One Baby, Two Secrets

“They just had their first birthday. They’re finally both sleeping through the night.” Christina sobered. “I’m very sorry about your sister.”

“Me, too,” said Kate. “I hadn’t seen her in a long time. Well, I guess you would know that since I haven’t been to see Annabelle. I didn’t even know Francie was pregnant.”

Christina didn’t respond to that. Kate supposed there wasn’t a whole lot more to say on the subject.

“I’m glad she had Annabelle and Quentin in her life,” said Kate.

Christina’s brow furrowed ever so slightly “You know we lived in the gatehouse, right?”

Kate wasn’t sure what that meant. “The gatehouse?”

“Quentin and Francie, they weren’t... They weren’t together as a couple. He said he liked having Annabelle close by, but I understood his relationship with Francie was short-lived.” Christina glanced away, as if she was aware that she’d shared too much.

“Thanks for telling me that. I didn’t know.”

Cristina didn’t answer, instead adjusting the bottle at Annabelle’s mouth.

“It was nice that Francie could live here,” said Kate, glancing around at the huge, ultramodern kitchen.

From where she sat, she could see the estate grounds and the city beyond. The great room was behind her with its expensive furniture and art, the plush carpeting and a massive stone fireplace across one entire wall. If the gatehouse was any comparison to the main house, Francie had lived in the lap of luxury.

“She did enjoy the lifestyle,” said Christina.

Kate could well imagine, at least from what she remembered of her sister. “Quentin seems to throw her kind of parties.”

“He does,” said Christina, removing the bottle from Annabelle’s mouth and holding the baby against her chest to pat Annabelle’s back. “She definitely liked the nightlife better than the mornings.”

“I remember that about her.”

“But she had me. So she didn’t need to worry about the mornings.”

A male voice interrupted their conversation. “Sorry to barge in.”

Kate stood, turning to see the man she’d met Saturday night.

Brody Herrington looked a whole lot fresher than she felt in her crumpled cocktail dress. He’d topped a pair of well-worn jeans with a crisp charcoal dress shirt.

“I wouldn’t have taken you for an early riser,” he said to Kate.

She stuck to her story. “The vacuuming woke me up.”

“I’ll get out of your way,” said Christina, her demeanor immediately changing to deference as she rose with Annabelle.

Kate wanted to tell her not to leave, to ask her to please stay and talk some more. She wanted to learn about her sister and Annabelle’s life here with Quentin. But she couldn’t risk tipping her hand. If Quentin knew she was here to judge his fitness as a parent, he would send her packing.

“It was nice to meet you,” she said instead.

Christina gave her a brief nod and left the room.

“You crashed here last night?” Brody asked.

“One too many martinis,” Kate lied, pushing past her embarrassment to stay in character.

What must he think of a woman who passed out at a party? Then she told herself he probably didn’t think anything. He likely met that kind of woman all the time.

“I may have left my watch behind last night,” he said, holding up his bare wrist as evidence. Then he seemed to spy a coffeepot. He smiled and crossed to it.

“Want some?” he asked.

“Kill for some.”

He retrieved a pair of mugs from a glassed-in cupboard. “I was going to take a look around and see if I could find it.”

“It must be expensive,” she observed.

He looked puzzled. “Expensive?”

“You’re here at six in the morning. I assume you were worried about it.”

“Oh. Yes. Well, it is a nice watch. It was a gift. From my mother on my twenty-first birthday. It’s engraved.”

“So, sentimental value.”

“Sentimental value,” he agreed as he poured the coffee.

The revelation surprised Kate. Brody didn’t seem like the sentimental type.

“You need anything in it?” he asked.

“Black is fine.”

He held out one of the mugs, and she moved to take it. In addition to a movie-star-handsome face, he had the most extraordinary eyes. They were dark and deep, slate gray in some lights, shot with silver in others. Right now they seemed to shimmer with contemplation. For a second she worried he saw right through her disguise.

“Want some help?” she asked, more to break the silence than anything else.

“Help?”

“To find your watch.”

“Oh. Sure. It has a black face and a platinum band.”

