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How would he get past the wall Desi had built around herself and get her to talk to him—and listen to him?
How were the two of them going to build some kind of secure family unit for their child when she seemed to hate him? When she believed the worst of him? When she wanted nothing to do with him?
He’d lived that life, caught between two parents who hated each other and used their children as weapons. There was no way he would let that happen to his kid. No way he would let his son grow up the same way he and Marc had.
But how was Nic going to stop it? How was he going to convince Desi that she could trust him not to hurt her or the baby? And speaking of trust, how the hell was he ever going to trust her again after everything she’d done?
He was willing to accept that she’d believed the wrong source, that she’d bought whatever ridiculous bill of goods had been sold to her. But she was an investigative journalist—albeit a green one judging from the lack of bylines he’d found when researching her. It was her job to dig for facts. Her job to talk to people on both sides of the issue as she tried to figure out who was telling the truth.
She hadn’t done that. Despite the fact that they’d spent what he’d thought was a fairly spectacular night together, despite the fact that she was carrying the baby who in time would be heir to Bijoux, she’d had no problem writing an article that would have brought his family’s company to its knees. And she hadn’t even had the decency to give him a heads-up, let alone contact him to get his side of the story.
How much did she have to hate him to do something like that? And why? What had he done to her except give her seven orgasms—not that he’d been counting—and try to see her again? He’d liked her, really liked her…at least until she’d done all this.
As he walked, he went over the night they’d spent together, searching for something he could have done to set her off. She’d freaked out a little when he’d gotten her phone number, but they’d compromised. He’d played by the rules she set. And still she’d nearly destroyed him.
It didn’t make sense.
“Daddy! Daddy! Push me higher!”
The high-pitched squeal got his attention, followed by the sound of deep male laughter. He glanced over toward the playscape, saw a man about his own age pushing a small boy on the swings. The kid was adorable, dark, wild curls and big brown eyes and the biggest smile Nic had ever seen.
“Faster, Daddy, faster!”
The man laughed again, then did as his son requested.
Nic didn’t mean to stare, but he couldn’t look away. They both looked so happy, the kid and the dad, who looked as if there was nowhere in the world he’d rather be.
Nic wasn’t sure how long he stood there, but it was long enough to have the dad giving him a weird look. Great. He’d gone from human rights violator to park pervert in under an hour. It was shaping up to be one hell of a day.
“Sorry,” he said, putting a little more distance between him and the kid. “I just found out I’m…um, expecting…an, uh, boy.” What was wrong with him that he was tripping over his own tongue? That never happened to him. He was the guy who always had a joke or a story, the one who could put anyone at ease. And yet, here he was, trying to form a simple sentence about the fact that he, too, was going to be a father, and he ended up sounding like a blathering idiot.
But blathering idiot must be the language of fathers everywhere, because, somehow the guy got what Nic was saying. The suspicious look disappeared from his face, giving way to a grin that was a tad sympathetic. “You just found out you and your wife are expecting a boy?” he said.
Not quite, but it was close enough that Nic was willing to go with it. “Yeah. It’s…”
“Intense,” the other guy filled in.
“Yes. Exactly. Totally intense. I can’t quite wrap my head around it yet.”
“Daddy, higher!” the kid said again.
“Any higher and your mother will have my head,” the guy responded. But Nic noticed that he pushed the boy a little bit harder, let him go a little bit higher. “Yeah, it’s crazy. But it’s great, too, you know. Because—” he nodded toward his son “—you get this awesome kid out of the deal.”
“I can see. How old is he?”
“Just turned four.”
“He’s great.”
The guy’s chest puffed out a little. “He is, isn’t he? A bit of a daredevil, always wanting to go faster or climb higher. He keeps us on our toes.”
“I bet.”
“Slower, Daddy!”
“Slower?” The man looked down at his son in surprise.
“I want to go on the slide now.”
