nathan handed her the hat, she had no choice but to let go. She angled her body so he wouldn’t see the side of Max’s head, but as she reached out to take the cap, Max shrieked and lunged for Nathan. He slipped against her silk jacket and she nearly lost her grip on him. Nathan’s arms shot out to catch him just as she regained her grip and, heart hammering, she hugged Max to her chest.
“Strong little guy,” Nathan said.
“He’s high-spirited,” she said, realizing too late that Max’s left ear was in plain view. Please don’t let him notice. She swiftly swung Max around and deposited him on the opposite hip. “Well, it was nice to see you again Nathan, but I was just leaving.”
Without waiting for a reply she turned to walk away, but before she could take more than a step, Nathan’s hand clamped down hard around her forearm. She felt it like a jolt of electricity.
“Ana?”
She cursed silently and turned to face him, and the second she saw his eyes she could tell that he knew. He had figured it out.
Damn, damn, damn.
That didn’t mean she couldn’t deny it. But not telling him and outright lying were two very different things. Besides, the birthmark was going to be tough to explain.
Oh, well, so what if he knew? He’d been quite firm that he didn’t want children. He probably wouldn’t even care if the baby was his, as long as she agreed never to tell anyone and never asked for his support. And why would she? Her trust fund kept her and Max living quite comfortably. Nathan could just go on with his life and pretend it never happened.
Nathan reached up and gently cupped her son’s face, turning his head so he could see behind his ear. Thinking it was a game, Max batted at his hand and wiggled in her arms.
She’d heard of people going ghostly white but had never actually witnessed it until just then. He definitely knew, and he clearly wasn’t expecting this. Hadn’t even considered it being a remote possibility.
“A private word?” he asked, jaw tense, teeth gritted.
“Where?” They were at a party with at least two hundred other people, most of whom knew she and Nathan wouldn’t have a lot to talk about. Where could they possibly go without drawing attention to themselves? “You wouldn’t want to be seen with the daughter of a direct competitor,” she snapped in a voice filled with so much pent-up resentment she barely recognized it as her own. “What would people think?”
Nathan’s jaw tensed. “Just tell me this,” he said under his breath. “Is he mine?”
Oh, boy. How many times had she imagined this moment? What she would say if ever faced with this situation. She had rehearsed the conversation a thousand times, but now that the moment was here her mind was totally blank.
“Answer me,” he demanded, sounding far too much like her father.
Did you really sneak a bottle of my good scotch into the school dance? Answer me, Ana Marie Birch!
She had no choice but to tell Nathan the truth, but all she could manage was a stiff nod.
Nathan cursed, anger flashing in his eyes, holding her arm so tight he was cutting off the blood flow to her fingers. In all the time she’d been with him, she’d never seen him so much as raise his voice. His outrage was probably just a knee-jerk reaction. He was upset because she hadn’t told him, but would ultimately be relieved when she assured him he had no responsibilities in regard to her son. Financial or parental. He might even thank her for being so reasonable and honoring his wishes. Then he would leave, and hopefully she would never have to see him again.
Of course there was another possibility. One she’d found too disturbing to consider until now. Or maybe she’d just refused to let herself go there. What if he wanted to be a part of Max’s life? What if he wanted visitation and a say in the decisions? What if he tried to take Max away from her?
The thought made her clutch her son closer to her chest, which of course made him wiggle in protest. For nine months he had been her entire life. The only person who truly loved and needed her. She refused to let anyone, especially a man like Nathan, who didn’t have time for a girlfriend much less a son, take that away from her.
“Should I assume,” Nathan asked through gritted teeth, “that you never intended to tell me?”
“To be honest,” she said, lifting her chin with a defiance that was meant to hide the fact that inside she was terrified, “I didn’t think you would care.”
Two
He had a son.
Nathan could hardly wrap his mind around the concept. And Ana was wrong. He did care. Probably too much. The instant he saw her talking to Beth his heart slammed the wall of his chest so hard it stole his breath, and when their eyes met he’d experienced such a bone-deep need to be close to her, he was down the stairs and striding in her direction before he could consider the repercussions of his actions.
After he ended their affair, he must have picked up the phone a dozen times that first week, ready to tell her that he’d made a mistake, that he wanted her back, even though it would have been the end of his career at Western Oil. But he had worked too damned hard to get where he was to throw it all away for a relationship that was doomed from the start to fail. So he had done the only thing he could. He’d gotten over her … or so he thought. Now he wasn’t so sure.
She tried to jerk her arm from his grasp and her grimace said he was hurting her. Damn it. He released his grip and clamped a vice down on his temper. He worked damned hard to maintain control at all times. What was it about her that made him abandon all good sense?
“We need to talk,” he said in
