The Playboy's Baby Read online

  Table of Contents

  ~ Acclaim for JM Stewart ~

  ~ Dedication ~

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Epilogue

  ~ About the Author ~

  ~ More Romance from Etopia Press ~

  ~ Acclaim for JM Stewart ~

  For Staking His Claim:

  “From the very beginning of this story, JM Stewart enthralls you in the lives of Kyle and Ceci so tightly that you will not be able to, or want to, get loose. You will not want to put down until the very last word.”

  —Dreamcatcher, Manic Readers

  “You definitely won’t want to miss this book. It had an enormous amount of heart.”

  —Denise, Happily Ever After Reviews

  “The author kept me dangling. Staking His Claim is a quick read and found myself not able to put it down until I finished it.”

  —Kimberly, Sizzling Hot Books

  The Playboy’s Baby

  JM Stewart

  Copyright Warning

  EBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared, or given away. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is a crime punishable by law. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded to or downloaded from file sharing sites, or distributed in any other way via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000 (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/).

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are fictitious or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real in any way. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Published By:

  Etopia Press

  P.O. Box 66

  Medford, OR 97501

  http://www.etopia-press.net

  The Playboy’s Baby

  Copyright © 2012 by JM Stewart

  ISBN: 978-1-937976-60-6

  Edited by Melinda Fulton

  Cover by Valerie Tibbs

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First Etopia Press electronic publication: August 2012

  ~ Dedication ~

  This one goes to my agent, Dawn Dowdle, for the time she takes to make my work as perfect as it can be, and for believing in me. You’re a true gem. Thank you.

  Also for my husband, for his unerring love, support and encouragement. And for understanding when the laundry has to wait. ;)

  Chapter One

  There he was.

  Frozen at the edge of the crowd, Emma Stanton bit down on her bottom lip. Her heart skipped out an erratic beat. All around her barely controlled chaos reigned. Four thousand people lived in the small town of Hastings, Montana, and she’d bet almost every one of them was in this club. People packed in around her, bodies bumping off each other in an effort to move. Most of them gyrated to the pulsing, surging beat of music echoing off the walls.

  A typical Friday night for Hastings. At the end of January, with a half foot of snow on the ground, a person wouldn’t find much else to do in a town with three stoplights, one gas station, one teensy motel, and a single bar. The bright neon beer signs on the front window attracted the residents like insects to an incandescent streetlight with the promise of alcohol, dancing, and the opposite sex.

  She hadn’t come for any of that. She came for him.

  Twenty feet in front of her, leaning back against the waist-high bar, stood the man she’d spent all day tracking down—the infamous Dillon James. The man who would soon have the power to take away everything she held dear. He stood amongst a small crowd of adoring fans, all staring up at him with starry-eyed expressions, hanging on his every word. Judging by the playful glint in his eye, he loved every minute of it.

  Dillon’s head turned, his brows rising in stunned surprise. His gaze locked with hers. He straightened off the bar, pulled away from the women vying for his attention, and moved in her direction, his stride long and loose.

  Every step that drew him closer only increased the odd mix of emotions pounding through her. For two weeks she planned this moment, right down to what she’d say when she eventually found him. Yet not only had her throat closed up, her entire body trembled. Trepidation mixed with anticipation, excitement, and a good amount of fear coursed through her.

  When Dillon stopped in front of her, her pulse settled on a quick, wild rhythm. At six foot five, he towered over her and made her shiver from the sheer size and power of his broad, sculpted body. God, she hadn’t seen him in eight years, yet he looked so much the same. The same dark hair—a rich brown, the color of espresso, sinfully thick and gleaming soft beneath the low overhead lights. He had the same square jaw and wide, sensual mouth.

  The lithe nineteen-year-old body she remembered had filled out over the years. The dark blue T-shirt he wore was stretched taut over broader shoulders, the soft cotton clinging to distinctly thicker biceps. His dark jeans hugged the contours of his body, outlining the shape of his lean hips and long powerful thighs.

  “Emma Stanton.” Dillon shook his head, a wistful smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. “I thought maybe I was seeing things, but, wow, it really is you.”

  “Hi, Dillon. Sorry to show up here like this.” Her stomach somersaulted. “I’ve been looking all over for you today. I went to your house this afternoon. Obviously, you weren’t there. So I went to your parents’. Your mother wasn’t at home, but your housekeeper mentioned that she’d seen Logan yesterday and suggested I ask him. Your brother’s back in town, by the way. Did you know?”

  She caught the insanity flying past her lips a moment too late to suck the words back. A fierce heat climbed into her cheeks. Of course he knew his brother was back in town. Probably saw him every day. God, could this get any worse? She looked like a complete fool.

  “It’s good to see you too, Em.” Dillon folded his arms across his chest, his mouth splitting into a wide grin.

