The Secret Baby: The Sinful Secrets Series (Book #3)
THE SECRET BABY
Book 3 in The Sinful Secrets Series
by
Day Leclaire
USA Today Bestselling Author
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Cover Design by Nicole Sanders, Trevino Creative http://www.TrevinoCreative.com
Viorel Sima © 123RF.com
Copyright © 1995, 2015 by Day Totton Smith. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.
ISBN-13: 978-1-939925-12-1
For more information, visit my website at: http://www.DayLeclaire.com
Thank you!
TABLE OF CONTENTS
THE SECRET BABY
Dedication
Book Description
Links to Books by Day Leclaire
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
About Day Leclaire
Subscribe to Day Leclaire’s Newsletter
Links to Books by Day Leclaire
The Dragon Brides
Excerpts from The Sinful Secrets Series
Dedication
In loving memory of my mom, Hazen F. Totton, and to my sister, Diane H. Andre. Thank you so much for all your love, encouragement, and endless patience.
Book Description
They all have sinful secrets…delicious, passionate, tantalizing surprises that will keep you guessing—and smiling—until the very end.
When ruthless tycoon, Damien Hawke, sweeps back into Sable’s life, he’s come to claim it all. Her. The business she inherited. And the child he discovers she’s kept from him. But there’s one secret he’s still keeping. And until Sable uncovers it, she’ll never win what matters most to her—Damien’s heart
Links to Books by Day Leclaire
Coming October 2015:
The Dragon Brides: Fire
Part One: Scorched
Part Two: Ablaze
Part Three: Seared
Part Four: Forged
Nordic Heroes Boxed Set
Two great books for one low price!
In the Market
A Wholesale Arrangement
The Wacky Women Series
Once Upon a Cowboy
Once Upon a Jinx
Once Upon a Time
Once Upon a Ghost
Once Upon an Enchantment
The Sinful Secrets Series
Mail-Order Husband
The Wedding Night
The Secret Baby
The Secret Seduction
Mail-Order Wife
The Dante Legacy
Dante’s Blackmailed Bride
Dante’s Stolen Wife
Dante’s Wedding Deception
Dante’s Contract Marriage
Dante’s Ultimate Gamble
Dante’s Temporary Fiancée
Dante’s Marriage Pact
Dante’s Honor-Bound Husband
Becoming Dante
Dante’s Dilemma – a novella
Featuring Primo and Nonna
Forever Dante – Coming in 2016
The Salvatore Brothers
Who’s Holding the Baby?
Matteo’s Story – Coming in 2016
D’Angelo’s Story – Coming in 2016
Dante – Coming in 2016
Fontana – Coming in 2016
Brand – Coming in 2016
Prologue
He’d done it. He had her. And soon—very soon—Sable Jameson Caldwell would know it.
Damien Hawke dropped into the over-stuffed white chair behind the huge, pretentious desk, a grim smile playing about his mouth. The contract, signed and executed, lay before him on the frosted glass tabletop. He wouldn’t have been human if he hadn’t savored his moment of triumph. Savored the knowledge that after five long years he had Sable at his mercy. But it wasn’t enough, he acknowledged. He didn’t want her construction business. Or rather, her late husband’s construction business. He wanted her.
And this time she wouldn’t escape.
A small sound from the far side of the white and crimson office caught Damien’s attention and he lifted his head. “Have the arrangements been made, Lute?” he asked.
In response to the question, a huge man slipped silently from the shadows, his bald head gleaming in the subdued light. In the not-so distant past, Lute’s position would have been called many things. Valet, manservant, gentleman’s gentleman. Damien simply called him friend.
“The movers will be here tonight to strip the room and deliver the furnishings to Miss Patricia.”
“Excellent.”
Damien stood and strode around the pedestaled desk, his shoes sinking into the blood-red carpeting. A large leopard skin floor covering blocked his path and he kicked the pelt to one side with the toe of his shoe. His gaze shifted over the exotic animal heads mounted on the harsh white walls and a flicker of distaste touched his stern features at the blatant obscenity. Every one of them was on the endangered species list.
“She will want her dead animals returned, yes?” Lute questioned.
“Knowing Patricia, I don’t doubt it for a minute.”
Lute sighed. “She dishonors her brother’s memory and betrays her sister-in-law by selling her share of the family business but keeps her gaudy bits and pieces. Strange woman.”
Damien shrugged. He couldn’t care less about Patricia Caldwell. Not anymore. She’d served her purpose by giving him what he wanted most—forty percent of Caldwell’s stock. It was the same percentage as Sable controlled. “Money is Patricia’s god. It always has been.”
