Little Secrets: Unexpectedly Pregnant
Joss Wood
Can they forget their past?Three years ago, Sage pushed Tyce away. Three months ago, they shared one red-hot night of passion. Now? She’s pregnant and can’t stay away from the man who drives her wild. But as passion turns to love, secrets and fears threaten everything…
Will a baby on the way reunite ex-lovers?
Three years after Tyce Latimore let Sage Ballantyne walk away, they end up back where they started—in bed. Now she’s carrying his child...and there’s no way he’s losing her again.
Tyce is tempting. Dangerous. Addictive. Sage left him for all the right reasons. But one passionate mistake could reunite her with the world-famous artist for all the wrong ones. A baby on the way ups the ante. So does an explosive secret that threatens their two families and could shatter Sage and Tyce’s precarious reunion...
“Tyce.”
Sage called his name again. He lifted his head and looked at her with those intensely dark, pain-filled eyes.
“Take my offer to walk away. This child will be raised a Ballantyne—no one will ever have to know that he, or she, is yours. I’m giving you permission to forget about this conversation.”
Something flashed in Tyce’s eyes. Sage tried to ignore him as he stepped up to walk beside her, a silent, brooding, sexy mass of muscle.
“We’re not done discussing this, Sage,” he said, his voice a low growl.
“We really are, Tyce.” Sage forced the words through her tight lips. “Don’t contact me again. We are over.”
“Yeah, you can think that,” Tyce said, standing up. “But you’d be wrong.”
* * *
Little Secrets: Unexpectedly Pregnant
is part of the Little Secrets series:
Untamed passion, unexpected pregnancy…
Little Secrets: Unexpectedly Pregnant
Joss Wood
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
JOSS WOOD loves books and traveling—especially to the wild places of southern Africa. She has the domestic skills of a potted plant and drinks far too much coffee.
Joss has written for Mills & Boon KISS, Mills & Boon Presents and, most recently, the Mills & Boon Desire line. After a career in business, she now writes full-time. Joss is a member of the Romance Writers of America and Romance Writers of South Africa.
Contents
Cover (#u9f4ea0e2-e5c8-52c4-8fcf-2acbe116f3bf)
Back Cover Text (#u6990df67-71d7-5468-9844-dd38f8cb92fa)
Introduction (#uf3f4c8a5-2daf-5cf8-ae70-12dadf1d2296)
Title Page (#u73e9f083-5641-529d-9687-eb18e833d18b)
About the Author (#ubc734d4b-27d8-5d96-b179-b2df336e75d8)
One (#uc1bfce45-751b-51cd-8d2f-2c5ea391ec37)
Two (#u852a6a18-16c1-503a-af01-9fc5e817d545)
Three (#u0f01749e-229c-5fe0-88a3-6ab0fe395406)
Four (#u56858759-e335-5c41-bd2a-638b2987c67f)
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Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
One (#u00aef943-b608-54cb-a0d0-81933dccd12a)
“Why does this sculpture make me think of hot, amazing, fantastic sex?”
Sage Ballantyne looked at the woman she hoped would become her sister-in-law, but didn’t reply to her outrageous statement. Tyce Latimore’s work, whether it was an oil painting or a wood-and-steel sculpture, always elicited a strong reaction. He was one of the best artists of his generation. Of many generations.
Thank God he was also the only artist of his generation who refused to attend his opening nights. If there had been even the slightest chance he might appear, then Sage would’ve stayed away.
Sage flicked her eyes over the abstract six-foot-high sculpture. It was unusual and very unlike Tyce’s normally fluid lines.
“There isn’t a curve in sight but it screams passion and lust,” Piper said.
Sage’s eyebrows lifted. “I’m not seeing what you are.”
Piper pulled Sage to stand next to her.
“Try this perspective,” Piper suggested, her cheeks tinged with pink.
Sage laughed at Piper’s embarrassment and turned back to look at the sculpture. Actually, from this angle it did look like two people bent over a desk, and Piper was right; when you made that connection you saw the passion in the piece. This sculpture would be a talking point in his reviews. The art critics would wax eloquent about Tyce’s take on human sexuality.
Sage knew how he felt about sex; he liked it. Often and any way he could get it.
“But why the frog?” Piper asked before moving on to another display.
Every muscle in Sage’s body stiffened. Oh, no, he hadn’t. No way, no how. Not even Tyce Latimore would have the balls to...
She looked at the sculpture again and yep, there on the “desk” was a tiny, beautifully made steel frog, its surface treated so that it took on a greenish hue. In an instant Sage flashed back to three years before.
They’d arrived separately to a party, not wanting to tip off the world about their relationship—the heiress and the hot artist, professionally and personally, would be big news—and they’d spent the evening pretending not to know each other. The tension had been hot and sexy and, by the time Tyce dropped a quick suggestion in her ear that they meet in the library, she was a vibrating, hot, sticky mess of take-me-now. Within twenty seconds of slipping into the room, the door was locked, Tyce had her dress up her hips and had stripped her of her soaking thong. He’d unzipped, leaned her over the desk and he’d taken her, hard and fast, from behind.
The jade frog on her host’s desk had watched them, thoroughly unamused.
Sage hauled in a breath as her heart tried to claw its way out of her chest. How dare he? What they’d done together was not for public dissemination.
Just another reason she’d been right to walk away from him three years ago.
“That sculpture was difficult.” Tyce’s unmistakable deep and velvety voice came from behind her. “I was constantly distracted by the memories of that night. And others.”
His words were low enough for only her to hear. She didn’t turn, but she felt the heat pouring off his body and she inhaled his soapy, sexy all-man smell. Lust skittered over her. As usual, Sage felt like she’d been plugged into the nearest electrical outlet. Her skin buzzed, her heart stumbled and her mind felt off-kilter.
Three years and he still had the ability to rocket her from composed to crazy. Three years and her first instinct was to beg him to take her to bed. Three years and instead of being angry with him for depicting their encounter in the library in an, admittedly, very abstract way, she wanted to kiss him.
Or slap him...
Then, like now, he pulled her in and tempted her into edging closer. Generally, Sage found it easy to step away from men she found too attractive or too interesting. They weren’t worth the hurt that was the inevitable outcome of becoming entangled in someone’s life.
Determined to protect herself, Sage seldom allowed relationships, especially those with men, to deepen past a week or two. With Tyce, it had taken her six weeks to convince herself to leave. He was supremely dangerous.
Tempting, addictive... All that and more.
So, obviously, kissing him was out of the question.
Sage spun around on her ice pick heels and her hand connected with his cheek. Instantly mortified and regretful, she watched that too-handsome face harden, his obsidian eyes turn, if that was at all possible, darker. He opened his mouth to say something but instead of speaking his hands gripped her hips and he yanked her into his hard, muscled chest. His temper-tinged mouth covered hers, his hot tongue slipping between her lips, and Sage was lost, swept away to a place only Tyce could take her. Sage dug her nails into his arms, feeling his bulging muscles through the thin fabric of his black dress shirt and, wanting more, her hands skated over his broad chest, danced across those washboard abs she’d loved to tickle and taste.
Tyce lifted his mouth off hers. “Come with me.”
Sage looked around for Piper, caught her eye and Piper waved her away, silently giving her permission to leave without her. She shouldn’t; this really wasn’t a good idea. But instead of saying no, instead of dismissing him or walking away—creating distance between herself and people was, after all, what she did best—she placed her hand in his and allowed him to lead her out of the gallery.
* * *
Tyce rolled out of his king-size bed in his borrowed apartment and headed to the luxurious en suite bathroom. Three years later and sex with Sage was still fantastic. He never had better with anyone else, he thought as he tossed the condom away. Sex had never been an issue; everything else was... Had been.