  She swallowed hard and opened her mouth—to say what she came here to say—only to shut it again when Dillon’s gaze left hers. Oblivious to her torment, his eyes slid over her, moving down her body and back up to her face in a slow, unapologetic appraisal.

  “You look good.” The soft tone of his voice matched the sentiment in his eyes.

  Dillon James had very candid eyes. A deep, dark brown, they matched the color of his hair. When he wanted to, he could say more with his eyes than with anything that came out of his mouth. Sometimes they danced with laughter. Sometimes they flirted and glittered with playful impishness.

  Right now, they were heavy-lidded and soft, reminding her too much of the last time she saw him. Eight years ago, on a rainy night in the middle of the summer, her perception of this man shifted. He showed her a side of himself she’d never seen before. A tender, caring side that melted the wall of ice she kept against his charms.

  “You grew your hair out. It was shorter last time I saw you.” Dillon tucked an escaped lock behind her ear, his fingers gliding over her suddenly all too sensitive skin.

  The man had huge hands, straight and long-fingered, but unbelievably
warm and soft, and she couldn’t stop the shiver that ran the length of her spine.

  “Too busy to cut it.” She retucked that strand behind her ear, her fingers shaking.

  “It suits you.” He dropped his hand, offering a smile that was more in his eyes than on his mouth. “So, what’re you doing here?”

  His question brought her mind back to the reason she came, and Emma swallowed past the nervous lump in her throat. She and Janey left Hastings eight years ago, but once upon a time they lived in this town. Dillon and her baby sister, Janey, were joined at the hip in elementary school. Wherever one went, the other wasn’t far behind. Using all ten fingers and all ten toes, Emma couldn’t count the number of times those two had gotten into trouble together. Partners in crime.

  Emma and Dillon grew up hating each other, forever butting heads, usually over Janey’s whereabouts. From one of the wealthiest families in town, she thought him a spoiled rich boy—careless, wild, and arrogant to boot.

  Until the night her mother died.

  That knowledge lay deep inside her, at war with the doubts that took root in her chest two weeks ago. The day she found the letter written in Janey’s flowery handwriting. It was hidden in the folds of a worn leather diary, tucked between the mattress and box spring. Emma found it by accident. It fell out when she changed the sheets.

  Like the beat of a pulse, the knowledge drummed slow and faint but steady nonetheless, refusing to let her ignore its presence. Hope thrummed through her. Until she found that diary, her sister refused to name Annie’s father. She hadn’t listed a name on the birth certificate either. All Emma had to go on was that letter.

  The question was would he believe her when she told him Annie was his child? She hoped so. Janey had left custody to her, and since her death, Emma had come to think of Annie like her own daughter. She wanted the child to have what she and Janey missed out on their entire lives—the benefit of two parents. A father who loved her.

  She worried her bottom lip between her teeth. Doubt niggled at the back of her mind. What if he denied it? What if he didn’t want Annie? Or worse, what if Dillon wanted sole custody? Annie was all she had left in the world.

  No. She had to hope it wouldn’t come to that, for Annie’s sake. She had to hope he wouldn’t take Annie away from her.

  She refocused on his face. “We need to talk.”

  One dark brow arched in surprise. He stood silent a moment, studying her, like he couldn’t decide what to make of her.

  “Come on.” The decision apparently made, he nodded in the direction of the bar. “I’ll get you a drink. Then we can go up to my office.”

  “I don’t drink.” She limped along beside him.

  “Then you’re in the wrong place.” Dillon glanced over at her, chuckling and shaking his head. An instant later, his gaze dropped to her foot, and he halted halfway to the bar. When he looked at her again, a concerned, half-curious frown creased his brow. “What’s wrong with your foot?”

  “It got stepped on. A few times.” A fierce heat climbed into her cheeks.

  She’d always been a klutz. On top of it, she always preferred her own company. The sheer number of people packed into this place quickly overwhelmed her, and she’d gotten lost in the crowd, bumped from gyrating body to gyrating body.

  She looked down at her foot and waved a hand at him, praying he wouldn’t make a big deal out of it. She felt like enough of a fool. “It’s fine.”

  “Let me guess, you were heading for my office.”

  The knowing tone of his voice made her look up. “Then I came back when I discovered you weren’t there, yes.”

  The corners of his mouth twitched, amusement twinkling in his eyes. “The crowd on the dance floor can be rather unforgiving. If you stick to the wall, it isn’t so bad.”

  “Now someone tells me.” She narrowed her eyes, unable to stop from echoing his smile. “Don’t you dare laugh.”

  He clutched a hand to his chest, dark brows drawn together in an expression of mock dismay. “Em, you wound me. What kind of heartless beast do you think I am?”

  A laugh escaped and she shook her head. “I don’t think you want me to answer that.”

