Her Secret, His Child: A Little Secret by Tara Quinn (romance book recommendations TXT) 📗

remember." Her tone was dry, but at least she was looking at him.

"Of course I remember." What he didn't get was why such a small thing was such a big problem. "Like an idiot, I'd ruined what appeared to be an expensive piece of designer clothing. Paying for it was the least I could do."

Brows raised, she froze, staring at him. "That money was supposed to pay for the dress?"

TARA TAYLOR QUINN

Kyle could feel the heat rising up his face. "It wasn't enough, was it?" he muttered. "I knew I should have left more."

"No!" she said loudly. And then, with a glance at their fellow diners, she continued more quietly. "It was plenty to pay for the dress."

So what was the problem— Oh. God. Kyle felt sick to his stomach. "You thought…"

She looked away, her auburn hair hiding her face.

"You thought I'd left that money to pay for something else, didn't you?" The thought filled him with horror.

Her silence kept the horror flowing.

"You did." He couldn't believe it.

With only her hair visible to him, he couldn't read the thoughts in her eyes. Couldn't connect with her.

How could she have thought that poorly of him? And yet, considering the night from her point of view, given the fact that she'd woken up all alone in a hotel room with a wad of bills lying on top of the dress she'd taken off at his instigation…could he blame her for jumping to conclusions?

"Jamie?" She didn't move, didn't appear to have heard him.

"Please look at me."

Still no response.

The waiter was approaching again. Wordlessly Kyle sent him away a second time. Then he reached across the table, taking Jamie's chin gently between his fingers and turning her toward him.

"I wouldn't have hurt you for the world, Jamie," he said, willing her to hear the truth in his heart.

HER SECRET, HIS CHILD

"Don't you know," he continued as she remained silent, "I've never talked to another woman—another person—the way I talked to you that night. Never shared those things with anyone."

His mother had died the day he'd met Jamie. The mother he'd hated. She'd paraded more men than he could count through Kyle's life; she'd been a whore and he'd detested her. Not that he'd told Jamie the details—only that he'd hated the woman.

And that on her deathbed his mother had said she loved him. Even then, he hadn't been able to muster up enough compassion, enough affection, to let her die in peace. Even then, he'd gone on hating her.

That night, drowning his grief in the cacophony of Tom Webber's party, Kyle had begun to hate himself.

"You saved me from hell that night, Jamie," he said. "Your eyes met mine and something happened." He paused, took her hand in both of his, held on. "It was like you were speaking to me, telling me everything was going to be okay…"

She almost smiled. He could see that she was remembering, too.

"I never intended anything to happen, never for one second thought about wanting to, um, score."

She opened her mouth, but he cut her off before she could speak. "It's the truth," he said. "Yeah, I noticed you were gorgeous," he admitted. "I'd have had to be dead below the neck not to, but that wasn't what compelled me to get up and walk across that room."

TARA TAYLOR QUINN

She pulled her hand from his, saying, "I might have believed that." Her voice was thick. "Once."

He had a hell of a lot of damage to undo. "You might as well believe it—'' he reached for her hand again "—because it's true. If I hadn't humiliated myself by spilling that champagne down the front of your dress like some kind of bumbling idiot, I would never have rented a room that night. I just wanted you to have a chance to rinse off, a chance for the dress to dry."

He saw the sudden warmth in her eyes, her need to believe him. And he saw the doubts. At the moment, her doubts were stronger than her ability to believe. He'd hurt her. Before he'd left the money, he'd hurt her by making love to her at all. It had been too soon, the night too emotionally charged. He'd done the inexcusable—taken advantage of a sweet, innocent woman.

"You know, Jamie, you weren't the only beautiful woman in the room that night," he said. "If I'd just wanted to get laid, I'd have chosen someone forgettable, not a woman who's haunted my dreams ever since."

The night was harder than Jamie could ever have imagined. Somehow she got through dinner, though she didn't eat more than a spoonful or two of her potato-and-broccoli soup. Kyle was a perfect companion, charming, funny. And after those few intense minutes, he steered clear of loaded topics.

They discussed literature, recent movies they'd seen, who they'd voted for. They talked about ev-

HER SECRET, HIS CHILD

erything from the economy to their shared passion for plain old-fashioned Hershey bars. She'd never enjoyed the company of an adult more—except maybe his, the first night she'd met him.

And on the way home, she felt again the frightening sensations she'd felt that first night. Something she'd never experienced before—or since. The stirrings of desire.

"So, you're going to be stranded on a desert island and you can take one video, one CD and one book with you. What would they be?" Kyle asked as they cruised through the streets of Denver on their way back to Larkspur Grove.

Books. CDs. Videos. Anything but him. "The book would have to be the Bible," she said, thinking carefully. She'd never been more thankful for a diversion in her life. "CD would be the soundtrack from Phantom of the Opera and the video would be Annie.''

Kyle nodded, glanced briefly over and smiled. "Okay, why?"

"The Bible because it's one-stop shopping—mystery, suspense, action, romance, history and self-help."

He nodded again, and Jamie felt inordinately pleased with his approval. "Why Phantom?"

"It's incredible singing, there's lots of variety, a story to follow, and it's filled with passion."

"Passion's good."

There was that feeling again,