Tyce leaned forward and placed his fingers on his right cheekbone, checking for but not expecting to see finger marks from the force of Sage’s hand connecting with his face ten hours before. Tyce blew out a long breath. Only they could rocket from a slap to a kiss to having wild sex all within the space of an hour. He and Sage Ballantyne were, had always been, a combustible combination. There was a reason why they’d avoided each other for three years; put them in a room together and some sort of firestorm always occurred.
Tyce gripped the edge of the vanity. Judging by her deer-in-the-headlights look when she turned around, she hadn’t expected to see him at his own exhibition and he couldn’t blame her. His presence last night had been an aberration. He hated discussing his work, having people fawn over him and his art. To Tyce, it was a simple equation. If you liked what he did, buy it. If not, he didn’t care. There was no need to endlessly discuss his influences and inspiration for every piece. Luckily for him, art lovers seemed to connect with what he produced. His taciturn attitude to publicity and art critics and his reclusive nature added, so his agent, Tom, said, to his mystique.
He’d only gone to the exhibition because Tom insisted he meet the wealthy CEO who wanted a sculpture for the lobby of her new corporate headquarters. It was a commission that would raise the levels of his depleted coffers and it wasn’t an offer he could treat lightly.
All thoughts of the commission, his agent and staying at the exhibition evaporated when he laid eyes on Sage for the first time in three years. A second after noticing her, Tyce felt his head buzzing, his skin shrinking and his world tilting. Damn; she was still as enticing and compelling and make-him-crazy as she’d been before. The world faded and he’d spun away from the CEO—who happened to be very female, very into him and very willing to give him a commission—and pushed his way through the crowds to reach her.
It was easy to call her hair black but it wasn’t, not really. It was the deepest, darkest brown he’d ever seen. Her eyes were the blue of Moroccan tiles and her body a product of a lifetime spent in ballet class. Sage, damn her, was effortlessly graceful and knee-knocking sexy. She was the only woman who’d ever caused his heartbeat to spike, his lungs to contract and his brain to chant...mine, mine, mine. He’d been thinking of cotton sheets and a massive bed as he’d approached her and it seemed natural to open their conversation with a sexy quip. She, obviously, hadn’t and responded with that furious slap. But, because he’d seen the desire in her eyes and heard her low, excited gasp as his lips met hers, he ignored his stinging cheek and...yeah, hell then broke loose. An hour later they were both naked and panting and pretty much stayed that way for the rest of the night. Tyce ran his hands over his face. Last night they’d let their bodies do their talking but the sun was up and reality was knocking on the door.
Literally. Tyce opened the door to Sage’s soft rap and looked into her vivid eyes. Ballantyne eyes. She was gorgeous, Tyce thought, feeling the action down below. They’d just had rock-my-world sex for most of the night and he wanted more.
Tyce tensed, waiting for her to ask him when they’d see each other again, whether he’d call her later. He couldn’t do either; there were far too many secrets between them, a history that didn’t make that feasible.
“I should give you hell about that sculpture,” she said, “but I don’t have the energy for anything more than coffee. Too bad there isn’t any. I checked. Do you actually live here?”
She posed the question as a joke but it cut too close to the bone for comfort. How would she react if he told her that he only occasionally used this Chelsea apartment belonging to his biggest client? It was easier to meet Sage in Manhattan than to explain to her, and everybody, that he, despite his sculptures and paintings selling for up to five million each, had just enough cash to keep producing his massive abstracts, to buy steel for his sculptures and to pay the mortgage and amenities on his warehouse in Brooklyn where he worked. And actually lived.
Sage waited for him to respond but when he didn’t, she shrugged. “So, since you don’t have the juice of life, I’m going to take off.”
He wanted to protest but knew it was for the best so Tyce just nodded. After all, nothing had changed.
Sage shimmied those slim legs into a pair of designer jeans and hooked the tabs of a lilac bra together. Tyce, comfortable in his nudity, pushed his shoulder into the doorframe and watched the tension seep into her spine, into those long, toned limbs. He knew what she was thinking: How could they be so perfectly in sync between the sheets and unable to talk to each other outside the bedroom?
They’d done this before. They’d been amazing in bed but out of the bedroom they’d been useless. Used to being on his own, he’d struggled with giving equal attention to his art and to her. Art, it had to be said, always won the battle. At that time, as always, he’d needed to sell as many of his pieces as he could. But, on a more fundamental level, he knew that he had to keep his emotional distance. Relationships, with Sage or anyone else, demanded more than he had to give. His lovers objected to his need to isolate himself, to spend hours and days in his studio only coming out for food, a shower and, yeah, sex. They wanted attention, affection and he, mostly, wanted to be left alone, content to communicate through his vivid, dark oil paintings and his steel-and-wood sculptures. He wasn’t good at personal connections. He’d expended all the emotional energy he’d been given caring for a depressed mother and raising his baby sister and he never again wanted to feel like he was standing on a rickety raft in a tempestuous sea. He’d held Sage at an emotional distance, unable to let her go but knowing that she needed and deserved more from him. Her adoptive father’s death had been their personal tipping point. Since he couldn’t see himself in a relationship, didn’t want to be tied down, he’d used Connor Ballantyne’s passing to put some space between them, and Sage, surprisingly, had let that happen by not trying to reconnect.
Stepping up and helping her deal with Connor’s death would’ve flipped their relationship from casual to serious, from skimming the surface to ducking beneath the waves and he’d been too damn scared of drowning to take that risk.
Tyce rubbed his hands over his face. The Ballantyne situation was complicated—he and his sister, Lachlyn, were the only people who knew that Lachlyn was Connor Ballantyne’s illegitimate daughter—and his attraction to Sage was not, had never been, helpful. His art, the paintings and the intricate sculptures, were the one thing in his life that made complete sense. He knew exactly what he was doing with his art.
Reaching back, Tyce snagged a towel from the rail and wrapped it around his hips, keeping his eyes on Sage as she pushed her feet into spiky heels. She picked up her leather bag and pulled it over her shoulder.
She pointed a finger at him. “So, I’m going to go.”
Tyce saw the shimmer in her eyes that suggested tears and his heart constricted.
Hurting Sage was never what he intended to do, not now and not three years ago.
“Sage, I—” Tyce didn’t complete the sentence, not sure what he was about to say. Don’t go? Thanks for a great night? Let’s try again?
Because the second thought was trite and the last impossible, he just stepped forward and when he was close enough, dropped a kiss on her temple. “Take care,” he murmured.
Sage pushed the sharp tip of her fingernail into his stomach. “If I see anything in your art that references this night, I will personally disembowel you.”
Not bothering to look at him again, she glided from the room, a perfect package of class and sass, her back ramrod straight.
Turning back into the bathroom, Tyce lifted his head and looked at his reflection in the mirror, unimpressed with the man looking back at him. His sister, Lachlyn, deserved to own something of the company her father, Connor, created, and in chasing down and buying Ballantyne International shares he thought he was doing the right thing, the honorable thing, but sleeping with Sage, then and now, had never been part of the plan. Originally he’d just wanted to get to know her to find out as much as he could about the iconic Manhattan family because he’d intended to use that knowledge to his, or Lachlyn’s, advantage.
He hadn’t banked on their chemistry, on the desire that flared between them. He’d thought that she would be easy to walk away from once they got each other out of their systems, but that had proved to be more difficult than he thought. Last night had blown those preconceptions out of the window. For as long as he lived he’d crave Sage Ballantyne...
As fast as a snakebite, Tyce’s fist slammed into the mirror above his head and glass flew from the frame and dropped into the basin, onto the floor. Tyce looked at his ultra-distorted reflection in the thin shards that remained in the frame and nodded, satisfied.
That looked far more like the person he knew himself to be.
Two (#u00aef943-b608-54cb-a0d0-81933dccd12a)
Three months later...
“Are you going to slap me again?”