Blackness settled on Lute’s face. He smoothed his thumb and index finger across his white moustache and down to the narrow beard that framed his chin. It was a familiar gesture, a gesture that betrayed an inner turmoil. Damien folded his arms across his chest and waited for his friend to speak his piece.
“Money is a demanding god. A deadly god,” Lute said, before adding softly, “But then, so is revenge.”
Damien’s mouth tightened. He hadn’t chosen the path he walked blindly. He’d taken every step with great deliberation. “I want this room sanitized.” He spoke harshly, but Lute didn’t flinch. Only one other person could confront Damien’s anger with equanimity, with a soothing touch that calmed even the most savage beast. And he rarely spoke her name. “I don’t want one trace of cigarette smoke or that cloying perfume Patricia drenches herself in t
o remain.”
Lute inclined his head. “It will be done. By Monday morning the office will be yours.” He turned to go.
“Have you seen her, Lute?” The question was torn from Damien, unexpected and unwelcome. They both knew of whom he spoke.
Sable.
“Yes.” The acknowledgement sounded hesitant, regretful. “I have seen her.”
Damien tensed. “And?”
“She looks much the same. Thinner, perhaps.”
“That’s all?”
Lute turned around, his reluctance unmistakable. “There were . . . shadows. Much sadness,” he admitted. His snowy brows drew together over soft blue eyes that could appear as old as time or as guileless as a baby’s. “And more sadness to come, yes?”
Again Damien shrugged. “That’s up to her. If she sells her shares of Caldwell’s to me as Patricia did, she can walk away a wealthy woman. If she chooses to fight me . . .” His odd green eyes glittered with ruthless intent. “Then I’ll break her.”
“She will fight you,” Lute said, and without another word, left the room.
Damien stood motionless for a moment, his thoughtful gaze settling on the door that connected this office—his office—with the adjoining one. He didn’t hesitate. He crossed to the door. The handle turned easily beneath his hand, the heavy oak panel swinging silently open. A single light, probably left on by the cleaning crew, shone from the desk by the windows. He walked into the room, leaving behind the hellish opulence that so suited Patricia for a soothing warmth guaranteed to assuage even the most tortured soul, stepping from harsh gold and crimson excess to the soft, mellow rose and yellow of Eden’s garden.
Moonlight filtered through the tinted floor-to-ceiling windows, gilding the room with silver, and he closed the connecting door, shutting out the stink of musk and stale tobacco. Leave it to Patricia to flout the city’s no-smoking laws. In sharp contrast, the air in Sable’s office was sweet and smelled of her. He inhaled deeply, dragging the clean, fresh scent of her into his lungs.
And he remembered. Remembered their time together, their passion, their desperate need, their oneness, along with her betrayal. He remembered that most of all.
For it wasn’t a betrayal he’d easily forget—or forgive—a fact Sable would soon learn.
Chapter 1
Sable sensed him long before she saw him. She didn’t need to turn around and search the crowd of faces behind her. The elevator was too packed to allow it, anyway. But she knew he was there. Somewhere.
She could feel the heavy touch of his gaze stroking along her spine as surely as if he’d reached out and put his hands on her. She closed her eyes, fighting her instinctive reaction. It had been so long since she’d felt the insidious yearning only he could arouse, felt the subtle clenching of inner muscles that signaled his presence. Her hand tightened on her briefcase and her breathing grew shallow. How could she still feel this way after five long, lonely years?
The elevator stopped and the doors parted, releasing a small wave of people, before drawing more in, pushing her deeper into the car and closer to him. She shifted to one side and risked turning her head a fraction, allowing her gaze to drift casually over the occupants behind her. She stiffened. A man with distinctively streaked tawny hair stood with his shoulder braced against the back wall. Her heart pounded and acute fear momentarily robbed her of all thought, leaving behind blind panic and a desperate, instinctive need to escape. Only the press of people held her in place.
Dear Lord. It was him.
Her nails bit into her palm, the pain sharp and cruel. She barely noticed. All her attention was focused on him and on what his return might mean. She drew in a shaky breath, forcing herself to suppress an almost overwhelming emotional response and to think. Think, damn it! Why had he come? He’d only bring more misery. Misery and danger, especially if he discovered all she’d kept hidden from him these past five years.
She faced forward. He didn’t move, the distorted reflection from the copper-tinted doors told her that much. Instead he continued to lounge against the rear wall, waiting . . . for what? For the car to finally empty? For them finally to be alone? If she got off at an earlier floor, would he follow? She knew the answer to that. If she got off, he would, too. And he’d know she’d panicked because of him. She didn’t dare give him that much of an edge. Still . . . The pivotal question remained, scraping across sensitive nerve-endings like a serrated blade.
What did he want?
The next stop brought another influx of passengers and to her horror she found herself forced farther and farther back until she stood just in front of him.
