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Red Carpet Arrangement
Vicki Essex


From celebrity bachelor to…doting dad?Movie star Riley Lee Jackson never forgot Kat Schwinn or their beautiful night together, but he’s shocked to see her on his red carpet. Pregnant. With his baby. Suspicious of her motives, Riley promises to take care of her and their child, but nothing more.Yet Kat believes there’s something real between them. So she tries to make the best of this new life that she never asked for, filled with movie premieres and paparazzi. Because she knows Riley will do right by their baby girl. And because what she wants more than anything is a Hollywood ending in Riley’s arms forever.







From celebrity bachelor to...doting dad?

Movie star Riley Lee Jackson never forgot Kat Schwinn or their beautiful night together, but he’s shocked to see her on his red carpet. Pregnant. With his baby. Suspicious of her motives, Riley promises to take care of her and their child, but nothing more.

Yet Kat believes there’s something real between them. So she tries to make the best of this new life that she never asked for, filled with movie premieres and paparazzi. Because she knows Riley will do right by their baby girl. And because what she wants more than anything is a Hollywood ending in Riley’s arms forever.


“Why don’t you come over for breakfast tomorrow?”

As they headed for the door, Kat rationalized that her question was simply about making sure Riley connected with the baby, but in her heart, she knew she was keeping a window of opportunity wide open for herself.

“Sure.” The wry, lopsided twist of his lips made her heart beat faster. “And if you’re not doing anything tomorrow, I was thinking we could go out.”

“Like a date?”

His smile broadened. “If you want to put labels to it, then sure. A date. I guess it’s kind of backward and overdue, considering I knocked you up first.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Better late than never.”

He leaned in at the same time she was turning away, so instead of the peck on the cheek he’d probably intended, he got the corner of her lips.

They both froze, that tentative touch awkwardly hovering. In a moment of insanity, Kat shifted to press her lips to his, even as she berated herself for her weakness.

Riley inhaled sharply, but he couldn’t seem to detach himself. He lingered, cupped her cheeks and gently deepened the kiss.

He tasted exactly as she remembered.


Dear Reader (#ulink_1e36e2ad-01ee-56fc-9ab3-48935f421975),

When I started writing Kat and Riley’s story, I was married without children. As I write this, I am just over six months pregnant with my first child, so now I have real-life experience to fall back on when describing Kat’s pregnancy symptoms! By the time Red Carpet Arrangement is on sale (and assuming everything goes as planned), my baby will be just over two months old.

Parenthood has always terrified me, and I explored those fears with Riley and Kat. While my husband and I planned our family, my hero and heroine found themselves not only struggling through raising a surprise baby, but doing it together when they barely knew each other and under the scrutiny of the media. If I’ve learned anything from my pregnancy, it’s that I couldn’t do it without the unwavering support of my husband, John. It’s not just the practical side of things—changing the cat litter, lifting heavy objects, etc.—that needs to be worked out. Patience and communication are key to a healthy relationship.

It got me thinking about how difficult relationships are with a baby in the mix, and that’s certainly the case for Riley and Kat. With the added pressure of fame and celebrity to mess things up, the challenges my hero and heroine faced seemed insurmountable.

I hope that you find their happy ending as satisfying as they do!

All the best,

Vicki Essex


Red Carpet Arrangement

Vicki Essex






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


VICKI ESSEX would love to go to Hollywood someday on the arm of a red carpet hottie. Or her husband. Whoever invites her first. She lives in Toronto, where she enjoys ketchup chips and poutine. Check her out on vickiessex.com (http://www.vickiessex.com), facebook.com/vickiessexauthor (https://facebook.com/vickiessexauthor), and on Twitter, @VickiEssex (https://twitter.com/vickiessex).


Thanks to my agent, Courtney Miller-Callihan,

for all her support and insight.

Thanks, as always, to the lovely

Harlequin Superromance team, and

to my awesome editor, Karen Reid.

This book, like all my books, would not be possible without the continued support and understanding of my wonderful husband and father-to-be, John. You are my everything.

And for my own little Sweetpea: Mommy gets it. Now stop kicking her bladder.


Contents

Cover (#u945022f5-d340-55e2-a515-127e4efda076)

Back Cover Text (#u5e43810a-11c4-57af-8f79-227cda2f52fe)

Introduction (#u2b649b3e-b99d-5502-9f77-3fe3afc8432b)

Dear Reader (#ulink_c69a8618-a463-58f5-b4d4-8b08fe6b3c41)

Title Page (#u5dee18b5-0bb0-578c-813c-c8a684e53a8b)

About the Author (#ue6397cfa-cc0b-55f4-a8ed-b0bae770fadd)

Dedication (#u55477cac-5b5b-56a9-98a3-1ed274d0c1e8)

CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_02808f4d-11ac-5270-8667-880f081ce06d)

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_d2471705-e1a7-52ff-b8eb-eb3e5ce4fa97)

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_63f6600e-caf5-5040-b493-42c7d32835cc)

CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_5a99f57e-9c71-51aa-84b1-da2f2b608b6f)

CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_d32629e6-337f-5bc9-82f1-099773f50bbb)

CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_1622ecce-7d9b-586c-83a1-2f2ab9c64990)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_8965702c-653a-5651-a466-afdcac7d231e)

“YOU KNOW I could lose my job for this.”

“You say that, but I get the feeling you’ve done this before.” Kat caught the gleam of mischief in her friend’s eyes and smirked. She knew the risks, of course, but was relying on her friend’s sense of adventure to get her through this.

“You got me there. I’ve been sneaking into movie theaters since I was twelve.” Jamie flicked her hair out of her eyes. “A Hollywood movie premiere with press ID? Piece of cake. Besides, if either of us get caught, I’ll tell them you put a gun to my head.”

“Gee, thanks.” Kat hadn’t even brought her wallet or ID along, in case she was arrested. Despite the risk, she didn’t have a choice. None of the usual methods of communication had worked—phone calls, emails, letters, even faxes. Face-to-face was her only option, and Riley didn’t exactly make his schedule public. Tonight might be her only chance to see him.

Jamie didn’t know her true motive, though. She just thought Kat really wanted to see Infinite Destinies on opening night.

They hurried along the chain-link fence behind the bleachers where the VIP fans sat. Kat wiped sweat from her brow and flapped her skirt to get some air circulating. Cheese and crackers, had it always been this hot in California?

“Remember,” Jamie said, tapping the lanyard dripping with pass cards and badges that hung around her neck, “the bar codes on these aren’t real, so don’t let anyone scan them.”

“You couldn’t have gotten the real thing?”

“My workplace is so tightfisted with media passes, only the senior reporters get to come to these things. You’re lucky I’ve got mad Photoshop skills and access to a laminating machine.” They passed a pair of uniformed security men, and Jamie nodded as if she belonged there. Technically, she did—Jamie was a member of the press, just not a reporter yet, as much as she wanted to be.

“I’m going to check in with my contact—he said he’d have tickets for me to get into the theater. Meantime, you can score a seat up here and I’ll bring the tickets around. If you get caught and kicked out before I get back, I’ll see you at home.”

Kat grinned broadly in an effort to hide her tears. “This means a lot to me, Jamie.”

Her friend gave her a funny look. “If I’d known you were such a huge Infinite Destinies fan, I could’ve arranged something less cloak-and-dagger.”

“But where would the fun in that be?”

Jamie chuckled and left.

Kat took a deep breath and turned the corner. The air crackled with anticipation, the cheers and cries for attention rising and falling with every celebrity guest and cast member who arrived.

The high white tower of the Fox Theater stood sentry against a darkening sky. The bleachers lining the red carpet teemed with screaming fans, some of them dressed like Riley’s character, the space pirate Captain Jaxon Killian in Infinite Destinies. They held up placards and posters, wore T-shirts with his face plastered on them. She smiled to herself, wondering what Riley would make of this spectacle.

She measured the distance from the foot of the bleachers. There were probably prisons not so well defended as that red carpet. Directly in front of the bleachers stood a row of cameras with reporters parked in front of them, ready to conduct interviews. They were separated from the carpet by sturdy metal barricades draped with banners for the film. Beefy security guards and police officers patrolled the perimeter of the red carpet, interspersed with media coordinators wielding clipboards and headsets. The stars might pause to wave to the crowd, but it was no guarantee Riley would spot her in that colorful, chaotic throng.

If only she’d thought to sneak in as a reporter...but it would’ve raised too many questions from Jamie, and Kat had already tested their friendship by not explaining how she’d ended up on her doorstep, broke and homeless in LA...among other things.

The crowd roared as Infinite Destinies’ leading lady, Juliette Travis, swept onto the carpet. The gorgeous redhead blew kisses to the fans, then paused and slowly turned for the cameras, showing off her designer gown. Kat leaned over the railing to see if Riley was far behind.

“Miss, you’re going to have to take your seat.” A security man with shiny black shoes gestured toward the stands. “You’re not allowed to stand here.”

Her hands fluttered. “Oh... I’m sorry... I...I really needed to use the bathroom and I can’t quite find my way out.”

His skeptical look traveled down the length of her lanyard. “Can I see your—”

“Oh!” She waved to no one in particular. “I see my friend I was looking for.” She ducked around him and quickly walked to the other end of the bleachers. He called after her. Her heart pumped hard. If she didn’t lose the guard, she’d be hauled off for sure.

She rounded the bleachers and slipped beneath the panel of dark purple fabric hanging around the base of the platform. Boxes and wires littered the cramped space under the stepped seating. She held her breath against the reek of sweat and spilled beer. The security man walked past, his shiny black shoes easily identifiable below the edge of the curtain. Kat waited ten seconds before escaping back into the crowd.

On the red carpet, Juliette Travis was now signing autographs and taking selfies with enthusiastic fans on the far side of the aisle. Kat was so caught up watching the beautiful actress that she was startled when a high-pitched shrieking like the orgasmic throes of a banshee orgy pierced her ears. A storm of camera flashes nearly blinded her.

“Riley!” a nearby girl screamed. “We love you, Riley!”

Kat gripped the railing as relief, dread and anxiety surged through her.

There he was. Riley Lee Jackson.

Finally.

* * *

RILEY’S FACE HURT from smiling.

It probably wouldn’t have if he’d been wearing his natural smile, but Sam had said it was too “smarmy” for the cameras. She’d actually coached him on how to smile his “charming” smile.

Think about being buried in puppies, he reminded himself in his agent’s cheerfully precise voice. Though that was hard to do when his ears rang and a headache pounded against the back of his skull.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

He glanced down at his date. Her radiant smile did a lot to soothe him. “Nothing, Mom.” He grinned more naturally. “Just jealous that everyone’s eyes will be on you rather than me.”

“Oh, you.” She slapped his arm. “You’re being silly.”

“I’m not! I bet everyone’s wondering, �Who’s the schlup next to that gorgeous woman in the Alexander McQueen?’”

Winnie Jacobsen—or The Senior Mrs. Jackson, as everyone on the red carpet was calling her—gave a light laugh. “If you’re that jealous, then don’t buy me such fancy gowns. I could’ve worn one of the others I have from the other two premieres.”

“Have my mother wear the same dress to three different red carpets?” He gasped melodramatically. “The tabloids would rake me over the coals.”

In fact, Sam had insisted his mother couldn’t be seen in the same outfit twice on any red carpet. The extravagant dresses went against Winnie’s penchant for frugality, but Riley liked to think she was getting used to him spoiling her. After a lifetime of penny-pinching to support four kids on her own, she deserved it.

Her delighted laugh as the crowd’s whoops and cheers rose reminded him why he did this. All around them, fans carried signs that read Marry Me, Riley! and in one case, Riley’s #1 Fan with an arrow pointing down to the placard carrier. His mother pointed out a little boy, maybe five or six years old, dressed up as Captain Jaxon Killian, and he obligingly went to shake the boy’s hand and take photos with the numerous fans crushed up against the barricade. The wall of sound and flesh was intimidating, but also kind of cool. This was by far the biggest premiere he’d ever been a part of.

“I remember when you used to dress up as Superman,” his mother said in his ear as they strolled down the carpet. “Now you really are a superhero. So much better than those other characters you played.”

“They were good roles, Mom.” The past three years had been great for his career, even if he had been working nonstop. He’d played a gritty ex-military mercenary with a burgeoning conscience in an early Christmas release last year, then a desperado cowboy out for revenge in May. Captain Jaxon Killian was definitely a lighter character, but it’d been one of the most difficult parts he’d ever taken on for its sheer physicality as well as the humor. Comedy wasn’t his forte.

“I’m glad to see you smiling more,” Winnie said.

They began the gauntlet of media interviews beneath the covered backdrop plastered with the Infinite Destinies logo—a corridor of carefully arranged reporters who asked the same questions again and again, questions he was obliged to answer in perfect sound bites with the same enthusiasm a hundred times over.

How did you prepare for the role?

How are you and Jaxon alike?

What was working with Juliette Travis like?

What’s next for you?

Who are you wearing?