“The night is still young, who knows?”
Tyce slid onto the barstool next to Sage, ordered a whiskey from the bartender and looked at his former lover. She’d pulled her long, normally curly hair into a sleek tail, allowing her eyes to dominate her face. Tonight her irises were periwinkle blue surrounded with a navy ring; they could be, depending on her mood, navy, denim or that unusual shade of Moroccan blue.
Her eyes always, every single time, had the ability to drop him to his knees. God had not been playing fair when he’d combined an amazing set of blues with a face that was near perfect—heart shaped, high cheekbones, sexy mouth, stubborn chin—and then, just for kicks, placed that head on top of a body that was naturally lean, intensely feminine, all sexy.
He loved her face, he loved her body and God knew that he loved making love to her, with her... He wanted to kiss that mouth, suck on her skin, allow his hands to stroke that endlessly creamy, warm, fragrant skin.
It had been so damn long and, after three years of sheer hell, one night with her had been like offering a dehydrated man a drop of water. He wanted her legs wrapped around his hips, to hear her soft moans in his ear, his tongue in that hot, sweet mouth.
Sage had no idea that his pants were tighter and that his lungs were battling to take in air. She just took a sip of her drink and wrinkled her nose in a way he’d always found adorable. “I suppose I should apologize for slapping you but the incident made all the social columns, creating more publicity for your already successful exhibition and sending your already overinflated prices sky-high.”
Overinflated? Tyce winced and then shrugged. It wasn’t like he hadn’t had the same thought a time or two. The prices his art commanded were ridiculous; it wasn’t like he was a modern-day Picasso or Rembrandt. He was just a guy who slapped steel and wood together, tossed paint onto a canvas in a way people seemed to like. Art critics, his agent and the gallery owners would be shocked if they ever found out how little effort went into the art they all revered.
No one knew or suspected that most of his time was spent painting intensely detailed portraits that were accurate to the last brushstroke. His portraits, intimate, honest, time and blood sucking, were where he found and lost himself. Many of those never-seen portraits were of Sage, and Tyce neither knew or cared to speculate what that meant.
Silence fell between them and Tyce looked around the room. He’d been surprised to receive a text from Sage inviting him to attend the Ballantyne cocktail party and jewelry exhibition and there had never been any doubt that he’d go. Firstly, if one was personally invited to look at one of the best collections of fantastically rare and ridiculously expensive jewelry one took the opportunity. He also wanted to look at the new line Sage designed and it was, as he expected, fabulous. Whimsical but modern, feminine but strong...so Sage. And because he was a guy he was hoping that Sage’s request to meet would lead to some head-bangin’, bed-breaking sex.
There was only one way to find out. “So, is this a booty call?”
Sage blinked. “What?”
“Did you ask to meet so that we can hook up again?”
“You arrogant jerk!” Her eyes sparked with irritation and color seeped into her face. “Are you insane?”
Probably. And, if he was, then her incredible eyes and rocking body and the memories of how good they were together were to blame.
“So, you didn’t call me to try and talk me into a night of hot sex?” Tyce didn’t have to pretend to sound disappointed; the memories of touching, tasting, loving Sage kept him up most nights. He wished he could ring-fence his thoughts so that he only remembered her scent, her soft, creamy skin and the taste on his tongue. But, unfortunately, his mind always wandered off into dangerous territory—how it would feel to wake up to her face in the morning, to hear her soft good night before he slept. He only allowed himself the briefest of fantasies about what a life spent with Sage would look like before he vaporized those thoughts.
Sage was part of a dynamic, successful family and he wasn’t referring to the immense Ballantyne wealth. Sage and her brothers knew what family meant, how to be part of one.
He didn’t have a cookin’ clue. The Ballantyne family, from what he understood, worked as a well-oiled machine, each part of that machine different but essential to the process.
Tyce had been the engine that powered his family along—an engine constantly on the point of breaking down. He’d done his best to provide what Lachlyn needed but had been so damn busy trying to survive that he emotionally neglected his sister. Sage’s life partner would be an emotionally intelligent dude, would be able to slide into the Ballantyne family and know how to be, act, respond... The man who she married would know how to deal with and contribute to the clan.
Tyce wasn’t that man. He’d never be that man and it was stupid to spend more than a minute thinking that he could be.
So, when he’d seen her text message asking him to meet tonight, he’d jumped to the only conclusion that made sense, that she wanted another hookup. During his shower he’d fantasized about how he would take her... Fast or slow? Her on top or him? Either way, the only thing that was nonnegotiable was that he’d be looking in her eyes when she shattered, wanting to see if she needed him as much as he needed her.
Instead of looking soft and dreamy, her eyes blazed with pure blue anger. Right, real life...
“No, Tyce, I didn’t call you because I wanted hot sex.” Sage answered him in a dry, sarcastic voice.
Tyce took a sip of his whiskey, the urge to tease fleeing. Did she suddenly look nervous? He lifted his eyebrows until Sage spoke. “But I did—do—have something to tell you.”
Tyce looked around the room while he rubbed his jaw, his gut screaming that whatever she had to say was going to rock his world. He didn’t want his world rocked, he just wanted to either have sex with Sage or to go home and paint. Since sex wasn’t happening, he itched to slap oil onto canvas, eager to work his frustration out with slashes of indigo and Indian red, manganese violet and magenta. “Just spit it out and get it done.” Tyce snapped out the words, his tone harsh.
Sage blew air out over her lips and briefly closed her eyes. When they opened again, he saw her resolve. And when she finally formed the words, they shifted his world.
“I don’t expect anything from you, not money or time or involvement. But you should know that I am pregnant and the baby is yours.”
Tyce was still trying to make sense of her words, trying to decipher them, when Sage placed a swift, final kiss to the left of his mouth. “Goodbye, Tyce. It was...fun. Except when it wasn’t.”
* * *
Sage, having said what she needed to, took advantage of his astonishment and stood up. She was about to pick up her clutch and leave when his hand shot out and gripped her wrist.
When she looked at him she noticed that his eyes were pure black fire. “Sit. Stay.”
Those eyes, God, they still had the power to dissolve her knees. Eyes of a warrior, Sage thought. Because he made her feel off-kilter, she handed him a cool look. “I am not a puppy you are trying to train.”
Tyce gripped his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “God, Sage, just give me a sec, okay? You’ve just told me that you’re pregnant. I need a goddamn minute! So, yeah, sit your ass down, okay?”
Hearing the note of panic in Tyce’s voice, Sage slid back onto the high barstool and crossed her legs. She listened as Tyce ordered another whiskey from the bartender and watched the color seep slowly back into his face.
“We need to...” she began.
Tyce shook his head and held up his hand to stop her talking. “Another drink and some more time.”
Sage nodded and leaned back in her chair, a little relieved that she’d told him, that it was finally done. It had taken every gram of courage she possessed to send that text message asking him to meet, and she’d known that he’d think she was looking for another one-night stand. Could she blame him? Their entire relationship had been based around their physical attraction and he was a guy... Of course he’d think she just wanted sex.
But their crazy chemistry had led to a very big consequence...
Sage rolled her head, trying to loosen the tension in her neck. She’d sit here, let him take the time he needed for the news to sink in and after what she hoped would be a drama-free conversation, she’d leave. Then she could put him and their brief roller coaster—What should she call it? Fling? Affair? Madness?—behind her.
God, though it had been brief, their time together had been intense. They’d met at the opening of a small gallery around the corner from her apartment and the attraction between them sizzled. Sage would like to blame that on his mixed heritage, Korean and French, on his dark Asian eyes, square chin and blinding smile, and his tall, muscled body. But she’d grown up surrounded by good-looking men and looks didn’t impress her much. No, it was Tyce’s stillness, his control and his aura of elusiveness, and unavailability, that attracted her.