She couldn’t help but grin at that. “To help me distinguish it from all the other watches lying around the mansion?”

“It was a great party.”

“Yes, it was,” she lied.

She simply couldn’t understand the appeal of such a rowdy event. It was impossible to carry on a conversation over the loud music, music that grated in her ears. The guests were all drunk or high and only interested in gossip and fashion and bragging about their money or their connections.

“You don’t say that with a lot of conviction,” Brody observed.

She covered her expression with a swallow of the coffee. It tasted fantastic. “I guess I’m still recovering from the fun.”

“You do look a little rough around the edges.”

“Aren’t you suave.”

“You want me to lie?”

“Sure. Why not?”

His dark eyes warmed with humor. “You look fantastic this morning.”

“Lukewarm delivery. But I’ll take it.”

His gaze moved downward, noting her one-shouldered, jeweled, sea-foam cocktail dress. It was tight and stiff and terrible to sleep in.

“I like the dress,” he said.

“It’s too late for you to try to flirt with me.”

“I disagree.”

“Then it’s too early for you to flirt with me.” She took another satisfying swallow of the coffee. “Chat me up later, when my brain is fully functional.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

Kate knew flirting with Brody was a mistake. She needed to keep him and everyone else at arm’s length.

“Where did you last see it?” she asked him.

“See what?”

“Your watch.”

“Oh, right.” He glanced around. “I don’t know. I’m not sure. I was going to start with the great room.”

She polished off her coffee. “Lead on.”

Kate decided that looking for Brody’s watch was a plausible reason to hang around the mansion a while longer. She might get another chance to see Annabelle or a chance to talk to Quentin. Thus far, she hadn’t managed to get the man to stand still long enough to have more than a ten-second conversation.

Brody pulled up the sofa cushions, checking behind each one. Kate took the opposite end of the room, scanning the floor, the tabletops, the windowsills, eventually making her way into the dining room and hunting around its corners. The cleaners were still working and nodded politely to her as they passed. They seemed used to encountering leftover party guests.

It occurred to her they would assume she’d had a companion last night. After all, that was the most common reason for a woman to be dressed in a cocktail dress in the early hours of the morning. She told herself not to care. But then she found herself wondering if Brody thought the same thing.

Had he believed her when she said she’d fallen asleep? Did he think she’d had a one-night stand? He might even think she spent the night with Quentin.

She shuddered at the very idea.

She told herself again not to care what Brody thought. What Brody thought of her was completely irrelevant. Still she found herself retreating to the great room to set the record straight.

He wasn’t there.

She listened, but she didn’t hear anything. So she headed down the hall, toward the main staircase, glancing into the rooms with open doors. She found Brody in an office, standing behind a desk plunking the keys of a computer.

“Find anything?” she asked.

He looked guiltily up, and she couldn’t help but wonder what he was doing.

“Nothing,” he answered.

She waited to see if he’d elaborate.

“I was taking a quick check of my emails.” He hit a couple more keys. “We’ve got a big tour in the works.”

“Sounds exciting.”

He shrugged. “Fairly routine. But you know rock stars.”

“Big egos?” she guessed.

“Big everything. They need a lot of TLC.” He moved from behind the desk.

She struggled for an opening to broach the subject, but there was no way to nonchalantly work it in. She decided to tackle it head-on. “I did fall asleep last night.”

“Huh?”

“What I said earlier. That was how it happened. I had a few too many drinks and accidentally fell asleep on a sofa.”

His gaze narrowed, and he looked intrigued.

“I was telling you the truth,” she said.

“Okay.”

“Was that sarcasm?” She couldn’t tell if he believed her or not.

“That was. It’s none of my business.”

“I wasn’t with Quentin.”

Brody looked so genuinely surprised that she felt foolish.

She tried to backpedal. “I was remembering what you said Saturday night. You seemed to...well, allude to me possibly being after Quentin in an unsavory way.”

“You said you weren’t.”

“I’m not.”

“I believed you.” He seemed sincere.

Now she really felt foolish. “Good. That’s good.” She told herself to stop talking, but for some reason she kept on. “Why?”

He flexed an amused grin, brushing his fingers along the top of the wooden desk as he moved toward her. “You didn’t look like you were lying.”