While he gave interviews, his mother hovered in the background, smiling and stepping forward whenever a reporter asked how she was doing and if she was proud of her son. She showed off her dress and succinctly praised her talented son. Riley always made a note of the reporters who were kind to his mom.

It took a good fifteen minutes to get through the interviews before they entered another area, where he posed for photos against a sponsor backdrop. Later he would do more photos with the rest of the cast in the larger red carpet section outside the theater entrance, as well as meet special groups of fans—most of them from charity foundations—on a minor stage area. He didn’t mind doing those things. He didn’t even mind taking selfies or signing autographs. It was the autograph hounds and paparazzi he detested—the leeches who felt they had a God-given right to exploit him and infringe on his privacy.

Sam marched up, all five feet of her, in unassuming black, perched on deadly four-inch heels. Her dark hair was in its usual efficient French twist. The only adornment she allowed herself was the excitement brightening her eyes. She handed them each a bottle of water. “You two look stunning. How are things going? Did the interviews go all right?”

“They were fine. Mom?”

“An hour of strolling and smiling?” She rolled her eyes. “Please. I raised four children, you among them.”

“You’ll be out here maybe ten minutes more before you have to go inside. I’ve got to check in with Juliette, but we’ll be sure to take some pictures together.”

“How’s her agent doing?” Riley asked.

“Well, the surgery went all right, but it’ll be a slow recovery, so I’ll be doing a lot of his legwork over the next few months.” She blew out a breath. “Sorry I couldn’t wiggle out of babysitting her, but Juliette wouldn’t take anyone else. The agency caved to her demands.”

“They usually do.” Riley supposed it was easier than fighting one of their most demanding, top-earning clients, but it seemed unfair to split Sam’s attention, even if she was one of the best talent agents and managers in LA. “It’s nice to be recognized, right?”

Sam’s brittle laugh sounded slightly hysterical. “I’ve got to go. Winnie, you’ll make sure he behaves?” Sam often talked about her clients as though they were small children.

“Always have.”

Sam zoomed off. She might as well have been wearing the jet pack Captain Jaxon Killian used in the movie.

“I don’t see why you two can’t make your arrangement more personal,” his mother murmured.

Riley laughed. “She’s married to her job, Mom. Besides, we’re not compatible that way.”

She shrugged. “Well, you can’t say I didn’t try. Not that I’m a matchmaker—my record isn’t exactly stellar on my own account...” The light in her eyes dimmed.

“Hey.” He cupped her cheeks tenderly. “Men would be breaking down the doors to date you if it weren’t for the fact that you intimidate them with your beauty and superior intellect.”

She gave a watery smile. He pecked her on the forehead and hugged her. The heat of a hundred flashbulbs seared his back as the media captured what should have been a private, tender moment between him and his mom.

“C’mon, let’s show you off.” He slung an arm around her shoulders and hustled her toward the wider common red carpet area.

Riley burst onto the floor, waving and blowing kisses, tugging his mom along and demanding his fans cheer for her, too. She brightened up significantly as the fans yelled thank-yous for raising him. Hamming it up was half fun and half work for Riley. He ran along the barrier, high-fiving fans. He was sweating beneath his tux by the time he joined the other cast members for photos.

Several times he turned to wave at the VIPs. Some of them were lucky folks who’d called in to radio contests, but he knew the bulk of them had paid someone under the table for the privilege of sitting on a hot, hard aluminum bench. This town made him crazy sometimes.

A flash of pink caught his eye, and his heart stopped. He squinted, seeking out that unique shade... No...no, he’d only imagined it. He turned back to face the cameras. It was the heat and all those flashes playing tricks with his eyes. He’d left Hawaii months ago, including all his best memories. Mom’s talk about settling down with someone must’ve just pinged some old, unwanted feelings.

Sam ushered him toward Juliette for photos. Combined with her dark red hair and creamy complexion, the pale sequined dress she wore reminded Riley of an albino boa constrictor.

“Congratulations,” he said, putting on his biggest grin. “You look nice.”

“And you,” she replied. Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

He wound one arm around her slender waist and they turned to face the cameras. The sleeve of his jacket chafed against the scalelike sequins of her gown.

Working with Juliette had been excruciating—she’d been closed to him, barely interacting, but the director, Harlan Jones, had thought she was brilliant as the ice-cold military commander Captain Killian fell for in the film. Maybe Harlan had made the choice deliberately—the friction between them was palpable, and yet everyone said they simply “sizzled” on screen. Many believed the chemistry was real, and the tabloids touted that they were secretly dating. He supposed he should be proud of his acting skills.

“How about a kiss?” one of the photographers yelled. They were looking for a reenactment of the steamy zero-gravity kiss in Infinite Destinies that had played over all the previews and commercials.

“I’m game if you are.” Juliette’s tone was ambivalent, as if someone had asked her if she’d like an appetizer to start.

A tick began in Riley’s cheek as he swung Juliette down in a dip and hovered over her dangerously. They stayed nose to nose for about five seconds as the cameras gobbled it up. His back started hurting and he had to pull her up. Both of them laughed it off. “Yeah, I’m not doing that again,” he said, stretching.

Juliette made an affirmative sound before slowly making her way back into the throng. She joined Harlan, who’d been watching them from the sidelines. The director, who always wore a fedora—Riley assumed to cover up the fact that he was balding—gave him two thumbs up.

Riley smiled and nodded. Harlan was a good director, but Riley didn’t care much for him as a person. He would likely be working with him again on future Infinite Destinies films, though, so he had to play nice.

A commotion near the VIP stand caught his attention. Sometimes crazy fans did desperate things to get noticed by one or more celebrities. He moved closer to his mother, studiously ignoring the hubbub.

Sam hurried over. “Nothing to worry about,” she told him cheerfully. “The usual crazypants Riley fan. Security’s not as good here as it was before. I think they got a new firm to do crowd control.”

He was dimly aware of a high-pitched cry calling his name. Something about it seemed familiar.

He glanced at the stands, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. To his ears, the fans’ half-screamed cheers were a wall of white noise like the least relaxing track on a seascapes CD—hungry gulls shrieking for more.

“Riley! Riley! Riley! It’s me!”

That flash of pink again, and he turned to really look this time, painting on a grin for whoever was trying so hard to get his attention.

“We’re going in,” Sam said. He nodded absently, still scanning the stands. He couldn’t shake the feeling he was missing something. Maybe he’d imagined it.

He linked arms with his mother and started forward. The Infinite Destinies banner was plastered across the marquee over the main entrance, his trademark glower so big he could see his pores.

“Riley!”

The voice came on a desperate rasp, and it was so familiar, so exquisitely sensual in his memory, that it punched him in the gut. He spun around.

At first, he thought he was seeing things. The pink stripe of hair... It couldn’t be.

“Riley!” Her voice seemed to be coming from far away. As far as Hawaii.

Three big security guards grabbed her as she burst through a break in the barricade. As those meaty arms seized her, she gasped his name again...

The same way she had that night.

It was her. It was Katherine Schwinn.

“Hey!” He shot toward the men trying to frog-march her away. “Stop. I know her.” The security guards, one on each arm and a third directly behind her, had Kat strung up by her clothes. They stared at him blankly. He summoned his most patient, charming smile. “It’s cool, guys. Let her go.”

“Riley.” Kat collapsed to her knees. The bouncers hovered, as if they were ready to kick her if she made one wrong move.

“Seriously, guys, I know her. She won’t cause any trouble.” He hated it when the muscle got overzealous. Kat was hardly a threat to anyone, much less him.

She had her arms wrapped around her middle. Her face was flushed and sweaty, and dark circles ringed her eyes. Her blond hair lay flat and lank, almost too thin against her delicate skull, and the vibrant cotton-candy-pink stripe hadn’t been dyed in a few months, judging by the dark roots. She looked like a washed-out version of the waitress he’d met in that Hawaiian tiki bar.

“I... I’ve been trying to find you...”

Now that he’d rescued her, he became keenly aware of the rest of the crowd, the cameras on him, his mother standing nearby, all watching, and he knew they were all asking the same question: Who was this mystery woman Riley Lee Jackson was talking to?

“It’s nice to see you, Kat,” he said automatically, helping her to her feet. Their one-night stand hadn’t amounted to much apart from some keen memories he liked to revisit whenever he was lonely. That was what he told himself, anyhow, to explain away the heady rush of nostalgic lust pulsing through him. Her hand slipped into his, and heat throbbed across his muscles, making him twitch. Only the cheering around him kept him rooted to the real world, reminding him of their very public spectacle. “Listen, I’ve got to go in...”

“No, Riley.” Kat’s death grip on his sleeve made the security men tense. “You don’t understand. I tried to call, I wrote, I emailed, I did everything I could to contact you—”

“I’ve been working.” Oh, boy. He hoped she wasn’t one of those women. They’d had fun that night, but that was it. She’d made that pretty clear herself.

“Riley.” She gripped him by both arms, drawing him closer. “Look at me.”

He searched her face, saw the desperate tears gathering in her blue eyes, a color as deep as the Pacific, the intense flush on her softly rounded cheeks.

Her chin drooped, and he followed the motion down to the unmistakable baby bump hiding beneath her open jacket.

“It’s yours,” she whispered.


CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_e4d9957d-d462-57fe-8290-ee2ddc81dc4b)

KAT HAD EXPECTED ASTONISHMENT. Shock. Denial and panic. She’d hoped for happiness. She’d been ready for anger. But she hadn’t anticipated the older woman with dark brown hair in a sparkly evening gown who appeared at Riley’s side.

“Riley? What’s the matter?” Her quizzical gaze slid toward Kat. She wanted to curl up in a ball and die.

“Come on.” He yanked her close, the heat of his breath draping over her neck. “And for God’s sake, cover that up.”

She fumbled with the buttons of her jacket as he spoke briefly to the woman standing beside him. Her back stiffened and she stared at Kat. A petite younger woman in black with stilts for heels swept in, cupping Riley’s elbow. A few low words and now her eyes sharpened on Kat, too.

Chicken nuggets. This had been such a bad idea.

Around her, flashbulbs went off. Someone shouted a question at her. Then someone else. And suddenly, she was enveloped in shouting, and then a hand on the small of her back guided her forward as the men who’d previously tried to bum-rush her out closed in around her.

They weren’t leading her away, though. Instead, they waded into a sea of upraised hands holding huge cameras, the flashes like lightning, blinding her. All she could see through her dazzled vision were dark-clad backs and shoulders. The air was so stifling, she thought she might pass out.

All through it she could feel the heat of Riley’s body pressed against her side.

“Don’t say anything,” he said in a low, deadly voice. “Don’t respond. Don’t look up.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him to funnel cake off—that no one told her what to do. But then a car door opened in front of her like a dark maw.

“Get in.”

The air-conditioned leather interior was too tempting to resist. She ducked her head and launched herself into the backseat, quickly scooting over as the older woman in the evening gown slid in after her, followed more sedately by Riley and Stilts For Shoes.

The door slammed shut, and the limo—she realized that was what she’d gotten into, with its rear-facing seats and the floor space between them—pulled away from the curb.

“Back to the hotel,” Riley told the driver before turning his glare to Kat.

Now three pairs of eyes scrutinized her across that narrow space. She occupied the front-facing seat all on her own, the others crammed together in their finery looming over her.

Their questions all came at once.

“What are you doing here?”

“Who are you?”

“How did you get past security?”

“Riley,” the older woman said. “Do you know this young lady?”

“My name’s Katherine Schwinn,” she interjected. She swallowed thickly. “I’m pregnant with Riley’s baby.”

The older woman’s gaze canted to her belly and softened, and the questions that passed over her face all resolved into one gently spoken one. “How far along are you, dear?”

“Twenty-six weeks.” She bit her lower lip, tried not to look at Riley. “I’m due the first week of November.”

“Riley...” Stilts drew his name out. “Tell me this isn’t...”

“Do you have proof?” he asked.

She’d been prepared for his skepticism, but it still hurt. She met his glare unflinchingly. “What do you take me for?”

“What do you take me for? You don’t think other women haven’t tried—”

“Riley!” the older woman snapped. “That is not how you speak to a woman. I taught you better than that.”

“Mom—”

“Sorry for him.” Her eyes, a deeper green than Riley’s, twinkled. “My name’s Winnie. I’m this one’s mother. We’ve had a long night.”

Riley’s mother? Fish sticks and tartar sauce, it really couldn’t get worse.

“The movie!” Stilts exclaimed. She banged on the glass separating them from the driver. “Turn around. We’ve got to go back to the theater.”

“We can’t,” Riley protested. “What about...” He waved at Kat. “We can’t risk going back and having her throw a tantrum in front of the press.”

Anger seethed beneath Kat’s desolation and loneliness. She curved one arm protectively around her middle. Don’t worry, Sweetpea, Daddy’s just in shock...

“You can’t not show up for your own movie premiere,” Stilts exclaimed. “You’re doing a Q and A after the screening, remember?”

“Then, we’ll go back for that. Driver, hotel. We’ll sort this out and return to the theater in time for the end.”

