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Jane’s lip curled back from her teeth and she hissed out a breath. Shereallyhated the coriander thing. Just like Rafe hated not knowing for certain whom the father of her baby was.
But apparently she wasn’t done torturing him yet. “Why do you want to know?” she said, making herself comfortable on his bed. Making it difficult for him to concentrate on the issue at hand as he remembered the last time she’d been in his bed. Naked, writhing in pleasure. Getting pregnant… maybe. “What difference does it make?”
“It makes a difference, Jane.”
“Tell. Me. Why?” she said, not giving him an inch.
His frustration getting the better of him, he blurted out, “Because I need to protect you. Both of you. And I can’t do that if I don’t have all the facts. I need to know, Jane. If you have even the slightest doubt that this baby is mine, you need to tell me. Now.”
“What are you talking about?” She sat up and scowled at him, at his raised voice. Probably because Rafe rarely raised his voice, and never without good reason. “What is it you think you’re protecting us from?”
He blew out an irritated breath and rubbed the back of his neck. “Sam,” he growled. “Or anyone else who might try to claim paternity.”
Her brow scrunched. “What are you talking about?”
Rafe sighed and sat down beside her, turned to face her and spoke more gently as he tried to explain. “If I’m not the biological father, I have no parental rights to this child. I won’t be able to protect them.” He lowered his voice. “Not legally anyway.”
He let the hint of violence hang in the air. He had zero qualms about using all kinds of non-legal means to protect Jane and her child. Not that it was prudent for a respected lawyer to advertise that fact.
Jane pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. “Let’s say, for the sake of argument,” she said, slowly, “that you’re not the father. What happens if Sam, or someone else, comes calling?” She tilted her face up, the slightest wobble in her chin the only indication she wasn’t as calm as she’d like him to believe. “Can they take my baby away?”
Not legally, but he kept thought that to himself. He didn’t want to frighten her with the idea of someone kidnapping her child, an abhorrent act usually committed because the parent who didn’t have custody wanted to hurt the parent who did.
Sometimes it involved ransom or extorting money in exchange for the safe return of the child, but generally it was nothing more than grown-arse people being petty. And it was an occurrence he saw all too often in his line of work.
“No,” he said. “But unless they have a recorded pattern of abusive or antisocial behaviour, they would have the right to be in the child’s life. Of course, they’d also be legally bound to pay child support.”
Jane visibly relaxed, then snorted. “As if Sam would admit to anything that caused him to give money away. Anyway, it’s a moot point because the baby is yours. So stop worrying.”
Shaking his head, Rafe said, “The fact you felt the need to ask your hypothetical question just now tells me you’re not 100 percent certain that’s true. I know you said you’re sure, that the timing fits, but I need to know unequivocally whether your baby is mine or not. And for the record, I don’t care if it’s not mine. I’m here. I’m in.” He took her hands in his. “Please, Janie. Help me protect you.”
Silence stretched between them as she stared at their joined hands, and if he hadn’t known her so well, he probably would have panicked.
Everyone thought Jane was a tact-challenged ditz with no filter. A pretentious brat who blurted out whatever she was thinking the moment she thought it. But nothing could be further from the truth.
True, she got overexcited at times and forgot to engage her verbal filter, especially when she was stressed or upset, but who didn’t? And it was true she enjoyed pushing Abby’s buttons and had basically made a profession out of utilising pester-power to drag her best friend out of her comfort zone, but she’d never made Abby do anything she truly didn’t want to do—karaoke, for instance, was something his sister would never agree to, even if Jane put a gun to her head.
But she also cared deeply about her friends and family and was fiercely protective of anyone she claimed as hers. And she was smart—top three percent of her graduating class smart. Smart enough to know people would underestimate her if they thought she was a ditzy chick with verbal diarrhoea, and shrewd enough to use those misconceptions to her advantage.
Jane Melville was the devil in disguise.
Sliding her hands out from under his, she looked up at him, her face a picture of serenity. But she couldn’t hide the desperation in her eyes. “What if you’re right? What if—and it’s a very big if—you’re not the father? You said there’s nothing you can do about it.”
“No, I said I’d have no parental rights. I never said there was nothing we could do about it.”
“So what do we do?”
“First things first, we get a paternity test done. These days it’s as simple as getting a blood test. If the kid is mine, problem solved.”
“And if it’s not? What then?”
Rafe stood and moved out of harm’s way before filling Jane in on his solution to that problem. “There is something I could do, but you’re not going to like it.”
She folded her arms again and raised one brow. “Oh?”
“I adopt the baby and become his or her legal guardian that way.”
Her eyes narrowed. “And how, exactly, do you plan on doing that?”