Tyce had told her, straight up and straightaway, that he wanted to sleep with her but that he wasn’t the settle-down, buy-her-flowers type. They could hang, enjoy each other, but she shouldn’t expect anything more from him. She appreciated his up-front attitude and it soon dawned on her that she was drawn to a younger, darker, less chatty version of her beloved uncle Connor. Connor had been utterly devoted to his adopted kids, had looked after his employees and had been a hardworking, focused businessman, but a monogamous, committed relationship never featured on Connor’s list of priorities. Trying to pin men like Connor and Tyce down was like trying to capture smoke in a sieve.
And maybe she’d found Tyce a little more attractive because she knew he would never offer her the very thing that scared her the most: an emotionally intimate relationship. She’d been the apple of her parents’ eye, the baby girl who had her entire family wrapped around her finger, loved and adored until she woke up one morning and heard that the biggest part of her life was gone and wasn’t ever coming back.
She’d avoided relationships outside of the people who lived in Connor’s iconic brownstone fondly referred to as The Den—her brothers, Connor, and Jo, Linc’s mom and the woman Connor hired to help him raise three orphans. She had girlfriends she enjoyed but whom she kept at an arm’s length, and she wasn’t much of a dater.
Tyce had been hard to resist. Sage had been in love with his art for years. His work was detailed and exquisite, full of angst and emotion. From their first meeting, admiration and attraction swirled and whirled and she’d quickly said yes when he suggested dinner. They didn’t make it to a restaurant; instead they’d tumbled into bed and Sage finally understood the power of addiction. She craved Tyce with a ferocity that scared her.
After six weeks of fantastic sex, Sage realized she was on the brink of falling in love with Tyce and couldn’t, wouldn’t allow that to happen. Terrified, she did what she did best, she made plans to run and immediately booked a ticket to Hong Kong, telling her brothers that their Asian clients needed her attention. The day before her scheduled flight to Asia, Connor passed away and her entire world changed. Connor’s death allowed her to put the distance between her and Tyce she’d been seeking with her trip to Hong Kong.
And Connor’s death reminded her of why it was better to keep her distance from people and that she was wise to avoid emotional and intimate relationships. It hurt too damn much when the people she loved left her life.
She had enough people to love, enough people to worry about. And now—Sage placed her hand on her stomach—she had a baby on the way, a little person who would become the center of her world. Her baby, she ruefully admitted, was one person she had no choice but to love, someone she couldn’t push away.
Well played, Universe.
What did having a baby mean to Tyce? Sage wanted to ask him but, judging from his give-me-space expression, he wouldn’t answer her. Would he walk? Would he want to be involved? If he wanted contact with his child, how would that work? What if he wanted to co-parent? What then? When she’d texted him she’d been consumed by the idea of telling him, needing to get the dreaded deed done. She hadn’t thought beyond that. Well, she had thought about how sexy he was and how much she wanted to make love to him again...
Like those thoughts were productive. Besides, them going to bed was exactly what led to their current predicament. Then again, one couldn’t fall pregnant twice. Jeez, Sage, pull yourself together, woman!
Tyce abruptly stood up, nearly tipping his barstool with the force of his movement. “I need to get out of here.”
“Okay, well...” Sage bit her bottom lip and looked around. “Give me a call if you want to chat about this some more.”
Tyce looked like a hard-assed warrior about to go to battle. “Oh, hell, no, we’re leaving together.”
Sage frowned at his high-handed comment. She wasn’t ready to leave. This cocktail party and exhibition of the Ballantyne family jewelry collection was the culmination of their latest PR campaign to attract new customers. Her family was all in attendance and she was expected to stick around. Not that anyone would notice if she left... Her brothers Jaeger and Beck were both slow dancing with their women—Piper and Cady—and she was the last thing on their minds. Her oldest brother, Linc, who’d brought Tate, his son’s temporary nanny, to the party, was nowhere to be seen.
Sage was sure that she could leave and no one would be any wiser but that would mean leaving with Tyce and that wasn’t an option. “I don’t think so.”
“Walk out with me or I swear, I’ll toss you over my shoulder and walk you out that way.”
His alpha bossiness only turned her on when they were naked but since they weren’t—and would never be again—his terse tone ticked her off. She opened her mouth to blast him and closed it again at the determination in his eyes. She could either leave walking or over his shoulder and she didn’t want a scene to ruin this fabulous evening. Sage glared at him, picked up her designer clutch and walked with him into the foyer of the ballroom. She collected her coat and went to stand by the elevators.
The doors opened, Sage followed Tyce into the cube and pushed the button for the first floor. As the doors closed, the spacious interior shrunk with a big, broad, freaked-out man inside.
Tyce slapped his hand against the emergency stop button.
“What the hell, Sage? You’re pregnant?”
Obviously, he was taking some time to process the news. Sage winced at his shout, his words bouncing off the wood paneling. She lifted her hands as the elevator shuddered to a stop.
“Okay, calm down, Tyce.”
Pathetic as it was, it was all she could think of to say. Even furious, he was ludicrously good-looking. Blue-black hair cut stylishly with short back and sides, equally dark eyebrows over those black sultry eyes. When he smiled, which was, in her opinion, far too rarely, he could charm birds down from trees, criminals into converting and start polar caps melting. Sage wished that she could say Tyce Latimore was just a pretty face but he was so much more than that. He was tall, a few inches above six foot and his body, that body she’d licked and explored and teased and tasted, was all muscle honed from a lifetime dedicated to martial arts. Tae Kwon Do, judo, Krav Maga...they’d all contributed to creating a body that was spectacular and spectacularly sexy. The hair on her arms lifted and her fingers ached to touch him. Her off-the-shoulder silk dress felt abrasive against her sensitive skin and want and need danced through her.
Focus, Sage. Sheesh.
Tyce pushed his jacket back to place his hands on his hips, his expression summer-storm vicious. “Are you messing with me?”
Sage just barely restrained herself from rolling her eyes at his question.
“Yeah, Tyce,” she sarcastically muttered. “I crave your attention that much that I’d make up a story like this to play games with your head!” Seeing his still skeptical face, she shook her head and, needing support, she leaned her back against the wall of the elevator. “I am pregnant. Since you’re the only guy I’ve slept with in the three months—” Three years, she mentally corrected, but she wasn’t telling him that! “—I think it’s safe to assume that the kid is yours.”
“But we used condoms,” Tyce said, pushing his shaking hands into his hair.
Sage blushed. “That first time...you did slide in without a condom. You put one on later but maybe...” Lord, this was embarrassing! “...something slipped past.”
Tyce stared at her, his hands linked behind his head and his expression stricken with panic and fear. “I can’t be a father, Sage. I don’t want to be a father. I don’t want kids!”
Sage assumed as much.
Sage reached around him to release the emergency stop button. “As I told you, that’s not a problem. I don’t expect anything from you. You can carry on living your life as you always have.”
“You can’t do this on your own!” he said and for the first time ever Sage saw Tyce a little unhinged. He banged his fist against the stop button to prevent it from going any farther and the car’s shudder reverberated through her.
“I am young, healthy, have huge family support and ample resources to hire the help I need to raise this child,” Sage told him, pushing a finger into his chest. “I don’t need anything from you.”
A little support would be nice, a kind word, but wishing for either was futile. Tyce wasn’t the kind, supportive type. Hot and hard, amazing, fantastic sex? Yes. Warm and reassuring? No. She’d only told him because he had the right to know and not because she expected anything from him. She didn’t want anything from him...or from any other man.
She was fine, safe, on her own.
“Miss Ballantyne?” Sage jumped at the disembodied voice coming from a speaker above her head. “Is everything alright in there?”
She nodded at the camera in the top corner of the elevator. “Everything is fine, thank you. We’re just having a chat.”
Chat? They were having a life-changing conversation. There was nothing chatty about it.