Kat bristled. “If you think you’re going to figure out the future of our baby in two hours—”

“Two hours, two minutes,” Stilts breathed.

“—you have got another think coming.”

“If the baby is even mine.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

Kat raked her fingers through her hair. “You think I would’ve put myself through all this if it wasn’t?”

“People do all kinds of things for money.”

So that was what he thought this was about. Well...he wasn’t that off the mark. She straightened. “The baby’s yours. I didn’t sleep with anyone else after you, nor for months before you. I’m willing to do a paternity test to prove it.”

Riley harrumphed, yanked open the limo’s minibar and emptied a tiny bottle of whiskey into a glass tumbler. Winnie made a noise of disapproval. Kat wished she could share that drink to soothe her nerves.

“Let’s cut to the chase,” Stilts said as Riley tossed back his drink. “What do you want?”

Who was this woman? She looked far too intense and severe to be Riley’s girlfriend. “I think this is a personal discussion I should be having with Riley.”

“Any conversation you have with him you can have with me.”

Kat looked to Riley. He was staring out the window, grinding his jaw.

“Bryan,” Winnie called, knocking on the glass. She smiled pleasantly as the chauffeur lowered the partition. “I’m sorry, but can you go back to the theater, please?”

“Right away, Mrs. Jackson.”

“It’s Jacobsen, dear. I changed it back to my maiden name after the divorce. Jackson is Riley’s stage name, though I still don’t see why Jacobsen wasn’t good enough.”

Bryan the driver nodded his agreement. “It’s a fine name, Mrs. Jacobsen.”

Riley glared. “Mom—”

“I came all this way and got dressed up for this. I don’t want to miss seeing you on-screen. Sam...” She addressed Stilts. Of course. Riley’s agent, Sam, the woman she’d been trying desperately to get hold of since she’d arrived in LA. “You’re coming with me, dear. My son needs to speak with his friend alone.”

The limo hadn’t traveled far from the theater. In a few minutes, the driver dropped the ladies off behind the Fox. Winnie gave a pleasant look to each of them that communicated both warning and warm expectation. Sam offered only a scowl. The limo pulled away from the curb again and it was just the two of them.

Kat’s heart pumped acid into her chest and she swallowed tightly. Deep lines were carved into Riley’s glowering face. He looked tired, worse than he’d looked when Kat had first met him in Hawaii. His hair was a bit longer now, and his tan had faded. The wry twist in the corner of his mouth betrayed his black humor. Despite all that, he was still pretty hot.

“If what you say is true—” he couldn’t seem to look at her now, eyes fixed out the window, instead “—why’d you come here of all places to tell me?”

“You don’t think I tried calling? I got the runaround so many times, it was pointless. I wrote letters and emails. I never got an answer. I even showed up at your talent agency’s headquarters. They kicked me out and threatened to have me arrested for trespassing.”

His jaw worked. “Sam would’ve told me.”

“I didn’t even get to speak to her. No one believes me. You don’t believe me, and you were...f-fries and gravy there.”

His eyebrows clashed. “What did you say?”

She rubbed her neck. “I’m trying to quit swearing so the baby doesn’t hear something she shouldn’t. I replace swearwords with foods I’ve been craving.”

For a flash, his lips fought against a smile. But then his face puckered sourly once more. Softly, he croaked, “She?”

“I don’t actually know.” She pleated the hem of her dress. “I asked them not to tell me. Sometimes I say she...sometimes it’s he.”

He downed the last of his whiskey and replaced the glass in the minibar. “So you decided to come out here and...what? Embarrass me in front of the press? Make sure I pony up to whatever demands you have?”

“Let me make this clear.” She sat forward, indignation honing her words to fine points. “I wouldn’t have had to do this if you’d returned my phone calls.”

“You wouldn’t have had to do this if—”

“If what?” she challenged, the tip of her anger sharp and hot. “If I’d insisted you double bag it? If we hadn’t had sex when I happened to be most fertile? Come on, go ahead. Tell me how this is my fault.”

He clamped his lips so tight they turned white. He sank into the leather upholstery and was quiet for a long time. They hit three stoplights before he finally spoke up. “Suppose...if the baby is mine...”

She clenched her fists. “It’s yours.”

“So...what? I’m not going to marry you.”

She ignored the pinch to her ego. “I don’t expect you to. Seeing what you’re really like, I’m not sure I’d want to.” He flinched, and she mentally chalked one point for herself. “All I wanted was to tell you you’re going to be a father. And I want the baby to know you.” She took a deep breath and forged ahead, praying as she quietly said, “Whether or not you want to actually have anything to do with us is another matter.”

“Hold on a second. Why are you assuming I won’t?”

“Oh, please. You barely believe me. You’re not glad to see me, and obviously, this news isn’t happy news.” Tears burned in her throat. Doughnuts, pregnancy hormones were the worst. She didn’t need him. She’d always taken care of herself. It wasn’t something to cry about.

“I don’t exactly get told I’m a father at the premiere of my biggest film every day. You came out of left field. I haven’t seen you since...”

“Twenty-six weeks ago,” she supplied helpfully, then gave a bitter laugh. “Did you even think about me? About whether there might have been consequences?” It wasn’t a word she liked to use—she’d come to accept the new life growing within her, even if she was in no way prepared to raise a child on her own. True, her mother had done it on less, but Kat wasn’t her mom. And she wanted more for her child than a nomadic life flitting from one coast to the other.

“Excuse me?” Riley’s eyes narrowed. “You were the one who walked out on me.”

Kat bit her lip. The morning after, she’d wanted to stay ensconced in that big hotel room bed. She would’ve loved to share a big breakfast with Riley and seen where things could go. But she’d sneaked out before dawn while Riley slept. There never could’ve been anything but that one night between them, anyhow—she knew it and he knew it.

Seemed they’d both been wrong.

Silence stretched between them as the limo glided through the streets. Riley regarded her with the look of a man calculating the costs of his secrets. “I looked for you,” he said finally. He rubbed his palm over his thigh. “When I got back to LA, I called the bar to check on you.” His brow furrowed. “They said you’d gone. No one knew where.”

She didn’t tell him about being fired. She didn’t want him to know that she’d been so attracted to him that she’d abandoned her post in the middle of her shift. But knowing he’d called trying to find her softened her defensiveness.

He went on, “I figured you’d moved on. Found someone else.”

She buried her clenched hands between her knees. “There was no one else.”

“Right.” He glanced out the window again, infuriating in his skeptical silence.

The limo pulled up outside a fancy hotel. Riley got out and scowled at her before resentfully offering to help her out.

She grabbed his outstretched hand and hauled herself up. She could have managed on her own, but she hadn’t been able to resist the impulse to touch him. He tightened his thick, strong fingers around hers and told the limo driver to stay close, then he guided Kat through the lobby and straight to the brass-and-marble elevator. Riley used a pass card to access the upper VIP floors.

“Where are you living these days?” he asked tersely.

“I’m staying with a friend.”

“But where do you live?”

Her stomach dipped as the elevator shot up at high speed. “I told you. I’m staying with a friend. I’m trying to find a place for the longer term after the baby arrives but—”

“Are you telling me you’re homeless?”

Why’d he have to make it sound so dirty? People always acted as if she’d done something awful to not have a permanent address. “I don’t have enough money at the moment for first and last month’s rent. Doctors are expensive. So are vitamins and food.”

“You don’t have...anything?”

She stiffened. “I’ve got a lot of friends with couches.”

“Do you have a job?”

“I was waitressing—”

“So you’re homeless and unemployed. Right, I get it now.” The elevator reached what she assumed was his floor, and he stalked out ahead of her into the corridor.

She’d had enough. “Listen, you,” she snapped. “I know you’re not happy. I know you’re in shock. But this is the reality I have to deal with. If you’d rather I leave right now, say the word and I will. But I don’t need you judging me or using that holier-than-thou tone with me or bullying me. I’ve got way more at stake here, and this is much harder on me than it is on you, you got that?”

She would walk away if she had to. Her own father, a sailor her mother had met during Fleet Week in New York twenty-six years ago, hadn’t wanted the responsibility of a child. And so Dotty Schwinn had raised Kat on her own. It wouldn’t be easy, but it would be better than being subjected to Riley’s criticism.

His face blanched. He sighed and rubbed his brow. “I—I’m sorry. You’re right. This isn’t me. I apologize.”

Her anger leveled out some. “Do you want me to leave?” Please say no, please say no...

He stared at her for an agonizing second. “Come in and we’ll talk.” The forcefulness of his command was dulled with a follow-up. “I’m sorry I yelled at you. You caught me off guard. Tonight was supposed to be a big night for me.”

And she’d ruined it. Not only this night, but maybe the rest of his life. Her conscience tweaked as some of the starch left his back.

“All right,” she said. “We need to work this out. But we can’t do it in a couple of hours.”

He glanced at his watch. “Right. The movie.”

Clearly, he would rather be anywhere else. She couldn’t blame him. She needed some space, too, to gather her thoughts. “Why don’t we meet tomorrow for lunch or something?”

“No.” The sound of someone leaving their room farther down the hall had him ushering her toward a set of doors. He opened them with his key card, and they slipped in.

They didn’t go past the entryway, but Kat could already tell that the suite was spacious and well-appointed. Riley flicked on the light and picked up the phone by the door. “Call your friend. Tell them you’re staying here.”

Her whole body flared hot. “I can’t stay here with you.”

“I’ll put you up in a room in the hotel for the week,” he plowed on. Had he even heard her? “I have to do promos and stuff in LA and New York over the next few days. You can go back to Modesto with me after I’m done.”

“I may be having your baby, but it doesn’t mean you get to push me around.” She jammed her fists on her hips. “Remember that thing I said about bullying me?”

“I’m not bullying, I’m being practical.”

“And I’m trying to tell you I don’t want to be a...a kept woman. I’m doing all right on my own, thank you very much.”

He gave her a flat look. “Homeless, unemployed and pregnant is doing all right for you?” he scoffed. “And you still insist you’re not here for money?”

She bit her tongue. He had her there. She’d half expected him to write her a check and wave goodbye. Whether it would’ve been a kind gesture or one to simply sweep her under a rug hadn’t mattered to her at the time.

Bottom line, she needed cash if she was even going to bring a child into the world, never mind what came after...

“I wanted you to know about the baby,” she reiterated staunchly.

“I’m not giving you a red cent,” he said sharply. “If you want my help, you have to stick around so I can verify your story. Once that happens, we work things out.”

“And in the meantime, I’m, what, your prisoner? Are you going to tie me to the bed, too?”

“Only if you ask me to,” he replied with dark intimacy.

She gave her best indignant gasp as heat flared low in her belly. It came out forced.

“Would you prefer to return to wherever it is you’re staying?” he asked irately.

She didn’t relish the thought of spending another night on Jamie’s lumpy couch. Besides, now that the press had photographed her confronting Riley, it was only a matter of time before things got awkward between her and her friend. Kat had only told her that the baby’s father was “some guy she’d met in Hawaii”; keeping a secret like this from Jamie had felt dishonest, but she hadn’t had much choice.

I’m being practical. Riley probably had the right idea about that. She had come to him out of sheer practicality after all.

“Fine. I’ll stay one night.”

“The whole week or nothing,” he countered. “And if the baby is mine, you’ll come back with me to Modesto. I can’t have you running to the press.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” she protested.

“If you want me to even begin to trust you, Kat, you’ll have to prove to me how serious you are.”

She blew out a breath. “This is ridiculous. You’re asking me to give up my life.”

“What’s your other option? Walking out? Because I can pretend you were never here and keep going on with my life. Can you?”

She ground her teeth. The only bargaining chip she had was to go to the press, but what would that earn her except his scorn and a lot of attention she didn’t want? And public pressure wouldn’t ingratiate her with Riley. She relented with a grunt. “I’ll have to get my things.”

“I’ll have the concierge send up anything you need for tonight,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Don’t leave your room while I’m gone. The paparazzi will be looking for you, and it’s going to take all of Sam’s focus to keep them off your scent. Do you understand?”

He might as well have tied her to the bed. But she nodded, even though she didn’t appreciate his attitude.

With a quick call to the front desk, the concierge arranged a separate room for Kat on a different floor. Riley escorted her there, his presence as oppressive as a prison guard’s. A bellboy brought a basket of toiletries, grinning as Riley handed him a fat tip. Discretion came at a hefty price, apparently.

“What do I do for clothes?” she asked.

“Send what you’re wearing to the laundry. And you can collect your things tomorrow.”

“But...what am I supposed to wear in the meantime?”

“There’s a robe in the closet.”

“I can’t go around naked.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Are you expecting company?”

She recognized the backhanded insult for what it was and glowered at him. “No.”

He looked at his watch again. “I have to go. Stay here. We’ll talk in the morning. If you haven’t eaten dinner, order room service. Whatever you want. It’s on my tab.”

“I can pay my own way, you know.”

