Scandal on the Sand - Roxanne St. Claire Page 0,3

She fisted her hand, punching the air. “And I know you don’t want a child.”

“How do you know anything about me?”

Holding the brightly colored spiral notebook, she picked at the half-peeled $3.99 Ross price tag on the back. “It’s all in here, your name, your description, your words to her. But when you read all that, I have to be sure this book is protected. It’s all I have to prove my case.”

“Then maybe you don’t have much of a case.”

“Oh, I have a case. And I have a child who...” Looks a hell of a lot like you. “Who I want to keep, without living in fear that someone is going to try to claim him.”

“So you’ve said.” He inched forward. A lock of chestnut hair fell over his brow, close to the golden-brown eyes that looked so much like...like Dylan’s. “What do you really want, honey, because I don’t believe a word you’re saying.”

Tiny beads of perspiration stung at her neck and temples, her cool slipping with each second that she had to face him. “I want that child. I want him safe and protected with me.”

Something flickered in his eyes, a flash that went by so fast she wasn’t positive she’d seen it, but she knew she’d hit some kind of emotional hot button.

“And you don’t,” she added, because what if that was the hot button she’d hit? What if he wanted a child? “It says so right here.” She tapped Carrie’s journal, maybe a little harder than necessary. “It says a lot of things about you that I don’t think you want out in public.”

Hollow threat, of course, but still she threw that trump card down again, hoping it would work. Surely a man with his lifestyle, money, and famously documented inability to commit didn’t want a child he’d fathered almost five years ago.

Did he?

“Hey, Nate!”

Startled at the man’s voice, Liza turned to see Zeke Nicholas, one of the other men who’d been involved in the announcement today, jogging across the patio deck, impatience darkening his expression. “You missed your at bat, man. Come on!”

Nate held up his hand and shook his head.

“‘Scuse me,” Zeke said to Liza as he reached the table. “But I have to steal this heartthrob for just a—”

“Shut it, Zeke!” Fury sparked in Nate’s eyes, but he didn’t take them off Liza, making her certain his anger was not directed at his friend.

Zeke froze midstep. “Everything okay here?”

“We’re fine,” Liza said, seizing the opportunity. “I’m getting Mr. Ivory’s autograph.” Not that she had any real hope left that he’d sign, but maybe with his friend here, he’d buckle. It was worth a shot. “Right here, sir. And then you’ll make the second inning.”

His nostrils flared as he took a slow breath and shook his head. “You have to play without me, Zeke.” Suddenly, he stood, gathering up the papers and the envelope in one swooping motion. “Liza and I are going somewhere more private.”

She didn’t move but glanced at Zeke, who seemed as surprised as Liza was. “So we should meet you on board the yacht later, for cocktails?”

Nate shook his head. “Sorry, the party’s canceled. Come on, Liza.” He reached for her hand, and when she didn’t take his, he closed his fingers over her wrist to gently pull her up. “I can’t wait one more minute to get you alone.”

Zeke looked skyward. “So much for ‘the new Nate.’”

“Go play softball,” he said through clenched teeth. “I’ve got something more important to deal with.”

With a stiff nod, Zeke left, but Liza held her ground. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“We’re not talking about this here, out in the open with staff running around. Any one of them could be recording this conversation on a cell phone.”

She glanced at the busboy who openly stared at Nate as he slowed purposely by their table. He was right, of course. Everyone was interested in his business.

“Look.” He leaned closer, the low tenor of his voice practically vibrating the air between them. “I don’t know you or this kid or this Carrie character from Adam. But if you think I’m putting my name on anything without details and dates, along with legal, scientific, and medical proof, you’re out of your mind. Let’s go.”

She pressed the notebook to her heart, a flimsy four-dollar shield against his billion-dollar onslaught. “I have all that. And there’s no doubt of paternity.”

He tried to usher her away from the table. “Oh, there’s plenty of doubt.