“Okay then.” The voice sounded dubious. “Um? Do you think you could, um, chat somewhere else? There are people waiting for the elevator.”
Sage nodded, walked to stand between Tyce and the light panel and pushed the emergency stop again. She pulled in a large breath and turned to face Tyce, who was staring down at the mulberry-colored carpet. “Tyce.”
He didn’t lift his head, so Sage called his name again. He eventually looked at her with those intensely dark, pain-filled eyes.
“I’m letting you off the hook. Look, I’m presuming that your statement from three years ago—when you told me that you don’t do commitment—still holds?”
“Yeah.” It was a small word but a powerful response.
Sage nodded. “I’m very okay with that—I’m not looking for someone to nest with me. Take my offer to walk away. This child will be raised a Ballantyne. No one will ever have to know that he, or she, is yours. I’m giving you permission to forget about this conversation.”
Something flashed in Tyce’s eyes and Sage frowned, not sure what she’d seen. Before she could say any more, the doors to the elevator opened and they faced a bank of people waiting for the tardy lift. Sage pulled on her practiced, cool smile and stepped into the throng. She swiftly walked into the lobby and she nodded when the concierge asked her whether she wanted a taxi. Sage pulled on her coat and tried to ignore Tyce as he stepped up to walk beside her, a silent, brooding sexy mass of muscle.
She’d barely stepped onto the curb when a taxi pulled up and the doorman hurried to open the door. Sage climbed inside and sighed when Tyce crouched in the space between the open car door and her seat.
“We’re not done discussing this, Sage,” he said, his voice a low growl.
“We really are, Tyce.” Sage forced the words through her tight lips. “Don’t contact me again. We are over.”
“Yeah, you can think that,” Tyce said, standing up. “But you’d be wrong.”
The slam of the taxi door was an exclamation point at the end of his sentence.
Three (#u00aef943-b608-54cb-a0d0-81933dccd12a)
In his converted warehouse in Brooklyn, Tyce stood at the massive windows that provided perfect light for his studio, his forearm resting on the glass. He’d been home an hour and he was grateful that he’d fought the impulse to follow Sage to her apartment. Instead of acting impetuously, he’d fought his way through the shock to slow his thoughts down, to think this situation through. He needed time to let the fact that he was going to be a dad sink in, to figure this out.
Tyce walked away from the window to the far wall, to a row of canvases that were stacked against the wall. Sitting cross-legged on the paint splattered floor, he reached for the most recent canvas, a portrait of Sage at her workbench, her brow furrowed in concentration, a pencil in her hand. He’d painted the portrait from a photo published in an arts magazine and it was, he admitted, as lifelike as the photo. Bending his knees, Tyce stared at the canvas, thinking that his child was growing her belly, that his DNA was joining with hers to create a new life.
God, what an awesome, terrifying, crazy thought. What the hell did Life think it was doing, asking him—the most emotionally disconnected person on the planet—to be a father? As a child he’d been consumed by anxiety, responsibility, overwhelmed by a world that asked him to deal with far too much, far too soon. Adulthood, his and Lachlyn’s, and his mother’s death, allowed him some measure of relief. But, because he never wanted to feel so unbalanced—scared—again he deliberately distanced himself from emotionally investing in situations and people because that would make him vulnerable. To Tyce it was a simple situation, vulnerability equaled hurt and pain was to be avoided. The logical conclusion was to avoid emotion altogether, like he had with Sage three years ago, or to disconnect, like he had learned to do with his mother.
Tyce supposed that, to the world, he looked normal, content, like he had it all. Nobody knew, not even Lachlyn, that on the inside, he felt hollow and empty. Kicking the crap out of his sparring partner at the dojo and pushing his body to the limit made him feel alive but the endorphins soon wore off. Art, mostly, provided a distraction and he, occasionally, felt the hit of adrenaline when he painted his oils or constructed his sculptures. Mostly he found the process easy and intellectually undemanding.
Tyce tipped his head back. Instead of seeing paint-streaked wooden beams and the steel pipes that were a feature of his converted warehouse he saw the faded walls of the small, two-bedroom apartment he’d lived in for most of his life. He was sitting on the cold floor outside his mother’s bedroom door, rocking a crying Lachlyn, wishing that his mother would unlock the door and tell him that she was okay. That they’d be okay. He’d always wondered what he was doing wrong, why his mother needed to hide from him and his sister. He remembered the hundreds of drawings he did for her, hoping that, maybe once, she’d acknowledge his effort, desperate for any attention from her.
His index finger traced the line of Sage’s jaw. At one time selling portraits—quick charcoal or ink sketches—had kept the roof over their heads, food in the fridge. In his early teens he’d sold rough sketches on street corners and in Central Park and later he sold his sketches to the women attending the art classes where he posed, naked, as an artist’s model.
He clearly remembered feeling anxious as his hand flew over the paper, working out how much he could charge, how many sketches he needed to do to cover the latest unexpected expense; a kid struggling to gather rent money. Eventually he managed to control the anxiety, the burning resentment, and he’d learned to do that by detaching. From things, from the need for support and affirmation and, eventually, from people. Sage was the only person who’d ever threatened his control, who tempted him to edge closer, to climb into her head and let her climb into his. He couldn’t do that, wouldn’t allow himself to open up again.
And her being such a temptation was exactly why he’d allowed her to walk away from him years ago, why he’d let her slip through his fingers. It had been self-preservation in action.
He’d been an adult all his life, had dealt with situations no child should have to, had raised his sister as best he could. He wasn’t scared of much but, God, Sage having a baby terrified him. Tyce linked his arms around his bent knees, as fear, hot and acidic, bubbled in a space just under his heart. And, like it or not, he and Sage were now joined together in an age-old way, through the mingling of their DNA. No matter how Tyce looked at it, as the mother of his child, Sage would be a permanent fixture in his life. Sage was also the only person who’d ever come close to cracking his armor and that meant that she was desperately dangerous.
He didn’t like it but the situation couldn’t be changed and all he could do was manage the process. How to do that? Tyce stood up and walked over to his desk in the corner of the studio, pulling out his battered office chair and dropping into it. First things first... Since he was going to be connected to the Ballantyne family for a long time to come, he had to come clean. About everything. First to Sage, then to her brothers.
And yeah, that was going to be as much fun as running around outside, naked, on a winter’s night in Siberia. But it couldn’t be avoided and it had to be done, and soon.
* * *
Sage, resentful that she’d been pulled away from her workbench to attend a meeting at Ballantyne International headquarters, stepped out of the elevator and immediately turned left, waving to the staff working behind the glass walls that were a feature of the Ballantyne corporate offices. Sage deeply appreciated the people who worked for their company, each one an essential cog to keep the massive organization running smoothly. She knew enough about business to contribute to the partners’ meetings but she trusted her brothers to run the company, just as they trusted her to translate their rich clients’ vague desires for “something special” into works of gemstone art.
But occasionally, as a full partner of Ballantyne International, she was expected to attend the meetings Linc called. She’d reluctantly shrug out of her work clothes—comfortable jeans and loose tops—and change into something more businesslike; today’s outfit was a red-and-pink geometric top and plain black wool pants worn over two-inch-heeled boots. Her makeup consisted of a swipe of nude lipstick and she’d pulled her hair into a long braid.
She had the jewelry-designer-to-Ballantyne-partner switch down to a fine art.
At the end of the hallway, Sage pushed open the glass door to Amy’s office, thankful to see the PA Linc and Beck shared at her desk, laconically typing on her computer. The walls to the offices on either side of Amy’s desk were opaque and Sage couldn’t tell whether Linc and Beck were in their respective offices or not.
“Why is your phone off?” Amy demanded, looking at her over the frames of her trendy glasses. “FYI, smoke signals are notoriously unreliable these days.”