He gave a disbelieving snort. He was right, of course, but that didn’t snuff out her indignation. Alpha douche, she thought, then wondered if douche was a swearword she should have censored.

With barely a nod he was gone, and she was alone.

The baby kicked as if to remind her she would never be alone again—to remind her of what was important.

And you are important, Sweetpea, she thought soothingly, rubbing her belly as if it were a crystal ball she could divine the future from. I won’t let anything happen to you. You’ll go to school and have friends and a place to keep all your toys...and you’ll never have to worry about where you’ll get your next meal.

Her stomach growled then. She’d been so nervous about seeing Riley she hadn’t been able to contemplate eating beforehand. Caving to her need for sustenance, she picked up the phone and dialed room service.

Thirty minutes later, she tucked into a chicken quesadilla, a beet salad, a plate of steak frites and a hot fudge sundae. She ate slowly, relishing every bite.

Once she’d finished her feast, she left her friend a message, simply telling her Kat wouldn’t be home that night, not saying where she was. She hesitated before she dialed the next number, wondering if it was even worth making the long-distance call. Predictably, it went to voice mail.

“You haven’t reached me...and if you don’t know who this is, don’t bother leaving a message.”

Kat sighed. “Hey, Mom, it’s me again. I’ve finally connected with Sweetpea’s daddy.” She cleared her throat. “I hope you haven’t been trying my cell—I couldn’t afford it anymore. And I’m not at my friend Jamie’s tonight, so if you’re going to call...” She left the name of the hotel and the main reception phone number. “Anyhow, I’m okay. Sweetpea’s dad and I have some things to discuss. I’ll let you know more when we’ve sorted it out.” She paused. “Call me, okay?”

She hung up. Hope could be so exhausting.

She stripped down for a much-needed bath, leaving her laundry for housekeeping hanging in a plastic bag from the doorknob of the suite. As she sank into the blissfully hot water, she thought about Riley. He’d looked yummy in that tux, albeit tense. Not surprising after everything that’d happened tonight.

Still, that wasn’t any excuse for his high-handedness. She would have to watch out for that. She wouldn’t let him intimidate her into any kind of arrangement that didn’t benefit the baby. She needed money, of course, but she’d prefer a father for Sweetpea, too. Preferably one who wouldn’t dictate how she was going to run her life.

Don’t leave your room.

She gazed around her gilded surroundings. It could be worse, she supposed—being trapped in a luxury hotel was hardly torture. Even so, she felt like the fox in a hunt, escaping into the woods with baying hounds closing in around her.

Whatever it takes, she reminded herself, and sank deeper into the tub.


CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_101abf86-ff0e-5db0-a4f4-dbff226a8928)

“SO THE BABY’S YOURS?”

Riley’s fingers tightened around his tumbler of Scotch, his mind full of dark thoughts even though he was smiling broadly for the guests at the after party. He couldn’t give the impression that he hadn’t enjoyed his own movie, even though he’d barely seen any of it. “I don’t want to talk about this right now.”

His mother snatched the drink out of his hand. “If there is a baby, you shouldn’t be drinking.”

“Mom—” He glanced around to see if anyone had heard. He bent forward and spoke directly into her ear. “Don’t use the B word around here. Someone’s bound to hear. This is how rumors get started.”

“So it’s not yours?”

He sighed. “The timing is right.”

“And you and she...?” She made vague motions with her hands, but the action implied was clear.

“For Christ’s sake...” He refused to discuss his sex life with his mother.

Fortunately they were interrupted by a group of fans Sam had led over—members of his official fan club, apparently. He grinned and took photos, introduced his mother and made small talk. The women, ranging between nineteen and midfifties, giggled and beamed and spoke directly to his mother, praising her for raising such a talented son. His mother always got a kick out of his fans. Sam finally made excuses and they moved off.

“You’re getting better at this whole human-interaction thing,” Sam said. “You even smiled like you’re supposed to.”

He rolled his eyes. “This bunch wasn’t as bad as the last group you brought over. One of those girls was so nervous she was sweating through her shirt.”

“Can you blame her? She was meeting a big Hollywood star.”

“She was meeting a human being who happened to be in a couple of movies she liked. She gets more out of her mail carrier, but you don’t see her fawning over him.”

“Don’t be such a grouch. No one wants to know how human you are. Speaking of which—” she turned serious “—if anyone asks, you offered your limo to a fan who was having a medical emergency. We escorted her from the theater and dropped her off at the nearest hospital, but she was feeling much better when we left her at the ER.”

“Won’t someone follow up on that?”

“The hospital’s not accountable if a patient walks out without checking in at reception. The world will assume she was embarrassed and slunk off after we drove away.”

Riley smirked. “You should write fiction.”

“I do PR. It’s nearly the same thing.” She opened a notebook. “Did you get a chance to talk to her yet?”

“Not really. She’s at the hotel. I’m putting her up till we figure things out.”

Sam shook her head. “We can’t let her blab her story to the world. It could seriously affect your career momentum.”

“I hardly think that’s the issue here,” Winnie put in. “Not if there’s a ba—complication involved.” She made a face, obviously disliking the word.

Sam’s pointed face froze in that emotionless mask she wore when she was thinking, plotting, calculating. Riley figured she could probably solve global warming with that intensity if she put her mind to it. She blinked her dark eyes rapidly as she surfaced from her fugue. “All right. Tomorrow morning, before you head to the circuit, we’ll start some processes.”

“Processes?”

She lowered her voice. “Tests.”

Winnie started. “Can they do that while the ba—complica—” She huffed and said lowly, “No, it’s a baby, I’m not calling it anything else. Can they safely do tests while it’s still in the womb?”

“I’m pretty sure. I’ll find out. I know a doctor who’s discreet.” Riley swallowed thickly, wondering when and how often Sam had this discreet doctor come around for her clients. She shot Riley a serious look. “I don’t know what your past with this girl is, and right now I don’t care. But until we have confirmation on whether it’s yours, don’t make any promises. Do you understand?”

He nodded stiffly. He knew she meant well, but he resented that Sam was handling what should have been his private affair. She glided away on her deadly heels like a wraith on a mission. Riley felt bad that she had to deal with this new crisis on top of handling Juliette’s needs. Then again, Sam seemed to thrive when besieged. And she was well paid.

“You didn’t tell Sam that you and...” His mother left her inquiry dangling.

“Katherine,” he supplied.

“That you and Katherine have a history.”

“You heard her, Mom. No promises until we know for sure.”

“And then what?”

“Let’s cross that bridge when we get to it.”

“And if it’s not yours?”

He clenched his jaw. He wasn’t about to admit that he’d already accepted that the baby was his—not as an absolute truth, but as a precaution he could prepare for. He could plan around such a crisis. But if the baby wasn’t his... “Then, that’s something she’ll have to deal with.”

Winnie’s face puckered. “But what about the baby?”

“Not my problem.” Not if it wasn’t his.

Privately he hoped it was. A child didn’t deserve to be left struggling for survival. But he didn’t want to be roped into caring too much, either.

As for Kat... Well, he could only pray she wasn’t a gold-digging fame monster.

* * *

THE PHONE’S EAR-SHATTERING warble startled Kat out of a strange dream where she was being buried beneath a mountain of human fireflies. She groped for the handset and croaked, “Hello?”

“Are you awake?”

She turned over slowly, rubbing her eyes and focusing on the bedside clock. “It’s seven in the morning.”

“Yes, it is.” Riley’s voice sounded rough. She’d assumed he would stay out late and sleep in this morning, giving her a chance to catch up on some much-needed rest. No such luck. Apart from the usual pregnancy fatigue, the baby had tumbled and kicked all night, as if it was telling her to keep moving, keep looking for that new adventure, a new home.

No, she thought firmly. Home is where you can grow up and have a normal childhood. Home is where you’ll get to make friends for life and go to school.

“You still there?” Riley’s sharp tone prodded her to wakefulness.

“Yeah.”

“Good. I’ll be down in twenty minutes. We need to talk.” He hung up.

She groggily got up, brushed her teeth and fixed her hair as best as she could. There was nothing she could do about makeup, since she’d carried none of her toiletries with her to the premiere. She told herself it didn’t matter anyway, that looking good for Riley this morning would not help Sweetpea’s cause.

Then she remembered her clothes. The concierge informed her they wouldn’t be ready until eight this morning. Fantastic. At least she’d kept her bra and underwear.

She bundled the robe around her tightly. Despite how plush and voluminous it was, she still felt naked, especially when Riley knocked. She drew in a breath, gathered her dignity and opened the door.

The glacial shine in Riley’s eyes fractured briefly. His light brown hair—it’d been blond when she’d first met him—was mussed in that way only a Hollywood star like him seemed capable of pulling off. Beneath his fashionable scruff, faint lines of displeasure bracketed his firmly set lips. His black T-shirt and gray jeans reflected his mood.

“You’re not dressed.”

Good morning to you, too. She hoped Sweetpea inherited her manners. “And I won’t be until I get my clothes back from housekeeping.”

“I was going to take you to breakfast.”

“I thought you didn’t want me out in public.”

“I mean upstairs in my suite. With my mother.”

She spread her hands. “Well, unless you want me half naked...”

He forked his fingers through his hair, pulling his scalp back in that motion that among men seemed to mean “stay with me, hair, no use falling out over this.” Posed as he was, she admired his toned arms, the flatness of his abs and his deep chest stretching his T-shirt. Even with those shadows under his eyes, the man was a walking photo shoot.

She yanked her gaze away. “Nothing going your way lately, huh?” she asked wryly, heading back into the room. If she had to face him, she would have a cup of tea first, even if it was bad hotel room tea. “Must be so tough, having your entire life turned upside down. I wouldn’t know what that was like at all.”

“Hey, I never expected to see you again. And showing up at my biggest movie release and announcing you’re pregnant in front of the whole world—”

“I told you, I did everything I could to reach you—”

“I know, I know.” He rubbed the spot between his eyes. “Is there coffee? I haven’t had any yet.”

He was looking everywhere but at her. It shouldn’t have hurt, but it did. “Yeah. But it’s sh—sugar pie.”

“So it’s...good?”

“The opposite of that.” Man, her vocabulary was so limited when she couldn’t swear.

She brewed the pod system coffee, and soon he had a lukewarm cup of awful with the supposedly shelf-stable creamer she was certain hadn’t been anywhere near a cow.

He took a tentative sip, made a face and ran to pour it out in the bathroom sink. “Dear God.”

“Told you.” She smirked. That’d show him for not listening to her.

He rinsed his mouth and exited the bathroom. He glanced around nervously. “Guess we’ll just wait for your clothes. Can I sit?”

She tipped a hand in invitation. He fell into the single armchair by the window and stared out pensively, one knee bouncing. For a moment, she actually felt bad for him. She’d had months to adjust to the idea of bringing a new life into the world—he’d only received the news last night. He actually looked as if he were trying to decide if he should jump out the window.

“How’ve you been managing?” he asked abruptly. “I mean...how’ve you paid for doctor’s appointments and that kind of thing?”

She shrugged. “It was okay for a while. I didn’t get confirmation until about ten weeks in. My period’s not regular, so I didn’t suspect I was pregnant until I realized the morning sickness wasn’t going away. Even then, I thought it was a stomach bug.”

His tanned brow wrinkled. “Was it bad?”

“Yeah.” Kat sank onto the edge of the bed. “I got it at night, so it made working at the bar hard. One night I fainted and dropped a whole tray of beers. Then I threw up all over one of the customers. I got fired that night.”

Riley sat forward. “That’s...that’s discrimination! You can’t fire someone for being pregnant. Was it that old boss at the tiki bar? The slimy one?”

“No, no, I left that bar after...” She trailed off. She didn’t want him to know what her attraction to him had cost her. “I’d just started at this new place downtown. I didn’t have to wear a coconut bikini top there, at least.”

He smirked. “Shame.”

Kat rolled her eyes, but was secretly pleased by his appraisal. “Anyhow, it’s not as if I could’ve fought it. The boss claimed I’d been drinking on the job. I didn’t confirm I was pregnant until after I’d been fired.”

“So how’d you come to California?”

“I had some savings. I sold my car and most of my stuff, got my plane ticket on the cheap. I have a few friends in LA who let me couch surf. Did a little random clerical work for a few of them—transcribing and that sort of thing. Spent what I had to for doctor’s appointments and medication.”

“Didn’t you sign up for health insurance?”

She shook her head. “Kind of had other issues to deal with...like finding a job and a place to stay.”

His scowl said it all. The judgment, the reproach, the pity. It all came off Riley as stony intensity, with his thoughts boiling beneath his calm veneer.

He steered away from her employment history. “So is everything with the baby...?”

“I’m healthy, and so is the baby. Things were slow to start—the fetus wasn’t growing as quickly as the doctor hoped. But that changed quickly.” She patted her belly.

“You don’t look as if you’ve been eating enough.” Riley rubbed his palms together, as if he could summon up a plate of hash browns for her there and then. She kind of wished he could. “I mean, for a pregnant woman.”