“How does lying look?” What was the matter with her? She sounded silly, and she didn’t seem to be able to quit. “I mean to you. How can you tell?”

“I don’t know. How does anyone tell?” He stopped in front of her.

It was too close for comfort, but she didn’t move.

“Lack of eye contact,” he continued. “A tense, closed expression, halting speech, hesitation.”

He certainly didn’t look tense. He looked relaxed. He looked powerful, in control, and too, too sexy. She should look away and break the spell. She didn’t.

“Take now,” he said, leaning ever so slightly forward. “Your expression is open. You’re not nervous. You’re looking straight at me. It’s like you’re inviting me in.”

Uh-oh.

“Like you want me to see your innermost thoughts,” he continued.

She definitely didn’t want that. Her innermost thoughts were her business and hers alone.

“Like you’re thinking physical contact...” He brushed her fingers, gently holding the tips of hers with the tips of his. He drew in a deep breath. “Wouldn’t be a bad thing.”

She felt a warmth rise over her wrist, up the inside of her arm and through to her chest. She didn’t want him to let go.

He eased in, his intention clear. His hand wrapped itself fully around hers, intensifying the sensations. She lost track of time and place, forgot about everything but Brody as he drew her close.

His lips touched hers. The kiss was gentle. She hadn’t expected that. His free hand came to rest at her waist, again the lightest of touches. If he’d kissed her hard or pulled her fast and tight, she might have had the presence of mind to break away. But he was stealthy in his approach, slipping past her defenses, his actions so soothing that she didn’t realize her mistake.

The kiss deepened.

It felt good. It felt great.

She stepped forward, bringing her body against his, chest to chest, thigh to thigh. His hand moved along the small of her back, splaying warm and smooth against her spine.

Her lips parted, and he groaned, pulling back, breaking the kiss.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She felt her face heat in embarrassment. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t—”

Then she remembered the part she was supposed to be playing. Girls like Francie didn’t get rattled by a kiss. So instead of apologizing, she gave him a sultry smile and walked her fingers down his chest before dropping her hand to her side. “No problem. Just so we’re clear on Quentin.”

Brody looked confused for a moment. Then he seemed to give himself a little shake. “Glad we got that out of the way.”

She wanted to ask him if it was the question of Quentin that was now out of the way, or if their kiss was the thing that was out of the way. Had he been curious about kissing her? Had he been disappointed? Was he moving on?

A dozen questions bloomed in her mind, but she couldn’t ask any of them. The kiss was definitely out of the way. It was done. She was moving past it, past Brody, and back on to Annabelle.

Four

Brody heard deep voices in the mansion hallway and kicked himself for getting distracted by Kate. She was gorgeous and sexy, and who could blame him for kissing her. But he’d let his guard down. Quentin’s computer was still on, and somebody was approaching.

It sounded like two of them. Their voices were guttural, speaking in Russian, Quentin’s security guards for sure.

He grasped Kate’s arm and drew her out of sight.

“What?” she started to ask.

“Shhh,” he cautioned.

She looked puzzled but stopped talking. For that, he was grateful.

The voices rose. The footsteps paused by the door. He pressed himself and Kate flat against the wall, ready to kiss her again if the men came into the room. He assumed a clandestine sexual encounter would be something they’d understand and accept.

Luckily, instead of looking in, they resumed walking and talking.

Kate whispered, “Are we doing something wrong?”

“No,” he lied.

He was definitely doing something wrong. She thought she was searching for his lost watch.

“I didn’t want to embarrass you,” he lied again.

“Embarrass me how?”

He made a show of taking in her outfit from last night.

“Oh.” She wrapped her arms around her front, covering her cleavage and bare shoulders. “They’d think I spent the night with you.”

“They would.”

“Thanks, then.”

“No problem.”

A split second later, she gave a little shrug, dropping her hands to her sides. “But what would I care?”

It was a good question. He wasn’t sure why he thought she’d care about the opinions of strangers. He did know pretending to be chivalrous was a whole lot better than explaining to her that he’d been checking out Quentin’s computer.