  He chuckled, a deep infectious sound that made her smile again and the moment caught her. She stared at him. Warm and familiar, the play between them reminded her of all those years of growing up with him, of the little imp who used to goad her. Her earlier nervousness flitted away. Whatever else had gone between them, she knew this man.

  “Come on.” Before she had a chance to protest, Dillon wrapped an arm around her waist, supporting her weight against his side, and helped her the four limping steps it took to reach the bar.

  Okay, so her foot didn’t hurt that bad. She was too stunned by the powerful press of his body against her, by the memories invading her thoughts, to protest. When they made it to the bar, she collapsed onto a stool with a relieved sigh. She closed her eyes for a moment and conjured images of the sweet face she left an hour ago. Soft chubby cheeks, big eyes closed in slumber, the wide little mouth puckered and working an invisible bottle.

  Sweet little Annie was under the watchful eye of old Mrs. Emerson, who owned the bed and breakfast she was staying at. The old woman had been a dear friend of the family, back when her mother was still alive. She’d agreed to watch Annie, so that Emma wouldn’t have to drag her out in this weather. It also gave her time alone with Dillon, to break the news to him.

  She needed to remember that she was here for Annie’s sake. Her niece’s future depended on Emma keeping her head. She came here to inform Dillon he had a daughter and to ask him to share custody, not to recount memories. She had a job to do. Annie deserved her best.

  Lucky for her, Dillon seemed to take her sigh to mean it relieved her to be off her foot.

  “Hey, Ronnie.” He raised his voice over the din and leaned his elbows on the bar, turning his attention to the bartender at the other end. “Give me an ice pack, would you?”

  When the man nodded, Dillon sank onto the barstool beside her. He turned to face her, their knees brushing. A shiver rocketed through her in response, from the point of contact clean down to her toes.

  “Give me your foot.” He patted the edge of the stool between his legs.

  The heat of embarrassment crept into her cheeks again. She shook her head. “It’s just a little sore.”

  “If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to have a look.” Without waiting for a reply, he bent sideways, pulled her foot off the rung, and set it on the stool between his thighs.

  Could her face get any hotter? “I tell you, it’s fine.” She rolled her eyes to cover her unease.

  Unlacing her boot, Dillon cut her a quick glance, eyes glittering in triumph. “So, where is Janey, anyway?”

  How could she possibly be unprepared for that question? The raw, gaping wound in her chest, the one she’d only just managed to keep at bay, split wide open again. Emma struggled to breathe through the tide of emotions that washed over her. Never again would she see Janey’s smiling face or hear her infectious laughter. Annie would never know what a wonderful vibrant person her mother was. Janey would never see her beautiful daughter’s first steps or hear her first words.

  “I know she’s in here somewhere. Only your sister could have managed to get you to come into this place.”

  He was right. Only Janey. Her chest squeezed with the pain she’d barely held off for the last month. Emma stared at her stockinged foot, encased in his large warm hands, and bit her bottom lip in an effort to keep the tears burning behind her eyelids from seeping down her cheeks. The words she needed to say clogged in her suddenly full throat.

  Dillon lifted his head, his questioning stare obvious. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him, to speak.

  “Em?” When she didn’t answer, he cupped her chin in his palm and forced her to meet his gaze. “What’s going on?”

  Instant panic replaced the pain gripping her chest, and Emma squeezed her eyes shut and
dragged in a deep breath. God, why was this so hard? She’d prepared herself for this moment, rehearsed what she wanted to say to him, yet the words refused to leave her tongue.

  “What’s wrong with Janey?” Dillon’s voice was deadly calm, yet with an authoritative clip that demanded she answer.

  Emma opened her eyes and met his searching gaze. The anxiousness lighting the dark depths twisted at her insides and answered the question for her. Dillon was the only other person alive who loved Janey the way she did. Right now, she didn’t know if she could stand to see pain shadow his eyes when she dropped the news of her sister’s death.

  She swallowed hard and managed to shake her head. “Not here.”

  Brows drawn together, he hesitated then nodded. “My office.”

  He didn’t bother to wait for a reply. Instead, he stood and handed her the boot he removed.

  She opened her mouth to voice a protest when the bartender appeared in front of them catching his attention. “We have a problem.” The man nodded in the direction of the crowd of dancers and handed Dillon a hand towel filled with ice.

  Dillon turned sideways and followed the man’s gaze. On the other side of the room, two women had climbed onto a table and shook their assets for an uproariously grateful crowd of drunken men. Dillon swore under his breath.

  “It never fails.” He turned an apologetic frown on her. “I have to go take care of this. I’m short a couple of bouncers tonight.”

  She shook her head. “I meant I didn’t want to do this here.” She swept her hand in the air, a gesture meant to encompass the entire place.