She smiled to herself, wondering what he’d think when he got the room service bill. “All women are different. I’m eating what I need to. I’ve been taking care of myself as well as I can.” There was no denying that before her pregnancy she’d been much less careful about what she put in her body. Being a waitress meant she worked odd hours, and she’d subsisted on bar food for much of her life. But now that a new life was involved, she’d become more conscious of everything she put in her mouth, as if every french fry and loaded nacho would become a part of the baby’s physical makeup.

She blew out a breath. “I won’t be coy, Riley. The truth is, you’re right, I’m running out of money, and no one will hire a pregnant waitress. My mother is the only family I have, and she’s AWOL. I can’t rely on my friends forever, either. I mean, my friend Jamie’s been great, and I don’t think she’d mind having me around, but a baby in a one-bedroom apartment with two women—”

“No, no, of course.” At least he wasn’t sneering about the money issue anymore. He stared at a spot on the floor. It seemed to be really sinking in now, his brow gathering furrows as pronounced as the San Andreas Fault. He looked so much older than his thirty-seven years, though the late-night talk show hosts always remarked on his ageless, devil-may-care grin.

They’d never seen his real smile, though. The one he wore for the cameras was entirely different from the one she’d seen when they’d lain in bed together, the moonlight pouring in through the hotel room window with the sound of the surf so close she thought she could dip her toes in if she let her feet dangle off the mattress. She wondered if she’d ever see that smile again.

A loud knock on the door startled her out of the moment. “Must be my clothes.” She went to answer it.

* * *

SO THIS WAS all about money.

Riley supposed he shouldn’t have been disappointed. Of course, any discussion about the baby was going to be a practical one. He knew better than anyone that money made a difference. He didn’t know why he’d expected more from Kat.

Once she’d gotten dressed, Riley escorted Kat up to his suite. He studied her reflection in the mirrored elevator. Too thin, and so pale, despite the coastal sunshine. Weren’t pregnant women supposed to glow or something? Maybe it was anemia. That was a pregnancy thing, right?

As they entered the suite, Winnie greeted Kat with a smile. A sudden bout of nerves flashed through Riley. Stripped of makeup and that designer evening gown, she was much more “mom” in a light sweater and capris, and now she was meeting the woman who was very likely carrying her grandchild. Kat rubbed her arms nervously, looking like a small, trapped animal.

“Good morning, dear. Please, come in. I’ve got French toast warming in the oven, fresh fruit and bacon. I also have plain oatmeal if you’re not feeling up to anything rich.”

“You have a kitchen in here.” Kat took in the amenities with a note of awe.

“I prefer to cook when I travel with Riley. Eating out too much is bad for your health, and it can get so expensive in LA.” She held out her hands entreatingly. “How are you doing? Did you sleep well? I had such a difficult time with this one, I remember...” She nodded at Riley. “Always rolling around and kicking me black-and-blue inside at the ungodliest of hours.”

“He or she must take after her father, then.” Kat placed a hand over her stomach. “Stuntman in the womb.”

Winnie laughed and they got to chatting about pregnant-lady things. Riley tuned them out ruthlessly as he picked up his tablet and absentmindedly scanned the entertainment news headlines, searching for word about the Infinite Destinies premiere. Though he’d privately accepted the likelihood that the baby was his, that modicum of doubt made him nervous about his mom bonding with Kat.

“Help me set the table, Riley.” His mother’s sweet command pulled him out of his turbulent thoughts. To Kat, she said, “Don’t ever let him off the hook when it comes to quality time. He’s always on about how busy he is, but that doesn’t excuse him from sitting down for a proper meal with his family.”

A small smile curved Kat’s lips even as she slid Riley an apologetic look. The way his mom was talking, it sounded as if she fully expected them to have a more permanent arrangement.

Someone knocked as they were sitting down for breakfast. Riley answered the door. “We’ve got problems,” Sam said without preamble as she strode in, before correcting herself graciously. “I beg your pardon. Good morning, Winnie. Excuse me for barging in. I’ve got—”

“Business with my son, yes, yes. Let’s have breakfast first. I don’t like to hear bad news on an empty stomach.”

“I’ve already had—”

“Coffee and cigarettes alone won’t sustain a body. Now, you sit down and eat, Samantha Silverman.” Winnie settled her hands over the petite agent’s shoulders and marched her to the table.

“Don’t argue with her,” Riley murmured, slightly amused by his agent’s long-suffering sigh. He knew Sam secretly loved Winnie’s doting.

Sam smiled tightly as she faced Kat. “Good morning, Miss Schwinn.”

“Kat, please,” she said a touch hesitantly.

Sam, normally a friendly sort, seemed visibly wary—she obviously didn’t trust Kat. None of them should. But Riley didn’t like the tension running across Kat’s shoulders. It couldn’t be good for the baby.

That note of strain remained as everyone heaped their plates with food. They were quiet as they ate. Riley watched Kat cut her food into bite-size pieces and chew them carefully. He thought eating for two meant stuffing your face with abandon. Or did the baby need as much food at six-and-a-half months?

Then it occurred to him he had no idea about anything to do with babies or pregnancy. He liked other people’s kids fine, and worked with lots of children’s charities. He knew how to be a big brother and the man of the house. But a dad?

He set down his cutlery and hid his suddenly trembling hands in his lap. “I’m a bit nauseous,” he explained when his mother sent him a questioning look. “Too much to drink last night.”

“Something else you’ll have to watch out for with all the schmoozing he does,” Winnie said to Kat.

“I’m not a boozehound, Mom.” He knew she was sensitive to his drinking because of the way his father had been, but it was hard to avoid a social cocktail at big Hollywood shindigs.

“That reminds me,” Sam interjected, “I received an invitation to a spirits tasting in early October. It’s a charity thing to raise awareness for...bah, now I can’t remember. A thousand a head. Good cause, and a few friends of Harlan’s will be there.”

“Friends of Harlan’s” was code for bigwig producers, directors and investors, guys who could give Riley the Oscar-worthy scripts he craved. Playing Captain Jaxon Killian would be fine for a few years—and it would provide a steady paycheck of residuals and merchandise royalties for the rest of his life—but he wanted meatier parts, more challenging roles. “Put me down for yes.”

His mother frowned while Sam made a note in her leather-bound planner. Mom knew very well that networking at such events and keeping his face in Hollywood’s mind was part of the job.

“Okay, on to business.” Sam closed her planner and turned toward Kat. “Riley’s told me about how you two met. The timing’s right. I went through my emails and correspondence over the past year, but I don’t have any record of you contacting me, so you’ll understand my suspicions. It’s possible, however, that your messages went through the filters of the administration staff and my assistants first.”

“No one believed me.” Kat’s voice was flat, resigned. “No one.”

“I’m sorry for that. Please don’t take it personally. The agency must protect Riley’s interests, and I’ve been through this before with other clients. In fact, over the past two years, three women have come forward claiming they’re pregnant with Riley’s baby.”

Riley fixed his expression, watching the play of emotions on Kat’s face shift from disbelief to amusement to solemn apprehension. If she was lying, it didn’t show. She only squared her shoulders and defiantly declared, “It’s Riley’s. I wish it weren’t. But it is.”

Irritation pricked him again. Wasn’t he good enough? Maybe she was manipulating him, pulling a reverse-psychology bit, but she hadn’t come off as a con artist when they’d first met in Hawaii, and she didn’t come off as one now. Unless she was that good. He was an actor after all, and had worked with some of the best. He knew how a great actor could transform him or herself.

“Why would you have heard about those other three pregnant women and not me? How’d they get your attention?”

“They went directly to the press when they couldn’t get to Riley. Thought they’d grab some quick cash by selling exclusives to the tabloids.” She cut Kat an intrigued look “You could’ve gone to the papers, too, but you risked getting yourself thrown in jail, or worse, to see Riley. So either you’re a very convincing sociopath, or you’re telling the truth.”

Kat’s chin jutted. Riley thought Sam was being unnecessarily provocative, but Kat’s reactions were telling.

“I looked into doing paternity tests,” Sam went on, pulling some printouts from her bag. “There are options, but at this stage in your pregnancy, there’s some risk involved in extracting what we need.”

“We’re not doing that, then,” Riley cut in sharply. “I won’t risk the baby’s health.” He sensed surprise from the others as he met Kat’s eye. “Until we know for sure, I’ll help you cover the costs for everything you’ll need.”

He suddenly realized what he was saying. That he was accepting her word without proof, and that he was willing to stick it out with her at least until the baby’s birth.

“Are...are you sure?” Kat looked shocked.

“I may be a jerk, but I’m not an asshole.”

Kat clapped her palms on either side of her belly, as if she could cover the baby’s delicate ears. “Ah-bah-bah! Shh!”

He rolled his eyes. “Fine...artichoke. Whatever.”

She wrinkled her nose and stuck out her tongue. He held back a smile. She’d done that before, when they’d first met—when she’d still looked bright and fresh and indomitable, even in a coconut-shell bikini top. He was glad that spark hadn’t been completely snuffed out.

Sam shrugged. “All right, then. I guess that’s settled.” Her tone told Riley she didn’t entirely approve, but wouldn’t argue. She removed another sheaf of papers from her bag and slid them toward Kat. “I’ll need you to sign this.”

Kat picked them up warily. “What is it?”

“Nondisclosure agreement. While Riley is paying for your doctor’s visits and whatever else you need, you’ll be legally bound to keep silent about who you’re with, who’s footing the tab, who the father of your child is—” She paused. “Unless you’ve already told someone.”

“Obviously people know I’m pregnant. Kind of hard to hide.” She thought a moment. “I told my mom that the baby’s father was an actor and that I was headed to LA to track him down, but I didn’t name Riley. And I’ve only left her messages. She hasn’t called me back yet, so she may not even know.” Hurt and concern creased her face. She quickly covered it up with a too-dry chuckle. “Last I heard, she was sailing on a catamaran in the Caribbean. I don’t think she gets on land too often.”

“What’s your mother’s name?”

“Dorothy Schwinn. Most people call her Dotty.”

Sam jotted furiously in her notebook. “Anyone else? Someone close to her who might have access to her voice mails?”

“She’s had a few boyfriends, but no one who’d have access to her messages. She’s kind of private. Prefers to be independent.”

Sam nodded in understanding. “You’re staying with a friend, I hear?”

“Yeah. She doesn’t know about Riley, either.”

“But she knows you’re pregnant.”

“What do you think?” she asked, pointing to her stomach.

Sam pursed her lips. “Okay. First things first. You’re moving out of her place today. Tell her another friend is taking you in. Say nothing else.”

“Is that really necessary?”

“Kat, we already agreed to this,” Riley said. Her continued resistance annoyed him.

“First rule in Hollywood—don’t trust anyone,” Sam said. “I’ve seen lifelong friends and family members dish on actors’ lives for a payout. The tabloids have a lot of money to throw around.”

Kat cast Riley a sad look. “The price of fame?”

He lifted a shoulder. Sam’s cynicism wasn’t unfounded, but he had yet to abandon anyone in his life because they’d betrayed him or his family to the press.

“You don’t read the tabloids, do you?” his agent guessed.

“Not really.”

“Well, these people are ruthless. They will rip apart your life bit by bit, follow you everywhere, turn every friend you’ve ever had into an informant, breathe down your neck, peer through your windows, dig through your trash and make up stories about you based on everything you eat, buy and throw out. It’s all bullsh—” she stopped herself at Kat’s narrowed look “—uh...bonbons?” Thrown off, Sam shook her head. “Anyhow, they’re vicious. This is a cutthroat business. Do you want to expose your child to that?”

“Of course not.”

“Then, for God’s sake, tell your friend nothing. I’m sorry, Kat, but your life isn’t yours anymore.”


CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_fd6c1f25-8608-5882-a8dc-657b7605ac97)

YOUR LIFE ISN’T yours anymore.

Everything inside Kat rebelled. Even the baby squirmed, tumbling as if he or she could escape the trap quietly closing in around them both.

Sam went on. “We’ve got other issues. Check out today’s gossip.” She took an iPad out of her bag and brought up a webpage, thrusting it at Kat. The headline screamed, Riley Lee Jackson to the Rescue. Below it was a fuzzy photo of Kat, face partially obscured, being shoved into a limo, Riley’s hand possessively on her back. The imprint still burned her skin. She glanced his way.

“I hadn’t seen that,” he said, expression unreadable.

“Luckily they bought my story,” Sam said. Kat scanned the text and was impressed by how the agent had spun the situation. “But people are already digging, trying to find Kat and hear her side of the story. We need to get her out of LA before someone recognizes her.”

“You don’t think anyone could possibly find me from a few blurry pictures?”

“With all the social media out there, someone will piece it together or come up with their own crazy theories. The moment your friend Jamie sees this, what do you think she’ll do? Frankly, I’m surprised she hasn’t called you yet.”

Kat set the iPad down, her heart palpitating uncomfortably. Breakfast wasn’t sitting too well now. She didn’t want to mention how Jamie’s connection to the media had helped get her into the VIP stands in the first place—getting her friend fired was not on her to-do list. So she squelched her discomfort and kept quiet.