“Sable,” he said in a husky undertone, the sound of his voice stirring fragments of bittersweet memories. When she didn’t respond, he placed his hand on the small of her back. His fingers slipped over the soft rose silk of her suit jacket, sweeping lower to close on the narrow curve of her hip. He tugged her against him. “Or should I say, Mrs. Caldwell?”
She couldn’t pull loose, they were packed in too tightly. “Stop it!” she ordered, keeping her voice whisper-soft. She shot a quick glance to either side, relieved beyond measure to discover that the people nearest to them were caught up in their own quiet discussions. No one paid the least attention to her.
Floor by floor the elevator progressed relentlessly upward. The moment a space opened in front of her, she tried to step forward, but he stopped her. He tightened his hold, pulling her deeper into his embrace, the warmth of his body cutting through the silk of her suit. His hand shifted to her waist, his fingers sliding beneath the bottom of her jacket and splaying across her abdomen, moving in an insidious caress. “Not yet, my love. I’m enjoying this too much,” he murmured, his breath stirring the curls at her temple.
She stifled her cry of alarm, not daring to say anything or draw attention to her predicament. Instead she forced herself to remain perfectly still and wait as the elevator dispersed passenger after passenger, moving ever upward toward her office on the executive floor. She felt like a mouse trapped in a cage with a ravenous tomcat, with nowhere to escape. Claustrophobia mounted with each stop they made, with every breath she drew. His soft laughter rumbled in her ear and she knew he found her helplessness amusing.
The car eased to a halt once more and the final occupant departed. It seemed to take an eternity before the doors slid closed, sequestering them in the small metal cubicle. Not waiting another moment, Sable ripped free of his hold. Then, gathering every bit of strength, feeling more vulnerable than she had in a long, long time, she turned and faced him.
Damien Hawke. Her former employer, former lover . . . and the father of her four-year-old son. Was that why he’d come? Had he somehow found out about Kyle? His expression gave nothing away. But then, it never did.
She forced herself to look up at him and instantly regretted it. She’d forgotten how intense his eyes could be. Or perhaps she’d chosen to forget. She could lose her very soul in those odd green eyes. They glowed with an inner light, hard and knowing and compelling, mesmerizing her in all too familiar a way. They were the pale green of an arctic wasteland, fiery emotion encased in impenetrable ice. She’d never yet read an article about him that failed to mention the disconcerting power of those eyes.
“Hello, Damien,” she managed to say in an even voice. “You always did have the most objectionable ways of making your presence known.”
He inclined his head, his gaze mocking. “You’re too kind.”
“Touching me like that was rude. It was . . .” She glared at him. “It was unconscionable.”
He shrugged. “It felt good. You know it did.”
She turned slightly, stung by the bitter truth, hoping she managed to hide the intense, piercing desire and gnawing hunger being near him stirred. How could she have been so foolish as to believe those emotions had died? She took a deep, calming breath, drawing on all her professional reserves to see her through this unexpected confrontation.
“What are you doing here?” she
asked with a composure that threatened to desert her at any moment. “It can’t be coincidental. It never is with you.”
He tilted his head to one side, watching her with open amusement. He possessed a disconcerting stillness, like a jungle cat, lazy, graceful and ready to pounce at the slightest provocation. “You know me that well?”
“I know you all too well,” she responded tautly. “I repeat, what are you doing here?”
He shrugged, a simple, careless movement. But she’d learned from hard experience that nothing Damien did was simple. And his actions were never, ever careless. “I warned you I’d be back,” he said.
“No,” she corrected him, daring to meet his gaze once more. “You warned you’d have your revenge.”
His amusement died, leaving behind a wintry resolve she couldn’t mistake. “So I did. Thanks for the reminder.”
She fought to conceal her apprehension, knowing he’d be quick to take advantage if he sensed her vulnerability. When she’d worked with him, she’d admired his hunter’s instinct, admired how that instinct had never once failed him. Now she feared it. “Is that why you’ve returned? To take your revenge?”
“And if I have?”
The elevator eased to a stop and the doors opened. She hesitated, part of her desperate to leave the confines of the car and escape his presence. But another, more rational part warned she’d be wise to find out what he wanted. He stepped forward, bracing open the doors, standing so close she could once again feel the heat of his body and smell his spicy, distinctive cologne.
She searched his face, hoping for a clue to his thoughts. He wasn’t a handsome man in the classic sense of the word. His features were far too strong, too potently masculine. But the high, arching cheekbones, the sensual mouth and knowing look in his eyes drew women with effortless ease. He was like a lazy lion, powerful and secure in his domain. And he had no intention of revealing anything until he was good and ready.
He returned her gaze with an implacable reserve, forcing Sable to ask once again, “Will you tell me why you’re here?”