Knowing that underneath Amy’s glossy and sarcastic shell was a gooey center, Sage leaned across her desk to drop a kiss on her cheek. “Sorry I worried you.”
“I nearly came to your place myself. I hate it when you don’t answer your phone.” Amy pushed her chair away from her desk, her eyes brightening. “So, what do you think about Linc and Tate’s engagement? Isn’t it fabulous?”
Sure, her life was in turmoil but Sage was genuinely happy for her brothers. Linc and Tate aside, there was more good news: Piper and Jaeger were expecting twin boys, Tate was going to adopt Linc’s son, Shaw, and Linc was going to adopt Ellie, Tate’s ward and niece. Beckett was going to raise Cady’s still-baking baby as his own. Sage felt no surprise at Beckett’s generous offer; in the Ballantyne family blood was a nebulous concept.
Love...love always trumped DNA.
“Are you okay? You seem anxious and stressed.”
As she always did, Sage shook her head and, wanting to distract Amy, ran her finger over the open face of a rose, bending down to inhale the subtle scent. “A gift from Jules?” Sage asked, thinking of Julie, Amy’s soon-to-be wife.
Amy smiled softly. “Yeah. She’s better at romance than I am.”
Between her brothers and Amy, she was the only one with no interest in the concept. Besides, she had far more pressing problems than romance—or the lack of it in her life—she was pregnant and only Tyce knew. And, speaking of her baby’s daddy, she couldn’t keep ignoring his calls and messages. They’d have to talk sometime soon...
When their baby was old enough for college?
Sage pulled a face at her silliness. She’d spent two weeks with her head in the sand; she couldn’t keep it there much longer. When this meeting was over she’d invite Tyce to her apartment for a chat. No, not her apartment, that was too intimate a space, too revealing. And her bed was up a short flight of stairs, above her sitting area. She’d spend the entire time looking at his mouth and hoping that he’d put her out of her misery and kiss her. His mouth had always been her downfall; their lips would touch and she’d immediately feel he was stripping her soul of all its barriers.
The fantasy was both wildly exciting and intensely dangerous and that was why she should keep the man out of her private spaces—her apartment, her body, her heart—and meet him in a public venue.
After they’d thrashed out where they stood, what they wanted, what their expectations were, she’d tell her brothers and the rest of the family about the pregnancy.
It was a plan with a hundred holes in it but it was, at least, a plan.
Amy looked at the massive clock on the wall behind Sage. “You need to move or else you’re going to be late for your meeting.”
“What’s this meeting about, by the way?”
“I don’t know.” Amy frowned, looking displeased. She loathed being outside the loop. “I know nothing except that the meeting is in Connor’s boardroom.”
Sage turned around slowly, her eyes wide. Connor’s boardroom was a little-known boardroom on the top floor of the Ballantyne building. It was only accessible by an elevator within the iconic jewelry store, Ballantyne’s on Fifth, on the ground floor of this building or by a nondescript steel door at the back of the building. The room was used for very high-profile clients who demanded anonymity, buyers and sellers of gems who demanded that their movements not be brought to public attention. Or any attention at all.
Sage frowned, realizing that she had to head downstairs, enter the store and then use the elevator. It was a pain in her ass and she was guaranteed to be late.
“Dammit.”
Waving a quick goodbye at Amy, Sage headed back to the private elevator that would take her directly into the back rooms of Ballantyne’s on Fifth. As she stepped into the hallway, Sage tossed a look over her shoulder and saw Amy standing behind her desk, still looking worried. Worried and hurt. It was an expression she’d seen on many faces over the years and she felt the familiar stab of guilt-slicked pain.
Amy hated that Sage kept her arm’s length but it wasn’t personal, she kept everyone there, except, possibly, Linc. At the age of six she’d experienced a double whammy, the deaths of both her parents. So, really, was it any surprise that her biggest fear was that she’d lose anyone she loved, that she would be left alone? Her rationale at six still made sense to her: the more distance she kept between her and the ones she loved, the less it would hurt when they went away.
Sage fully accepted that life was a series of changes, that people came and went and that life required a series of emotional shifts. Loved ones, sadly, died. Friends moved away. Relationships broke up. They all came with their own measure of pain but Sage was very sure that she never wanted to be left behind again and it was easier to walk away than stand still and endure the emotional fallout.
Sage hauled in a deep breath. Her childhood had shaped who she was today. She looked after, as much as she could, the relationships she couldn’t walk away from—her brothers, their partners and Amy—but she didn’t actively seek new people to add to the small circle of people she loved to distraction. She dated casually, not allowing herself to fall in love. If she did find herself someone she liked, really, really liked, she never allowed the relationship to dip beneath the surface because she could never be sure of who would stay or who would go so she made it easy and pushed them all away. Somewhere between her sixth and seventh birthday she’d realized that it was easier to retreat from people and situations than to give them a chance.
Pushing people away, creating distance, it was her thing.
Tyce was the easiest and most difficult person she’d ever walked away from. Easy because she knew that he didn’t want anything serious from her, difficult because she’d been so very close to throwing her innate caution and self-preservation to the wind. He’d tempted her to try, to see what the hype about relationships and commitment was all about, to take a risk. Already teetering, if Tyce had given her the smallest sliver of encouragement, she might have toppled into love. But he hadn’t and she did what she did best; she’d walked away.
And he’d let her.
Sage shook her head, annoyed with her thoughts. She was focusing on the past and she wasn’t going in that direction. Tyce might be the father of her child and she might be crazy, fiercely attracted to him but, baby or not, she intended to keep him on the periphery of her life.
She did, however, have to find another way to interact with him because—she glanced down at the screen of her cell phone showing the number of calls she’d missed from Tyce—he wasn’t going away.
Sage stepped out of the elevator into the back room of the original Ballantyne jewelry store and smiled at an employee who was on her way to the break room. Stepping across the hallway, she punched in the code to access the private elevator that would take her up to the secret room on the top floor of the building, adjacent to rooms holding the safes and hundreds of millions of dollars’ worth of precious gems.
Sage bit her bottom lip, resigning herself to the inevitable. When this secretive meeting was over, she’d call Tyce and set up a time to meet, to discuss how involved he wanted to be in the baby’s life, how they were going to deal with each other when the baby arrived. She would be cool, calm and collected. She wouldn’t lose her temper or slap or kiss him.
Sage stepped into the small boardroom. Her stomach immediately rebelled at the smell of coffee rolling toward her and she frantically looked around for a trash can or a receptacle in case her morning sickness turned nasty.
A hand on her back steadied her. Sage slowly lifted her eyes to look into that familiar face, the high cheekbones, the stubble covering his strong jaw. Hard, black eyes. “You okay?” Tyce asked her, holding her biceps in a firm grip. He’d catch her if she fell, Sage thought, relieved. If her knees gave way she wouldn’t hit the floor.
“What are you doing here?” she whispered, wondering if she’d dropped down Alice’s rabbit hole.
An indefinable emotion flashed in Tyce’s eyes. “Now that’s a long story. Take a seat and we’ll get into it.”
Four (#u00aef943-b608-54cb-a0d0-81933dccd12a)
Tyce guided Sage to a chair and stepped away from the table, deliberately walking over to the far side of the room and leaning his shoulder into the wall, crossing his feet at the ankle. It was an insolent pose, a deliberate maneuver to keep the Ballantyne men off-balance. Tyce had deliberately dressed down for this meeting; he wore faded, paint-splattered jeans over flat-heeled boots and a clean black button-down shirt over a black T-shirt, cuffs rolled back. Linc and Beck were dressed in designer suits; Jaeger was a little less formal in suit pants and a pale cream sweater.