“Don’t go upsetting her. It’s bad for the baby.” Winnie got Kat a glass of water. “Sam went over this with us when Riley started getting more famous. Don’t let her fearmongering scare you, dear. Sam does her job well.”

Kat took the glass of water gratefully, bewildered but glad someone was looking out for her.

“So... Modesto.” Riley rubbed his palms together. “Mom, I hate to ask this of you. I know you wanted to go shopping and see the sights—”

“I can do that anytime. This is much more important.”

Kat looked around warily. “What are you talking about?”

“My mother will go back to Modesto with you today. She’ll settle you at my place.”

“I thought the plan was for me to stay here for the rest of the week.”

“Not now, with the paparazzi sniffing. Trust me, this is better.”

Kat set her teeth. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him no, but she had no strong arguments for staying. “I can stay put here if it’s a bother.” Modesto wasn’t far, but she didn’t want to be whisked away to a city where she knew no one.

“It’s no bother at all.” Winnie beamed. “Riley will be busy all week. He won’t have time or energy to spend with his dear old mum. Anyhow, it’ll give us a chance to get to know each other.”

Winnie’s brilliant smile dispelled some of Kat’s apprehension. Riley’s mother seemed so nice, so...well, motherly.

Not that her own mother lacked those instincts, but Dotty Schwinn had treated her as more of a small friend than a daughter. From the moment Kat could speak in full sentences, Dotty had believed Kat was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. Mistakes had been made, sure, but Dotty didn’t hold them against her. Life was learning, she used to say. As a result, Kat had grown up a strong-willed, independent woman who, like her mother, traveled wherever she wanted unfettered.

Giving in to Riley’s demands and taking off for Modesto felt like a complete surrender of those values. Everything, including the life growing within her, was in the hands of people bent on keeping her hidden away, a dirty little secret to be buried. She could only imagine her mother’s disappointment. Freedom, she used to say, was worth more than gold.

It’ll be all right, Sweetpea. She soothed a palm over her roiling stomach. I’d do anything for you.

“You’ve got that look,” Riley said. Kat glanced up, but he was speaking to Sam. The agent’s eyes were unfocused, fixed on some point in the middle distance.

She blinked rapidly, like a sparrow considering a birdcage full of seed. “I’m trying to anticipate what’s next. I have a few plans in my back pocket for when things go south.”

“When?” Kat’s fingers clenched.

“Don’t think too much about it.” What she supposed was a kind look from Sam felt like the caress of the flat side of a knife. “Your only job now is to pop out a healthy kid. Leave the rest to us.”

* * *

THAT AFTERNOON, KAT took a cab to Jamie’s place to collect her belongings. Winnie had offered to go with her, but she didn’t think it would be a good idea to invite a stranger into her friend’s apartment.

Kat had hoped to pack and leave quietly without being interrogated, but as she was gathering her things, Jamie walked in and looked up in surprise.

“Oh, my God, Kat.” Her friend halted, puzzling over the toiletries bag clutched in her hand.

Kat felt as though she’d been caught stealing the silverware. “I thought you’d be at work,” she said.

“I...came home to change for an interview.” Jamie pushed her short blond hair out of her eyes and looked Kat over. “Are you all right? Your message last night was so cryptic. I thought you might’ve been arrested or something. I had to trace the number to find out where you were calling from.”

“I’m sorry. I was kind of distracted. Things got...intense.” She couldn’t explain further without breaking her promise to Riley.

“See, this is why you should’ve let me get you a phone. I was so worried.” Jamie’s dark eyes zoomed in on Kat’s large travel backpack, stuffed with her life’s possessions. “You’re leaving?”

“I was about to call. I can’t keep imposing on you. I have another friend who’s taking me in...” Jamie’s face sagged. Danishes, she’d upset her. Jamie wasn’t exactly needy, but she had a frail ego. Kat had to give her at least a tiny bit of the truth. “The baby’s father is taking me to Modesto.”

“Modesto?” Something flitted across Jamie’s face, and her eyes sharpened. “So...you found him? Who is he?”

Kat winced. Her friend suspected something. If Jamie had seen any of the photos from the Infinite Destinies premiere last night, she might be able to Nancy Drew the rest of the story by matching Riley’s filming schedule to Kat’s time in Hawaii...

“Kat?” Jamie prompted.

Don’t trust anyone.

“All that’s important is that he’s promised to help.”

“Oh, c’mon.” Jamie folded her arms over her chest. “It’s not as if it’s a state secret or something.”

“Jamie, please, this is hard enough for me. I appreciate you letting me stay here, and I swear I’ll pay you back when I can, but...” Kat waved a hand around the tiny, messy apartment. She’d been grateful for the roof over her head and had lived in worse. But she had to depart with as few questions asked as possible.

Jamie frowned. “I knew the couch would be hard on your back. You should’ve taken my bed. I told you to take my bed.” She jammed her fingers through her short blond bob and huffed. “I’m not offended. I’m just sad to see you go. And I’m worried. I mean, is this guy okay?”

Kat understood her fears. A few years ago, Jamie had been at a bar in Key West where Kat had worked, and the man she’d been traveling with had had a few too many drinks. When Jamie had tried to make him leave, he’d hit her. Kat had seen it all, got the bouncers to kick the guy out, called the cops and stayed with Jamie. She’d helped her pick up her things from the hotel and invited Jamie to stay with her for the rest of her vacation—they’d become fast friends. When they’d parted ways, Jamie had left her an open invitation to stay with her in LA.

“I think he’s still in shock. But he wants to help. That’s all that matters.”

Jamie gave her a long, assessing look, her thoughts shrouded behind suddenly shrewd green eyes. “C’mon, you can tell me the truth. You didn’t even see the movie last night, did you? So who is this guy?”

Now Kat was entirely uncomfortable. Instead of responding, she hugged Jamie. “I’ve got to go. I’ll keep in touch, I promise. Thank you so much for everything.”

Reluctantly, stiffly, Jamie hugged her back. “Call me. For anything. I don’t want to lose track of you.” Something hung in her voice—something that wasn’t quite a threat, but somehow darker than a warning.

Kat hurried from the apartment and cabbed it back to the hotel, relieved to be out from under Jamie’s scrutiny and a little troubled by her friend’s behavior. Maybe her departure had offended Jamie. In the three months Kat had lived with her, she’d learned that toxic family dynamics had skewed some of Jamie’s perceptions about healthy relationships. As a result, her friend sometimes hung out with the wrong people, and she could hold a grudge like no one else.

Kat hoped she hadn’t made an enemy.

* * *

“SO WHO WAS the mystery girl you whisked away in your limo the night of the Infinite Destinies premiere?”

Riley bared his clenched teeth in a wolfish smile. Every single reporter on the press junket had asked this question. The only reason he answered was because Sam had insisted not answering would be worse. As if lying through his teeth was any better.

“A fan who needed to get to the hospital,” he replied, same as he had the past twenty-two times. He shifted in the tall director’s chair set on the carefully lit soundstage. There were no cameras on him at the moment, but he was utterly aware of his body language, every telling gesture, every nervous tick. “I saw she was in distress, so I offered to help.”

This was the part where the reporter was supposed to laugh and make a joke about how he was a superhero in real life. That was the line Sam had been feeding the voracious public.

But this guy... This reporter was something else. Older than most of the other entertainment reporters, and greasier, too. His thin frame, baggy jeans, polyester shirt and white running shoes suggested that he was a strictly off-camera guy. He thumbed through a well-used notepad and glanced up at Riley. “I interviewed the security men working that area of the red carpet. They said you knew the woman. That she was pregnant.”

Take control of the interview. Don’t let this guy rile you. “That reminds me of a funny story. On my first day on the set—”

“Eyewitnesses said she was at least five months pregnant. Is the baby yours, Riley?”

He gave a harsh, humorless laugh. “Who did you say you write for again?”

“I’m freelancing this piece to Hollywood Weekly. Who was she, Riley? Where did you really take her? I checked all the local hospitals but none of them have any record of a young pregnant woman checking in.”

Either this guy was lying, or he was the real deal and had actually done some hard-core investigative journalism. “Do you like kids? Let me tell you about the screening of Infinite Destinies I’ll be doing with the Starlight Foundation.”

The reporter let him ramble on about the charity for inner-city youth his friend and stunt-fight trainer, Brett Hawkspear, had turned him on to. The studio had given him special permission to do a screening for a bunch of kids, and Riley and a few other cast members would be there to hang out with them. He was particularly proud of the charity events he’d insisted on as part of the promotional tour. Giving less-fortunate kids a chance to be happy was important to him.

He expected the reporter to ask him about his other charity work.

“I have one witness saying you called this woman Kat.” The reporter’s eyes stayed on his face.

Riley knew he hadn’t hidden his reaction well enough when the muckraker smiled broadly. “So her name is Kat?”

“I’m sorry, we have to move on.” Bobbi, a junior publicist the studio had sent, rushed in and motioned for the man to leave. A security guy stood behind her, bolstering her carefully cheerful request. “You can leave any further questions with me.”

“What the hell?” Riley whispered when the reporter was gone. “Who was that guy?”

“I don’t know how he got past us...” Bobbi shook her head, eyes full of fear. “That was Charlie Durst from Limelight Whispers.”

Shit. Durst was one of the most relentless paparazzi and newshounds out there, a man who’d do anything to get a story. He’d done incredible real award-winning journalism stories for numerous magazines about the shadier side of the movie business, but after he’d been caught plagiarizing he’d turned his talents to digging up dirt on celebrities.

“He must’ve had a fake ID,” Bobbi went on. “Fake credentials, too.”

“You guys know he’s a freaking master of disguise.” Riley raked his fingers through his hair. He was still mad at himself for tipping his hand. Now Durst would dig even deeper into his relationship with Kat.

Bobbi apologized repeatedly. It took Riley a while to calm down before he was able to greet the next reporter with a smile.

By the end of the junket, his nerves were shot. Answering the same few questions over and over again was stultifying and exhausting, but having his private life put under a microscope was the one thing he absolutely detested.

When he returned to the hotel late that afternoon, he discovered his mother had left only an hour earlier with Kat. He regretted not seeing them off, but considering his mood, it was for the best. In the empty suite, he downed a minibottle of Scotch from the bar in one gulp, then tore into a roasted-veggies-and-goat-cheese sandwich his mom had left for him in the fridge. He could count on his mom to know what he needed after a hard day.

“Bobbi tells me you had a run-in with Charlie Durst,” Sam said when she arrived in his room an hour later. She looked as severe and fearsome as a tiny, fashionable undertaker in her black designer suit.

“It’s not Bobbi’s fault. I kind of went off on her already.” He rubbed his forehead. “How was your day with Juliette?”

“Uneventful in comparison. No tantrums or outbursts, at least.” Juliette had refused to do interviews with any of her costars. She’d wanted the spotlight on her alone. “I should’ve stayed with you.”

“I think I handled everything okay up until Durst. He’s going to be an issue, Sam.”

“He’s been known to bullshit to make people show their hands. Whatever he has may be made up.”

Riley shook his head. “No. He knew Kat’s name. He’s on to something, and you can believe he’ll shake that tree until it falls out.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and swore. “Christ, I’m beat. Any chance I can skip tonight’s party?”

“Harlan will be there, and so will Juliette. I hear some big producers and directors are coming, too.” She named them, and Riley nodded. He’d met most of them, but it was always good to reintroduce himself.

“Guess I’d better go.” Work came first, always. And yet he mentally counted the days to the end of the week, when he’d go back to Modesto, where Kat was surrounded by his family.

A slight pang went through him. No, he didn’t miss her. And he didn’t want to see her—he simply wasn’t sure how she would react to his family, or how they’d react to her. Mom would be good to her, but his siblings... Well, they were a handful.

Now that he had time to think about it, things could go very wrong.

He wasn’t sure who to feel sorrier for.


CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_0956754a-92cd-5ec0-8008-4d43f285250b)

“SOMETHING WRONG WITH your sole?”

Kat looked up from the fish filet in lemon sauce Riley’s sister Kaylee had prepared for her. She’d been trying to choke it down without gagging for the past half hour. “It’s fine. Delicious.”

Riley’s “baby” sister—a whole four years older than Kat’s twenty-six years—beamed, showing long, white teeth against her tanned face. She was a wiry woman, pretty, but tautly held, as if her skin might snap if she smiled too hard. “I got the recipe from a woman in my drumming circle,” she said, and flipped her sun-streaked hair. “It goes against my vegan beliefs, but I know the baby shouldn’t go without meat. Still—” her shoulders locked into a shrug “—fish are the only animals I’m willing to kill.”

So she’d been saying all week. Every piece of food Kat had put in her mouth had gone down with Riley’s sister pushing her own strict diet of nuts and seeds and organic this and that. She’d been using that supercilious tone with Kat from the moment they met, peppering her with questions about her diet and exercise regime, and what she was doing for the baby’s “spiritual welfare.”