“Who are they?” she asked, still keeping her voice low.

“Security guards. Quentin has a lot of them. Every one brawny, ill-humored and uncommunicative.”

“What did they mean that Quentin had better be persuaded?”

The question surprised Brody. No, not surprised. It shocked the heck out of him. “You speak Russian?”

“No. But they were speaking Ukrainian.”

That was another surprise. All along, he’d thought the guys were Russian.

He gave her a beat to elaborate.

She didn’t.

“Same question,” he prompted.

“Only a little. I understand it better than I speak it.” She moved away from the wall, peeping out the open door.

“And?” he asked, struggling to keep the impatience from his tone. “That’s because?”

“Oh. My best friend Nadia is Ukrainian. She grew up with her grandmother who lived across the hall from our apartment. Mrs. Ivanova was a crotchety old thing, and she didn’t speak much English. She wore baggy stockings and embroidered cloth shoes, but I liked her because she baked incredible honey cookies and Kiev cake.”

“And she taught you Ukrainian?”

Kate seemed to have a peculiar way of getting around to a point.

“Nadia and I tried to teach her English,” said Kate. “Turns out, we weren’t very good teachers.”

“But you were a good student?”

She made a tipping motion with her hand. “I was okay. Nadia’s fluent. I dabble.”

“You understood those two.”

“Only part of it.”

“What else?” Brody didn’t want to drag an unsuspecting Kate into his web of intrigue. But what she’d overheard could be important.

There were rumors Quentin had originally been financed by an Eastern European criminal organization. Assuming the rumors were true, Brody had wondered if the bodyguards might be connected to the financier. If they were, maybe they were into other kinds of crime, like corporate espionage.

One thing was sure: given the snippet of conversation Kate had interpreted, there was a real chance those men were more than just bodyguards.

“I didn’t understand most of it,” she said. “And I might be getting it wrong.”

He tried not to sound too earnest. “What exactly did you hear?”

“That Quentin could be or maybe had to be persuaded. Something about him accepting or maybe embracing Ceci.”

“Ceci?”

“That’s what I heard.”

Who was Ceci? “Did they mention a last name?”

“No.”

“Accepting her as what?”

“A girlfriend, maybe?”

“They said that?”

“I’m tossing out random guesses,” she said.

“What about the context?”

“I’m not that good.”

“But—”

“Brody, it was a tiny snippet of conversation in a foreign language from a distance. What do you want from me?”

He immediately regretted grilling her. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Why do you care so much?”

“I don’t.” He ordered himself to take a beat and relax. “You had me curious is all. I’ve listened to those guys talk amongst themselves for weeks now and never knew what they were saying.”

She peered at him for a moment, seeming to assess his expression. Once again, she appeared smarter than he would have guessed. But then she blinked, and the expression was gone.

“Maybe that’s why he broke up with Francie,” she speculated aloud. “To be with this Ceci person.”

“I’ve never seen him with a steady girlfriend.” Then again, Brody hadn’t ever come across Francie, either. There could be any number of people in Quentin’s life that Brody didn’t know about.

“Do you suppose he has another child?” asked Kate. “Maybe those guys want him to marry Ceci because they have a baby.”

That seemed like a long shot to Brody, and not at all helpful to his investigation. He wanted the bodyguards and the mysterious Ceci to be clues to Beast Blue Designs’ theft from Shetland. Though he acknowledged that was a long shot, as well.

The thought did remind him of why he was here and what he was doing. He needed to get back at it.

“No sign of my watch in here,” he said to Kate. “Did you happen to check the dining room?”

She nodded. “I did.”

“What about the kitchen?” He wanted to get her out of the office so that he could turn off Quentin’s computer.

“Would you like me to check there?”

“That would help. I was in there a few times last night.”

“I’m surprised I didn’t see you at the party.”

“I spent most of the evening in the garden.” Lying was becoming easier and easier for him. He wasn’t sure how he should feel about that.

He hadn’t even been at last night’s party, never mind lost his watch. It was a ruse he’d concocted as an excuse to snoop around the mansion. It wasn’t the most complicated plan in the world, but he’d decided simpler was better.

