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She lifted their son out, brushing a soft kiss against the top of his head and rubbing his back before setting the boy on the sidewalk. It was obvious how deeply Larissa cared for her son. He shouldn't be surprised. She'd always had a nurturing quality about her. Originally it was what had drawn him to her.
Peter clung to the back of Larissa's leg, watching Jake with the same intensity that his mother did. Why hadn't she trusted him enough to tell him he had a son?
"Did that reporter follow you?" he asked.
"I don't think so."
"Let's go inside just to be safe."
She nodded and bent to pry her son's hands from her thigh. She took the small hand in her own and as Jake watched them, he realized the two of them were watching him. Waiting to see what he'd do. Frankly, he was out of his element.
He bent down on one knee and held out his hand to his son. Peter hesitated, then handed Jake the bear. "Oh, he's giving you Mr. Bear. That means he likes you."
"I'm glad one of you does," Jake said.
Larissa watched him with those soulful eyes of hers. And he felt like a big mean bully. He tried to get past his anger so he could remember all the reasons he liked her but he couldn't.
"Oh, Jake this isn't about liking you," she said, softly.
He glanced up at her. "Then what is it about?"
"Me not being the right woman for you."
"Well, I do tend to like a different sort of woman."
"I know. Tall, blond and built."
"Nice opinion you've got of me, Rissa. But I'm not that shallow. I meant honest. I like my women to be honest."
She flushed. He knew that anything else he said now would be mean and sarcastic, but sending her away with the son he'd just discovered wasn't an option.
He pivoted on his heel without saying another word. Unlocking the door to his town house, he turned left and entered his living quarters. The living room was sleek and sophisticated. All chrome, glass and Italian leather. The entertainment center was top of the line and he'd just had a new large-screen plasma TV installed on Friday.
Larissa and Peter stood in the doorway as if afraid to enter. How old was his son? He knew she'd told him, but he'd been trying to grapple with the fact that he was a father and hadn't paid attention. It had been almost four years since he'd seen Larissa so Peter would have to be about three. What did kids that age do?
"Does he watch TV?"
"Yes. But only PBS."
Figures, Larissa would be all about educational television. He looked at the serious little boy.
His son. He felt a stirring so deep inside that it made his anger pale. This was his son. His future was tied to this little boy, and he knew he had to make the situation right.
He knelt in front of Peter again. The boy had his eyes. He studied Peter until the boy reached out and touched the stubble on his chin. "You're prickly."
"I didn't have time to shave yet."
Peter glanced up at Larissa. "How come you don't feel like that?"
"Girls don't," she said.
"Girls are different," Peter said, turning back to Jake.
"They sure are."
"You got any food?" Peter asked.
"Peter."
"It's okay. Come on, I'll fix us some breakfast." He stood and led Peter down the hall to the kitchen. "Then your mom and I need to talk."
Jake seated Peter at the large butcher-block table and checked the pantry for something a little boy might want to eat. He had two jars of martini olives and a box of water crackers. The fridge held several bottles of wine, a six-pack of Coors and an opened bottle of champagne. Maybe Wes had eggs in his fridge. His best friend lived upstairs.
"I probably should have found a sitter for Peter," Larissa said.
He turned to look at her. Peter was occupied at the table with an electronic book that Larissa must have had in that big purse of hers.
"I'm glad you didn't," he said.
She was so close he could smell the fragrance of her shampoo. She wore no makeup. But then she rarely did. Her skin was smooth and fine, creamy looking. Lust surged inside him, which further enraged him. He didn't want to want her.
She swallowed and he knew that she still wasn't sure letting him know his son was a good idea. He wondered how much of it stemmed from his reputation and how much of it came from her knowledge of him.
He'd never really taken responsibility seriously. Everyone in the family knew it. And thanks to the media coverage of his uncle's senate bid, most of the public knew it too. He was the fun-loving, thirty-year-old millionaire with the Midas touch. But Larissa should know better, especially when she'd found out she was having his son.
"What do you want to eat, sport?"
"Pancakes."
"Uh … let's see what I've got." Jake had no idea how to make pancakes. He could scramble eggs but there weren't any in the fridge. "I can run upstairs to see if Wes has some eggs."