Trying not to strangle you had been Kat’s first thought. She put another mouthful of the slimy, too-lemony fish into her mouth, holding her breath as she chewed and swallowed. She normally liked fish, but the pregnancy had turned her off the texture and flavor. She hadn’t said anything, though. How could she? She was living off Riley’s family. She wasn’t going to turn away food that Kaylee the vegan had made especially for her. No, she’d eat it, feel wretched for a while, then go back to the guesthouse and make herself a peanut-butter sandwich.

“Still no sign of Freddie?” Riley’s second sister, Mia, asked casually. Unlike Kaylee, the taciturn Mia never said much, having little to no opinion on her sister’s food or, well, anything. She was tall and fit, her tan complexion and the light sprinkling of freckles across her strong bone structure trophies of her career as a golfing instructor and semipro player. Despite Riley’s enormous house, she lived on her own and apparently only came around occasionally for dinner. Her words seemed to be as carefully measured and economical as her golf game.

Winnie shook her head. “He’s still on deadline.” She gave Kat an apologetic look. “He goes into the zone when he’s under pressure. He’ll come over soon, I’m sure.”

Riley’s brother, Freddie, was a comic-book artist who lived in his own apartment closer to the downtown area and only visited now and then to do laundry, eat or help his mother with a chore that required heavy lifting. Some of his framed sketches decorated the house. One of Kat’s favorites was a caricature drawing of the four Jacobsen siblings. Riley posed like an Oscar statue, a golf ball struck by Mia bouncing off his head. Kaylee, drawn with pigtails, hula-hooped with a menagerie of big-eyed cartoon animals frolicking around her, and Freddie, bearded and paunchy, sat sketching them all.

“I’m looking forward to meeting him.” She put her fork down and patted her belly. “Wow, I’m stuffed. Thanks so much for dinner, Kaylee.”

“It was nothing.” Her tone suggested otherwise. She glanced down at Kat’s half-full plate. “You should take that with you, in case you need a midnight snack.”

“Thanks, I will.” She’d throw it all out as soon as she got back to her room. She couldn’t even look at the stuff without feeling queasy.

She felt Mia’s eyes on her as she scraped her leftovers into a Tupperware container. Kat understood that her shortness didn’t stem from hostility, but rather thoughtfulness. She could tell Mia hadn’t entirely made up her mind about her. Kaylee, meanwhile, didn’t seem to have an internal filter, and said whatever she thought, no matter how rude or critical it came across. She wondered what Freddie was like, and how Riley, as the eldest, interacted with the three of them.

They’re family now, she reminded herself with a sigh. Sweetpea was certainly going to have some interesting relatives.

“Do you have plans for tomorrow?” Winnie asked. “I’m free to drive you anywhere you need to go.”

“Thanks, but I’m thinking of sleeping in and taking it easy.”

“You’ve been feeling all right, though? I could take you to the ob-gyn if you need—”

“It’s nothing. I just haven’t been sleeping well.”

“Are you warm enough at night? Or too hot? I can get you more pillows, or different ones—”

“I’m fine. Really. It’s just the baby.” And being in a new, unfamiliar place. She was grateful for the plush guesthouse she’d been installed in, but nothing about her situation made her feel at home. “I just need—” space. To be alone. To do something on my own without being criticized or questioned “—to rest.”

“You know it’s absolutely no trouble at all for me to drive you around,” Winnie reiterated. “I only work part-time at the bank these days, and I can get time off. Or Kaylee can drive you, if you need.”

She caught Kaylee’s scowl, but didn’t react to it. “Thank you.”

She’d only ask either of them if it were absolutely necessary to go out. The truth was, as restless and bored as she was alone in the guesthouse, it was almost preferable to spending all her time with Winnie. Riley’s mother was sweet, but her hovering was getting on Kat’s nerves.

Not to mention that she got the feeling Kaylee was jealous of all the attention that her mother lavished on Kat and her unborn grandchild. It would explain her attitude.

But, more than her own space or anything else, Kat wanted some of her independence back. The guesthouse gave her some privacy, but it wasn’t enough. Being around the Jacobsens all the time was beginning to stifle her. She felt trapped by kindness—asking Winnie to borrow her car would only get her chauffeured around, while asking to arrange a rental car felt greedy, somehow, even ungrateful.

Maybe she was. Maybe she had to be, for the baby’s sake if no one else’s. If she didn’t get out on her own soon, she’d go stir-crazy.

Back at the guesthouse, she opened her laptop and discovered yet another email from Jamie. It was the eighth one in four days, asking where she was, how she was doing, whether she could take pictures of where she was to reassure her she wasn’t in a rat-infested gulag. Her requests for photos were getting progressively more demanding. The latest message had been telling.

At least let me know you’re not dead. I’m your friend—can’t you even spare me a minute to say hi?

Jamie was not happy with her. But her demands smacked of something more than curiosity, as if she knew something.

As much as it pained her to turn away from her friend, she deleted the email without replying.

The guesthouse landline phone rang. She picked it up swiftly, hoping it was her mother.

“It’s me.” Riley’s voice was stiff, and tired, too. A thrill went through her, followed by a tumbling in her belly. She hadn’t thought she’d missed him, but she had. “I wanted to call and check up on you.”

He could’ve phoned four days ago when she’d first moved in, but he hadn’t. Of course, he was busy. She calmed down and told herself it was a courtesy call, nothing more. “Things are fine. The guesthouse is lovely and your family’s been very kind. I haven’t met your brother yet, though.”

“Has Kaylee been...cooking?”

She stifled a rueful laugh. “She has.”

Riley muttered an oath. “I’m okay with her fruity hippie-dippy crap most of the time, but she doesn’t have a lot of sense when it comes to other people’s nutritional needs. One time she put a pile of wilted spinach topped with raw almonds in front of each of us and told us it was �a paleo dinner.’” She could almost picture his shudder. “Tell me honestly, is she feeding you okay?”

“She cooks a lot of fish for me. For the baby. I mean, it’s not the shrimp feast we had in Hawaii—”

Riley groaned. “Oh, man. Wish you hadn’t mentioned those—I haven’t eaten yet today. Those kebabs were the best I’ve ever had. I haven’t found their equal, like, anywhere.”

She smiled as warmth flowed through her. The night they’d met she’d taken him to a roadside stand because nothing on the tiki bar’s menu had struck her as particularly good or authentically Hawaiian. “You’re lucky I knew the owner of that food truck. Those kebabs aren’t on his regular menu. He made them especially for us.”

The brief trip down memory lane was followed by stilted silence. The ease with which they’d slid back to that night was almost unsettling.

“Kaylee’s cooking is fine, really,” Kat continued, clearing her throat. She needed to veer away from those happy memories—they felt dangerous. And she also didn’t want to be the cause of strife in the family. She wouldn’t gripe to him about free food and shelter. Riley, however, seemed to pick up on her underlying discontent.

“I’ll talk to Mom. She only lets Kaylee cook so she feels relevant.”

Ouch. Was that how siblings usually talked about each other?

She said carefully, “You don’t have to. I’m really easy to please.”

God, that sounded wishy-washy. But she’d rather choke down more lemony fish than have someone tell the already querulous Kaylee that Kat didn’t like her cooking.

“This isn’t about you,” Riley said. “It’s about the baby.”

Right. The baby. Never mind the woman carrying her. She stuffed down her resentment and asked him pleasantly, “How are things on your end? You sound stressed.”

“Busy. I’ve barely had a moment to breathe.”

“Not a good busy?”

“Hrmmph.”

He’d made that exact sound the first time they met and she’d asked him if everything was all right. The sound somehow conveyed the cheerlessness of gritty sand blowing across a gravel beach on an overcast day. She supposed it matched the glower he so often sported on movie posters.

“There’s something you need to know,” he admitted reluctantly.

He told her about the press junket and the questions surrounding her identity. Then he told her about the reporter, Charlie Durst. “Sam’s doing her best to turn people away from the story, but you need to watch out for Durst. He’s sneaky. He’s been known to go around in disguise and crash celebrity weddings and parties.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for guys in trench coats with big fake mustaches and rubber noses.”

He chuckled. She was glad she could still make him laugh.

“You sound like you need a Shirley Temple.” She couldn’t seem to keep away from the memories, no matter how dangerous.

Riley’s soft laughter eased the tension strung over the phone line. “You might’ve made me a fan for life if you hadn’t told me what it was.”

“What’s in a name? A mocktail by any other name would be just as fruity.”

“You could’ve lied.”

“It was a pink drink with a cherry and an umbrella in it. Your ego didn’t dent when I set it down, and no one else knew it was virgin. Anyhow, it helped, didn’t it?”

“I think we both know the drink wasn’t what helped me get through that night.”

Warmth blossomed in her belly. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed the easy way they’d flirted their first—and only—night together.

“So have you been out? Seen anything of my hometown?” Riley asked.

“Not much. Your mom’s driven me to the grocery store and the ob-gyn’s office to make an appointment, but...” She hesitated. “I was wondering...if it’s not too much trouble...if I could get a rental car.”

Silence on the other end of the line. “Why do you need a car?” he asked slowly.

It wasn’t a straight-out no, but his probing tone made her defensive. “Your mother’s been great, but I don’t want her taking time off work to chauffeur me around all the time.”

“I’m not sure I’m comfortable with you driving yourself around,” Riley said.

“I’m fully licensed in five states, including California. My driving record is clean. Not a single parking or speeding ticket.”

“Yeah, but you don’t know this city very well. The roads can be tricky and the freeways are nuts.”

“Riley, I’ve driven through all kinds of weather conditions all over the place. I even have a truck license.”

“Still. I’m not sure you should be driving around.”

“Why? Because I’m pregnant?”

Silence. She chewed her lip. Maybe he wanted to control her movements and ensure she didn’t simply drive away, or go to meet some journalists or something. He should’ve known by now she wouldn’t do that—why would she jeopardize her meal ticket?

“I don’t need anything fancy,” she added, in case it seemed as if she was asking him to buy her a Mercedes. “Just something to get me from point A to B. There’ll be a lot of appointments...”

“All right,” he said, sighing. “I’ll call and have someone drop something off tomorrow.”

She pursed her lips. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

“Kat...” he began tentatively.

Her breath stalled in her lungs—she didn’t know what she was waiting for, what she was hoping to hear. She didn’t even know if there was something she wanted to hear from him. “Yes, Riley?”

“Take care of yourself. I’ll be back in Modesto on Sunday.”

Disappointment filtered through her. She nodded stiffly. “Okay.”

He hung up without saying goodbye.


CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_94f7c540-b3ee-5bbb-9ff9-e0935a90c2c1)

“WE HAVE TO find out who she is.”

Jamie peeked up from her desk as Limelight Whispers’ editor-in-chief, Lance McVeigh, paced behind his enormous desk, his thinning straw-yellow hair forming a wild halo around his head. A pattern of coffee-ring stains linked across the wood-veneer tabletop like caffeinated chain mail. Two open packages of cigarettes lay atop a small stack of file folders. Lance had been trying to quit all year.

On the other side of the desk, freelance investigative reporter Charlie “Chameleon” Durst watched him with the poise of a cat, one ankle crossed over his knee. His tailored blue suit fit his lean, angular form very nicely. He might have passed for an important investor, except that he wore white high-top canvas sneakers. She almost never saw him in his “regular” attire—the last time he’d been in, he’d worn a golf shirt, cargo shorts and black socks with sandals, as well as big sunglasses and a wig of thick black hair.

As if he knew she was watching him, he met her eyes and raised one dark eyebrow. Jamie averted her gaze and refocused on the webpage she’d been working on. That didn’t stop her from listening in, of course—the open-plan office didn’t offer much privacy.

“Until I’m reimbursed for the sources I’ve paid off, I won’t go further with this story.” Durst folded his arms over his chest.

“C’mon, Chuck. The IRS is on our asses. Everything’s gotta go through accounting. You’ll get your money, just not as fast as you usually do.”

Durst shook his head. “I need cold hard cash to get the information you’re asking for.”

“What happened to being a good journalist?”

Durst bleated a short, unpleasant laugh. “You think this is journalism? I was nominated for a goddamned Pulitzer—”

“And, oh, how the mighty have fallen,” Lance deadpanned. “But that’s not my problem, is it? I’ll remind you I’m the only one willing to believe the word of a proved liar.”

Jamie sank behind her computer, sensed her colleagues doing the same. Charlie Durst’s career had ended after he’d been caught plagiarizing numerous articles he’d written for a national newspaper about five years ago. Now he chased celebrities for a living. That Lance would mention the scandal made her cringe. She thought Charlie had paid for his mistakes long enough. It had nothing to do with her crush on him, of course.

“C’mon, Lance. I’m not made of money. Spot me some cash so I can complete the next leg of this story.”

The older man snorted. “You’re gonna need a whole lot more than a first name and speculation to get me to open my wallet.” He screwed off the cap of a bottle of antacids and popped two into his mouth. “Bring me definitive proof this woman exists and has a tie to Riley Lee Jackson. And I don’t mean the word of a couple of rent-a-cops.”