She seemed to expect him to elaborate on his statement.

“With a woman,” he lied again. “Somebody I just met.”

A bit of the friendliness vanished from her expression. “Right.”

He wanted to tell her he was lying. He wasn’t like Quentin and the rest of the partiers. He didn’t have sex in the garden with random women. But telling her the truth was dangerous. Like everybody else in this world, she needed to believe he was Brody Herrington, a freewheeling concert promoter living the rock-and-roll lifestyle.

If one surprisingly interesting woman thought he was some kind of a player, then that was the price he’d pay.

“I’ll check the kitchen,” she said, turning away.

“Kate?”

She stopped without turning back. “Yes?”

He knew he was selfish to ask for her cooperation, but his family was at stake. “Don’t let on.”

She twisted her head to look at him.

“Don’t let on that you understand Ukrainian.”

Her brow furrowed in puzzlement.

“I don’t trust those guys.” That much was definitely true. “It’s probably better if you just listen.” He wished he could ask her to report back to him on what she heard, but he didn’t dare go that far.

“I wasn’t planning to let on,” she said.

“Good.”

“I’ll go check for your watch.”

“Thanks.”

“Maybe if you kept your clothes on,” she muttered under her breath. “You might not lose things.”

He watched her walk away, her hair slightly mussed, her shoulders bare, her legs long and shapely beneath the tight, short dress. It struck him as odd that she’d criticize his behavior. But a split second later, she only struck him as gorgeous, and he forgot about anything else.

* * *

Kate took a quick look through the kitchen, and then decided Brody could find his own watch. It was probably in the garden, falling off when he’d stripped down for a quickie.

It had annoyed her to learn he’d spent the evening hooking up. She acknowledged the reaction was absurd, since it had absolutely nothing to do with her. With his job, he probably had one-night stands all over the world—him and all the other single, wealthy men hanging out with celebrities and groupies.

But for some reason she wanted him to be better than the rest. Maybe it was because she’d kissed him. Or more important because she’d enjoyed kissing him. She should have better taste than to enjoy kissing a man who was into one-night stands. What was the matter with her?

She made her way back into the main hallway, focusing on Annabelle again, and wondering how long she dared hang around. She didn’t want anyone to get suspicious, but she also didn’t want to squander this opportunity.

Time was ticking. Banking on Quentin being a late sleeper, she decided to have a look upstairs before she left.

She guessed Annabelle’s nursery would be on the second floor and hoped Christina and Annabelle had gone back there when they left the kitchen. If anyone questioned her, she could always use the excuse of Brody’s lost watch.

At the top of the stairs, she heard the gentle pings of a lullaby. She walked toward them, coming to an open bedroom door.

Annabelle was lying in a white crib, cooing softly, her hands and bare feet wiggling in the air as she watched colorful cloth jungle animals circle above her.

The rest of the big room was a jumble, containing a change table, two armchairs, a rocking chair. Through an open doorway to a connected room, she saw a single bed and a dresser. Everything was covered in cardboard boxes. Some were open, some taped shut. Plush toys were strewn around the nursery, and the walk-in closet was wide-open, revealing empty shelves and more packing boxes.

“Wow,” said Kate. “You’ve got some work on your hands.”

Christina looked surprised by the sound of Kate’s voice.

Kate knew she was being unforgivably brazen barging in on them. She squelched her discomfort. “Do you want some help?”

“That’s not necessary.”

“I’m happy to do it.” Kate forced herself to ignore Christina’s obvious lack of welcome, moving to one of the open boxes of baby clothes to look inside. “Shall I put these in the closet?”

“No, really.” Christina started toward her.

Annabelle let out a cry.

“I’ll get her,” Kate impulsively announced.

“No,” Christina said sharply.

Their gazes met.

Kate realized she couldn’t pull it off. Maybe in the midst of a party she could pretend to be self-centered and oblivious to the needs of others. But she couldn’t do that to Christina.

“I’m sorry,” she said. She took a step back. “I don’t mean to put you in an awkward position.” She took another step back, steadying herself on the doorjamb. “I wanted to see Annabelle is all. I’ll leave the two of you in peace.”