Sage, well, Sage looked stunning in the clashing colors of pink and red, most of her hair in a messy knot on top of her head, tendrils framing her face and falling down the back of her neck. She was innately stylish, yet people assumed it took her hours to look so perfectly put-together, but he’d seen Sage on the move; she could shove her hair up in thirty seconds, could dress in another minute. Sage wasn’t one for spending hours in front of a mirror.
Tyce looked at her face and frowned at the blue stripes under her eyes, at the pallor in her skin. She looked like she’d dropped weight and it was weight she could ill afford. She kept sucking her bottom lip between her teeth, darting anxious looks at his face. Tyce, deliberately, kept his expression blank, his face a mask. She could’ve avoided this meeting, he reminded himself; she could’ve taken one of his many calls; they could’ve done this differently. But, after trying to reach her for two weeks, her refusal to see him or talk to him limited his options so he contacted Linc and convinced him that a meeting would be beneficial to all parties.
Tyce watched as Linc stepped forward and placed both his hands on Sage’s shoulders, his gentle squeeze conveying his support. Jaeger and Beck flanked Sage on either side, arms folded and jaws tense. Her brothers were very protective of their sister and he hoped that this conversation wouldn’t turn physical but who the hell knew? When you were dealing with family and money and business, anything could happen.
“Since you asked for this meeting, Latimore, would you like to get the party started?” Linc asked, his voice as cold as a subzero fridge.
Tyce nodded, straightened and walked to the table, pulling out a chair at the head, another deliberate gesture. It was a silent screw you to their pecking order, telling Linc and his brothers that he wasn’t going to neatly slot into their order of command.
Tyce rested his forearms on the table. He turned his head to look at Sage and wished that they were alone, that he could kiss her luscious mouth, trace the fine line of her jaw, kiss his way down her long neck to her shoulders. Peel her clothes from her body...
Tyce sighed. He was imagining Sage naked because, yeah, that was helpful. He ran his hand across his face and caught Sage’s eye.
“This could’ve gone differently, Sage. If you had taken my calls, answered my emails, had a goddamn conversation with me, I wouldn’t have had to do it like this.”
Ignoring her frown, Tyce reached across the table and pulled his folder toward him. He flipped open the cover and withdrew a sheaf of papers and tossed them in Linc’s general direction. “Share certificates showing that Lach-Ty owns around fifteen percent of Ballantyne’s.”
Four backs straightened, four jaws tensed. Linc picked up the share certificates, examined them and carefully placed them facedown on the table. “Would you care to explain,” he asked in a dangerous-as-hell voice, “why you own fifteen percent of our company?”
Sure, that was why he was here, after all. “Technically, I don’t own the shares. I just paid for them.”
Linc gripped the table, his hands and knuckles white. “Then who does own the shares and why the hell did you pay for them?”
“My sister owns those shares because I thought it was right that she owned a percentage of the company her father left to you.” Tyce hesitated and thought that he might as well get it all out there so that they could move forward from a basis of truth. “I thought that, since your sister is carrying my baby, it was time to lay my cards on the table.”
And that, Tyce thought, his eyes moving from one shocked Ballantyne to another, was how you dropped a bombshell.
Shock, horror, surprise, anger...all the emotions he expected were in their faces, coating their questions, their shouted demands for more information. Tyce ignored them and kept his gaze focused on Sage, who stared at him with hellfire in her eyes.
She half stood, slapped her palms on the table and leaned toward him. “How dare you tell them without my permission?”
Tyce held her gaze and lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Because if I left it up to you, then you’d be ready to go into labor and you’d still be hemming and hawing about how to tell them, what to tell and whether you should.”
“You had no right—”
Tyce pointed at her stomach. “That’s my child in there too and, might I remind you, if you’d agreed to meet with me instead of ignoring me, then we could’ve resolved this and more.”
“More? What are you talking about?” Sage demanded, her voice vibrating with fear and concern.
Linc placed a hand on Sage’s shoulder and urged her back into the chair. “He’s talking about the shares and alluding to Connor having a daughter.”
“What? Connor never had any children,” Sage emphatically stated. “That’s crazy!”
“You’re pregnant?” Jaeger yelled.
“Everyone shut up!” Linc ordered and looked at Sage. “Let’s finish with Latimore first. Then he can get out of our hair and we can talk about your baby,” Linc added in his CEO-everyone-must-listen-to-me voice. Yeah, well, Tyce didn’t have to.
“Your optimism is amusing, Linc,” Tyce drawled. “It’s my baby too and, sorry to disappoint you, but I’m going to be around for a hell of a long time.”
“No, you’re not,” Sage stated.
“Oh, honey, I so am. But we’ll discuss that later,” Tyce said, his voice quiet but holding no trace of doubt.
“Why would you think that your sister is Connor’s daughter?” Linc asked, his jaw rock tight with annoyance.
“I don’t think she is Connor’s daughter, I know she is,” Tyce replied. Tyce saw that they were going to argue and lifted his hand. “Look, let me start at the beginning and I’ll talk you through it.”
Where to start? As he said, at the beginning. Well, at Lachlyn’s beginning, not his. They didn’t need to know about his childhood, about those dark and dismal years before, and after, Lachlyn came along. As quickly and concisely as he could, Tyce recounted the facts. His mom had worked as a night cleaner at Ballantyne International, in this very building—something he had no reason to feel ashamed of; it was honest work and if the Ballantynes were too snobby to understand that, to hell with them—and, because Connor worked long hours, they struck up a friendship. His mom and stepdad separated, she and Connor started an affair and she became pregnant.
“My mom knew that she had no future with Connor so she went back to my stepfather hoping that he’d raise Lachlyn as his.”
His stepdad, originally from Jamaica, took one look at Lachlyn, a blond-haired, blue-eyed baby, and lost his temper. Tyce took his disappearance that same day as a firm no on the raising-and-supporting-Lachlyn question. Those months following his stepfather’s disappearance had been, by far, the worst of his life. His mom sunk into what he now knew to be postpartum depression, made a hundred times worse by her normal, run-of-the-mill depression. Looking after the baby had been a struggle for her. She hadn’t had any energy left over for a confused eight-year-old boy.
“Did your mother ever tell Connor that he had a daughter?” Beck asked, his voice laced with skepticism.
“No,” Tyce snapped back, frustrated. “Since Lachlyn’s birth certificate states that my stepdad is her father, she didn’t have a legal leg to stand on. She assumed that Connor would dismiss her claims.”
“Which is exactly what we are going to do,” Linc told him, his blue eyes hard.
Linc reacted exactly as he expected him to so Tyce wasn’t particularly surprised. “You can, but it won’t make any difference to my plans.”
Tyce ran his hand around his neck, hoping to rub away the headache at the base of his skull. He darted a look at Sage and saw that her face was even whiter than before and her big, endlessly blue eyes were dark with pain and confusion. She looked like he’d punched her in the gut. The fight immediately went out of Tyce and he moved his hand across the table to cover hers. He desperately wanted to scoop her up, soothe away her pain, assure her that everything would be okay.
But Tyce, more than most, knew that life had a nebulous concept of fairness and had a shoddy record at doling out good luck.
Sage snatched her hand out from under his, as if he were contagious with some flesh-eating disease. She folded her arms against her chest and glared at him. He couldn’t help his smile.
“You should know that your prissy, ‘I’m a princess and you’re a peasant’ look turns me on.”
His comment also had the added bonus of pissing her brothers off. Score.
Sage lifted her hand, her lips thinning. “This is business so let’s keep it to that, okay? You and I have nothing to say to each other.”
Oh, they so did. “We have a great deal to say to one another and we will,” Tyce promised her, lowering his voice.
“In your dreams, hotshot,” Sage retorted, fire in her eyes.
Tyce reached across the table and pushed a curl out of her eyes with the tip of his finger. “You can fight this, kick and claw and scratch, but you and me, and that kid, we’re going to come to an understanding, Sage. I’m not crazy about this arrangement, neither are you, but we’re going to have to deal. I’m not going anywhere. Start getting used to the idea.”