“It’s always been enough before. What’s changed? You finally grew a conscience?”

Lance glowered. “According to Legal, I can’t afford any more lawsuits.” He took a few bills from his wallet and dropped them in front of the reporter. “Bring me something good, ’cause until then you’re not getting any more than that. Now get the hell outta here.”

Durst took the cash and pushed up in one smooth motion. Jamie fixed her eyes on her screen and held her breath as the reporter walked toward her.

Just talk to him, Jamie.

He was three steps from her desk.

Say hello. Tell him you loved that piece he did last month.

Two steps.

Tell him you studied his stuff in journalism school. Tell him you did your independent study on his work.

He was right behind her.

“Mr. Durst!” She spun around, nearly crashing into his long legs. The man jumped back as she almost rolled her chair over his toes. She leaped to her feet and stuck her hand out. “Jamie Yarbo. I wanted to tell you I’m a big fan of your work.”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “Before or after I got shit-canned?”

Her words stalled. “I... I...”

“Sorry, I don’t let myself get an inflated ego when pretty young women throw themselves at my feet.” He winked, though there was more than a hint of self-deprecation in his eye. He shook her hand firmly. “Nice to meet you, Jamie. And, please, call me Charlie.”

Butterflies took flight in her belly. She pulled her shoulders back, intent on not letting his “pretty” comment faze her. “Would you like to go for a cup of coffee?”

He regarded her with a tilt of his chin. “When?”

“How about now?”

His smile spread. “She moves fast. I like it.”

She grabbed her purse, heart pounding. Who knew when he’d be in the office next? She rarely saw him, and this was the first time she’d had the nerve to speak to him.

They went to the café on the ground floor of the building. The food wasn’t anything to write home about, but the coffee was fresh.

As they carried their coffees to a table in the corner, she said, “I couldn’t help but overhear... Lance was really riding you hard.”

Durst lifted a shoulder. “He’s allowed to. He’s one of the few guys in town willing to pay me.”

“You take amazing photos.”

“Thanks, though they have more to do with luck than any skill of mine. A twenty-thousand-dollar camera does the rest.”

“You’re so humble.” She nearly slapped a hand over her mouth. She hadn’t wanted to play the simpering, starstruck ingenue, but she couldn’t help it. “I mean, you’ve done so much... All those stories...”

“Thanks.” His sardonic smile nearly melted her insides. “What do you do at Limelight Whispers?”

“I’m the fun-and-games editor.” She cringed inwardly. It sounded as trivial as her mother made it out to be. She amended sheepishly, “I put up the daily puzzles, comics and horoscopes, in addition to a lot of general web upkeep. I’m also working on the redesign. And I copy edit. I’ve written a couple of stories, too. I hope to write more.” She was babbling now.

Durst sipped his coffee. “You go to school for that?”

Jamie’s face flamed. Yeah, it wasn’t the Woodward and Bernstein type stuff she’d always dreamed of doing, but it wasn’t as if she was being given the opportunity to find her own stories.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean that as an insult,” Durst said kindly. “All I meant was that the industry is tough right now. Almost not worth the college tuition to go into it professionally. But kudos for sticking it out. Any job that pays the rent is a good one.”

Was that all the advice Charlie Durst had for her? She leaned forward, trying to act casual. “So what’s this story you’re working on for Lance?”

He gave a dry chuckle. “I think you know exactly what it is, Miss Little Pitcher With Big Ears. I bet everyone in the office knows.”

She lowered her voice. “You’re looking for the woman Riley Lee Jackson helped at the premiere, right?”

“Isn’t everyone?”

“But you’re the only one who has a name.”

“One I paid for, sure. No guarantees it’s not fake. Do you know why I go around in disguise so often? It’s because people recognize me. They don’t trust me and won’t talk to me. They think I’ll lie and make something up about them. In real journalism, you don’t have to pay for good information or wear stupid costumes. But in this town, with my past...” He trailed off with a grimace.

Poor Charlie. Clearly, he’d learned his lesson—the man deserved a second chance.

She decided to forge ahead, despite her misgivings. She didn’t want to burn Kat. She’d been sitting on this information out of a sense of loyalty to her friend...but that had eroded with every unanswered email to her friend. “Maybe I can help you.”

His eyebrow rose skeptically, but he didn’t laugh at her. She had his attention. This was her chance to finally prove she could be more than a web mistress.

“I think I know who the woman is.”

Charlie sat very still. “Do you have proof?”

“I might.” When Jamie saw those photos of the mystery woman Riley Lee Jackson had ushered into his limo, she’d recognized the outfit Kat had worn, the stoop of Kat’s shoulders, the line of her body. The pink streak in her hair was faint enough to be mistaken for a reflection, but Jamie would recognize it anywhere. Along with Kat’s cryptic messages, which she’d traced to a five-star hotel, Jamie was certain her friend was the woman in the picture...and Riley Lee Jackson was her baby’s father.

She’d planned to go through Kat’s things to see if she could confirm her initial suspicions—maybe find a diary or something that proved Riley was the baby daddy. But Kat had already packed her things and was on her way out of the apartment the day after the premiere. Jamie had felt betrayed when Kat hadn’t let her in on her big secret. She’d thought they were friends. She’d thought she was more than someone with a couch to Kat.

Charlie’s eyes narrowed. “It’s been over a week. Why didn’t you bring this information to Lance?”

“He doesn’t listen to me. To him, I’m just a code monkey. Anyhow, I thought maybe you and I could work together on this.”

He chuckled drily. “Well, might is a long way from actual proof. I need something concrete to go on.”

“What I meant was I know her personally.” She hesitated. “Maybe not as well as I thought, though.”

Kat knew she wanted to be a reporter—this story would’ve been a huge boost to her career. Indignation rose in Jamie. She would’ve protected Kat, made sure she was treated respectfully. But instead, Kat had lied through her teeth the whole time she’d lived under her roof and eaten her food. She’d had every opportunity to ask for Jamie’s help. Well, now that window was closed.

Charlie Durst watched her carefully, brown eyes steady. “Okay. Tell me what you know about this woman Riley Lee Jackson was with.”

She smiled. “How about we talk about it over dinner tonight?”

* * *

IT WAS LATE afternoon on Monday when Riley drove through the electronic gate to his home in Modesto. The high white adobe walls surrounding the property suddenly reminded him of levees holding back a tide, though which side the danger came from, he couldn’t say.

It’d been a long morning. His flight had been delayed due to mechanical errors. Then he’d had to force himself to smile and take pictures with fans at the airport arrivals area, where locals had gathered to welcome their megastar home.

“Fans are your bread and butter,” Sam had reminded him. “They’ll watch anything you’re in now, no matter how bad. Treat them well, and they’ll treat you well.”

He knew she was right, but he was dog tired after a week of parties, events, interviews and talk show appearances. He’d take off for his European tour in a couple of weeks, and after that he had the Pacific leg of promos to do. He’d been through it all before, of course, but not on this scale.

He pulled his car around the driveway and parked next to his mother’s sedan and an unfamiliar-looking electric blue hatchback—probably the rental he’d arranged for Kat.

He frowned as he examined the vehicle. He’d picked a fuel-efficient economy car not because he was cheap—he could buy several of these brand-new off the lot without making a dent in his bank account—but because he didn’t want Kat thinking he was an open wallet. Now that he saw the car, though, he regretted his choice. It looked like a dinky little toy. The baby couldn’t possibly be safe in that when there were Hummers and Escalades zooming all over the parkway.

The baby. His baby. It hit him anew, a fresh blow that had him leaning heavily against the hatchback for support. As much time as he’d spent diverting people’s attention from the premiere’s events, he’d hardly contemplated this new life he was about to take charge of.

If it was really his. Doubt still lingered. He didn’t know Kat, not really. But his gut told him there was no way the child could be anyone else’s.

Wishful thinking? Maybe.

The guesthouse door opened and he looked up. Seeing Kat standing there was like being smacked in the groin. Her vibrant pink T-shirt made the faded streak in her hair look even paler in comparison. Her eyes were the blue of the sky, huge and shimmering against her pale cheeks. Her tentative welcoming smile drew him forward, and he stopped himself when he realized he was moving toward her. “You’re home,” she said.

Home. Was that what this place was? It felt as if it’d been forever since he’d slept in his own bed. Then again, he spent so little time here he’d barely worn a groove into the new mattress.

He gestured distractedly at her rental, putting one hand on the hood to ground himself. “You need an upgrade.”

Her eyebrows knitted together. “Why? This is fine.”

“I thought they’d bring you something...safer.”

“It’s really unnecessary—”

“But I’d prefer it. For the baby’s safety.”

She crossed her arms over her chest.

Tell her you want to keep her safe, dummy. He didn’t. Awkwardly, he cleared his throat. “How’re you doing?”

“You mean how’s Sweetpea?” She mirrored his motions with a wry look. He hadn’t realized he’d mimed the roundness of her belly, which seemed to have grown since he’d seen her last.

He tucked his hands sheepishly into his pockets. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“I’m fine. The baby’s doing a bit of a dance right now.” She laid a hand over her stomach. “Guess he’s excited to see you.”

Something stuck in Riley’s throat. “Can I...?” He reached out, but snapped his hand back. Just because they’d slept together didn’t mean she wanted him pawing at her. “I mean, I don’t need to, but—”

“Of course you do. Here.” Gently, she guided his hand to the taut surface of her stomach.

Something brushed and knocked against his palm. He drew back. “Whoa.” He stared at his hand, as if it might be marked. “That’s...that’s crazy. Does it hurt?”

“Not really. Sometimes he’ll knee me in the bladder, though. Kick me in the spine. Not fun.”

Riley stuffed his hands back into his pockets, but he already wanted to feel that weird sensation again. A life he’d helped create banging around the inside of this woman...

“I’m going to take my stuff inside, say hi to my mom,” he said hastily. “Will you join us for dinner?”

“Actually, I was thinking of staying in tonight. Kaylee’s been so obliging, cooking for the nonvegetarian, and I don’t want her to feel as if she has to. I can make do for myself.”

“Oh.” He wanted to sit down with her, to talk to her...to face her and absorb her. And yet a part of him held back.

“Why don’t you join me?” she invited. “I’ve got enough for two. I’m making pork chops. Don’t tell Kaylee.” She smiled impishly and put a finger to her lips.

Images of domestic bliss, of pretty Kat as his wife serving him dinner, flitted through his mind. He shut them off almost violently. “I should probably spend some time with my family first.”

The warmth drained from her eyes, though her smile remained. “Okay. No worries.”

“It’s good to see you.” Riley mentally kicked himself. He sounded as if he were greeting an old classmate in the street. For Christ’s sake, he was an actor—a man whose job was to understand all the subtleties and subtext of language and words, a man supposedly in full control of his body and tone. And yet, in front of Kat Schwinn, he couldn’t do much more than babble and blurt out stupid things.

“You, too.” She retreated inside.

Idiot, he chastised himself, and went in to see his family.

* * *

IT’S GOOD TO see you.

Kat knew she shouldn’t read any more into Riley’s words, but she couldn’t help searching for deeper meaning. Had he meant it? Or was it simply a platitude to keep things between them pleasant?

Or was she trying to see something that wasn’t there?

I should probably spend some time with my family first.

Right. She wasn’t his family, and the baby wasn’t born yet, so why would he spend any time with her?

She closed her eyes, summoning the look of astonishment and wonder on his face when he’d felt their baby kick. She’d wanted desperately for there to be a connection, but his hasty retreat had said plenty. The man was terrified.

He’s still processing, she told herself. Considering his fuss over the car, at least she knew he was concerned for the baby’s well-being. But she wanted more than overprotectiveness from him.

Admit it. You want him to care about you as much as he cares about Sweetpea.

She pushed the thought away. She only wanted him for money and to be some kind of father to the baby. Her needs were secondary.

She made herself an omelet for dinner. She would have cooked the pork chops if Riley had joined her, but now it seemed pointless to make anything fancier for just one person. As it was, she was making do with whatever she could afford on her own. Riley’s mother had handed her a wad of cash for groceries, but it made Kat ill to think she’d have to accept it every week.

To that end, she knew she had to find some way to make money after the baby was born. She refused to become a complete moocher. Yes, she needed Riley’s support, but it was for the baby, not her. Bartending and waitressing weren’t conducive to parenting, either. No, she needed a steady source of income that would preferably keep her at home or give her regular hours.

She’d spent the past week researching online courses and certificate programs to bulk up her résumé. She wasn’t bad with computers and had kept a personal travel blog with a fairly large following. In hindsight, she could’ve monetized it with ads, but she’d never been interested in doing that. Still, web design was an option. And with her clerical skills, she was certain someone would hire her on a more permanent basis, maybe give her more regular hours.

She finished her unsatisfying omelet and was about to wash the dishes when someone knocked. She thought it might be Riley, or perhaps Winnie bringing her yet another blanket, or a bag of groceries or something else she thought Kat might need.




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