Because he so badly wanted to frame her face with his hands, to lower his mouth to cover hers—God, it had been so long since he’d held her, tasted her, feasted on her—Tyce stood up and jammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Feeling wiped, he blew out a breath before locking eyes with Linc again. It was time to get this done.
“I’ve purchased enough shares to earn a seat on the Ballantyne board. I’m going to take that seat, I will oppose every decision and I will vote against every motion you make unless you actively try to establish whether Lachlyn is Connor’s child or not. Do not underestimate how much trouble I can cause. I’ll undermine your position and I’ll actively campaign to have you removed as CEO.”
Linc’s face paled at the threat. But because he was a deal maker and a strategist, Linc then asked the question he was expecting. “So if Lachlyn is Connor’s daughter, how much do you want?”
These rich people, they always thought it came down to money. “I don’t want any of your money,” Tyce replied, enjoying the surprised shock on their faces. “If the DNA results come back saying that Lachlyn is not Connor’s daughter, then I will sell the shares.”
“What’s the catch?” Beck demanded.
“If Lachlyn is Connor’s daughter, then I’d like you to give her a chance...to get to know you, to become part of your family. She missed out on that, having a family.”
So had he but that didn’t matter. Lachlyn was the one who’d spent her childhood and teenage years in a dismal house permeated with the sadness of a perpetually depressed mother and a too tense, uncommunicative brother. She deserved the chance of being part of a close, happy family. And nobody, apparently, did family better than the Ballantynes.
Tyce held the back of a chair, his hands white against the black leather. He didn’t drop his eyes from Linc’s face, didn’t break the contact. Linc, confusion all over his face, frowned. “I don’t understand any of this. You spent tens of millions buying those shares but all you want is for us to give your sister a chance to get to know us?”
Tyce nodded. “You’ll be happy to hear that she’s a lot nicer than I am.”
Linc’s mouth twitched in what Tyce suspected might hint at amusement. He leaned back in his chair and folded his big arms across his chest. “This is batcrap insane, Latimore.”
“Probably,” Tyce admitted, darting a look at the still-fuming Sage. Oh, that reminded him. Hardening his expression, he looked from Linc’s face to Jaeger’s and then to Beckett’s. “I have one more demand...”
Beck groaned and Jaeger swore. Linc just waited, his eyes narrowed.
“My last demand is that you leave us, Sage and me, alone. Having a baby, becoming new parents, is something new to both of us and we don’t need her three angry, protective brothers muddying the waters.”
God, he was tired of this conversation, so tired of it all. All he wanted to do was to climb into bed with Sage and wrap himself around her. He would even forego sex just to hold her and sleep.
Sage held up a hand and stopped what he was sure was going to be a hot response from Jaeger. Hot seemed to be Jaeger’s default setting.
“You three don’t need to fight my personal battles,” Sage said, her voice clear and determined. “Tyce and I will deal with our personal situation, ourselves. Not—” Sage sent him a look that was designed to shrivel his balls “—that we have much to discuss.”
“Are you sure, shrimp?” Jaeger asked her, doubt in his voice.
“Very.” Sage nodded. “I can handle him.”
“If he lays a finger on you, we will rip him from limb to limb and bury him so deep that no one will ever find his body,” Beck added, his voice so flat and so bland that Tyce had no choice but to believe him.
“Tyce is an ass but he’s not violent,” Sage told them.
So nice to know how she really felt about him.
“Still...” Beck’s eyes connected with his and Tyce nodded, acknowledging Beck’s threat. Hurt her and he’d die. Got it.
“One tear, Latimore, and all bets are off,” Linc said, rising to his feet. “We’ll need a week or two, and your sister’s DNA, to ascertain whether she is Connor’s daughter and, if she is, we’ll meet again, with your sister, to determine a path forward.”
It was, Tyce realized, as much of a deal as he was going to get today and it was, honestly, better than he hoped. Lachlyn would finally have, if the Ballantynes cooperated, a shot at having the large, crazy, loving family she’d always said she wanted.
“Two weeks and then we’ll reevaluate?” Tyce held out his hand and wondered if Linc would shake it. “Deal?”
Linc’s warm hand gripped his and their gazes clashed and held. “Deal.”
Linc dropped his hand, sidestepped him and opened the door to the conference room. “I’ll contact you to set up the time and place for the DNA swabs.” Linc walked out of the conference room and punched a code into the pad next to the elevator opposite the conference room. The doors slid open. Right, it was official; Linc was kicking him out.
Tyce ignored Linc’s impatient expression and walked past Jaeger to drop to his haunches in front of Sage, resting his forearm across his knee. He waited until Sage lifted defiant eyes to meet his. “After you’ve spoken to your brothers, go home and sleep. I’m going to drop in this evening and—we’ll talk then.”
“I won’t be there.”
Tyce resisted the impulse to roll his eyes. “We need to talk, Sage. We can do it this afternoon or tomorrow morning but we are going to talk.”
Sage muttered a curse under her breath and Tyce swallowed his smile at her hissed profanity. “Okay, this evening. Around five.”
Tyce nodded, stood up and bent down again to drop a kiss on her head. Not wanting to see her reaction, her disgust, he spun around and headed out the door and into the lift. After punching the button for the ground floor, he looked at Sage and electricity, as it always did, hummed between them. He wanted to run back into the room, scoop her up and run away with her, to hell with Lachlyn and Sage’s brothers. To hell with his art and her status as one of the wealthiest women in the world.
To hell with it all.
Unfortunately, Tyce thought as the elevator’s doors closed, running away solved nothing.
* * *
The meeting had run longer than they thought and Beck and Jaeger left a few minutes after Tyce, both of them assuring her that they were in her corner, that they would help in any way they could.
“Up to and including beating the crap out of Latimore,” Jaeger told her as a parting shot.
When she and Linc were alone Sage walked to the small window, laying her hand on the cool glass. Droplets of icy rain ran down the pane and the low, gray clouds outside threatened snow. Late winter in New York City, she thought; she felt cold inside and out.
“You okay, shrimp?” Linc asked her. Sage turned, put her back to the wall and looked at her brother, his chair pushed back and his long legs stretched out.
“Mentally or physically?” Sage asked.
“Either. Both,” Linc answered her.
Sage lifted one shoulder and shrugged, biting her bottom lip. Linc’s eyes were on her face and she knew that her brother was hoping for an answer. Unlike Jaeger and Beck, Linc didn’t nag and as a result, she found herself talking to him more often than anyone else.
Still, it was easier to stick to the facts. “I’m about twelve, thirteen weeks pregnant. I’m not seeing Tyce, it just happened.”
Linc’s expression was sober. “Do you want to keep this child?”
Now there was a question she could answer without hesitation. “With every breath I take.”
Linc relaxed and his lightened. “Okay then. If you want to keep the baby, then we’ll all pitch in to help you... You know that, right?” Linc stated.
Sage nodded. “I do. So does, apparently, Tyce.” She tapped her index finger against her thigh. “I’m really surprised that he wants to be involved. I thought he’d take my offer to run.”
Linc scowled. “A hell of a lot surprised me today and that was only one thing of many.” Linc flipped through the folder Tyce had left and pulled out a letter-sized photograph of his sister, Lachlyn. He placed it on the table so that they could both look at the photo. “I can’t deny that she looks like Connor, she has his eyes.”
“And his nose,” Sage added. Apart from their hair color, she and Lachlyn could almost be sisters.
Linc folded his arms. “He made quite a few threats today. Do you think he’d act on them?”
Sage knew he would. Tyce never said anything he didn’t mean and she told her brother so. “The media is fascinated by him and, because he’s so reclusive, when he speaks the world will sit up and listen.”
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