Cinderella's Secret Baby Read online

  Amelia was the opposite. Her one serious relationship had left her wary and suffering a crisis of confidence. She’d been mad at men and had been hanging on to her virginity with stubborn defiance that had begun to feel like martyrdom—especially when an order took her past the men’s table on the patio and she caught Hunter checking out her legs.

  In that moment, she had seemed to walk from a gloomy fog into a bright, verdant day. A sharp sensation had pierced her, like a hunger pang, but lower. Her skin had warmed, and her heart had been in her throat that she had caught his interest.

  It’s only one drink. That was another thing she had allowed herself to believe. One drink was harmless. She hadn’t already been in bed with him, mentally, before she’d given him her name.

  Which was what made the whole thing so cringey. That’s why she’d been glad to never see him again. He hadn’t even had to seduce her. With nearly no effort at all, she had offered herself up. Here. Take me. Take my virginity.

  Do you need money?

  She would have buried her face in her hands, but Peyton began to whimper.

  “You’re okay, baby. It won’t be long,” she murmured and set her hand on Peyton’s round belly.

  It didn’t work. Nothing did.

  As Peyton worked herself up, Hunter stopped speaking to send them a distracted frown. “Is she okay?”

  “She doesn’t like long car rides.” Amelia shrugged, defensive, but also passive-aggressively smug that Peyton was turning into a pill. Babies fussed. Figuring out why and solving it was Parenting 101. If he couldn’t handle that, he should walk away from the gig right now.

  “It might get loud here,” he said to his minions. “See what you can get done. I’ll check in when I get to the apartment.” He ended his call.

  Amelia tried to coax Peyton to take the pacifier, which she never took, but this time she sucked long enough for Amelia to ask, “Are you, um, still getting married?”

  “You didn’t notice the marquise-shaped dent in my face?”

  She had forgotten he had that talent for arid remarks. She bit her lip, refusing to be amused. Or blamed. Or relieved.

  Peyton spat out her pacifier and began to wail. Amelia gathered her patience and tried again, but Peyton turned her head in rejection.

  “Are you seeing anyone?” Hunter asked.

  “With this as my profile?” She waved at the growing tantrum Peyton was staging. “They’re lined up out the door. Why?” Amelia barely heard him over their daughter, but a blush of hopefulness rose across her chest.

  “Because this mess is big enough with just the two of you.”

  And that was the real reason she hadn’t told him about Peyton. He didn’t want either of them.

  “No.” She ignored the scorch in her throat that strained her voice, compelled to defend her daughter. “The two of us—” Amelia pointed between herself and Hunter “—made her. And she is not a mess. My life is not where I thought it would be, either, you know.”

  She might have pulled off that moment of righteousness if she didn’t look like a carton of eggs dropped on the sidewalk and their daughter hadn’t drowned her out by arriving at full nuclear meltdown.

  “Is there something I can do?” Hunter asked impassively.

  “No,” she mumbled, wanting to fold over Peyton and cry just as hard.

  Because this was a mess. It was a giant awful mess, and she couldn’t help feeling it was all her fault.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “STILL THINK BRINGING us here was a good idea?” Amelia taunted under her breath as she unclipped the car seat and allowed Hunter to lift it out the other side.

  He wouldn’t pretend the last hour hadn’t been an exercise in endurance. Talking had become impossible. Peyton didn’t like the car seat. She said so. Denis had put in his earbuds while Amelia had tried a dozen ways to soothe her. She had rubbed the silky border of the blanket on the baby’s cheek and given her a snuggle toy and a pacifier, put socks on her feet and kissed her waving fists, but the infant had craned her neck and squirmed against her restraints and bellyached the whole way.

  Hunter sympathized, strapped into his own inescapable situation.

  The wedding had been off the minute Amelia appeared. He had resisted admitting it right up until he was walking into the Honeymoon Suite where Eden had waited for him, still in her gown. “It’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding,” she had reminded him through semi-hysterical tears.

  She had been prepared to go through with the wedding. They both needed their marriage and probably could have rescued the day. The interruption could have been spun into a farce and his surprise baby sold as a blessing. But after that?

  After that, his daughter would have had a stepmother. As much as Hunter respected Eden and had been prepared to share parenting with her of whatever family they might have made together, he couldn’t start Peyton’s life that way. He couldn’t start his own relationship with his child by bringing in another stranger, not that he spelled all of that out to Eden.

  He had said the words. “We can’t get married.”

  She had suggested postponing the wedding, but he rejected that, too. It had felt too much like postponing the inevitable, because there had been that other, shameful relief under his skin that he barely wanted to acknowledge.

  It had become unpleasant at that point. “Quinn warned me not to marry you,” Eden had spat hotly. “She said your family is addicted to scandal. She said you would take my ship down with yours. I chose to believe Vienna. I believed in you, Hunter.”

  That last remark had lashed deep across the place where he believed in himself. Where he knew himself to be a decent human being. Honorable. Not given to selfishness or callous behaviors that harmed others. I’m doing this for my child, he had wanted to assert, but to his chagrin, there was a grim gratification sitting in the pit of his belly. Amelia was back in his life and couldn’t slip away so easily this time.

  He loathed himself for being pleased by that. It was too much like his father. However, marrying Eden at the expense of what was right for Peyton would also be too much like Frank Waverly.

  It was an untenable situation with no easy answer, making Peyton’s screams of protest kind of cathartic while he brooded on the mistakes he’d made.

  As if she understood that the shift of the carrier and the glimpse of blue sky between the skyscrapers meant freedom was imminent, she quieted, but her baby breaths were still catching.

  God, she was tiny. If she didn’t have this protective shell of a car seat and a handle that Hunter could grasp in a strong fist, he’d be terrified to hold her at all.

  He waved off Denis and slipped the doorman a bill, asking him to order a late lunch for him and Amelia.

  “You’ll eat sushi?” he asked Amelia.

  She nodded, slowing as they entered the lobby. She glanced from the security desk to the chandelier suspended three stories above, then to the spacious visitors’ lounge with its silk rug and fresh floral arrangements and colorful aquarium built into the back wall.

  When the elevator dinged, she hugged herself and ducked her head, hurrying to enter with him.

  “Don’t be like that,” he said as he used his thumbprint to access his floor. “You knew who I was when we met.” But it was hitting him that she wasn’t someone like Eden or Vienna who took this level of comfort for granted.

  “Is this, like, a company building or something?”

  “I am the company.” It was an exhausting truth and a reality that couldn’t be changed. Especially not after he’d fought so hard for the privilege.

  He felt her gaze lift to touch the side of his face. “What about Vienna?”

  “She prefers that I vote her share.” Neal had been after Vi to give him her proxy. Their stepmother had soured both of them on spousal involvement in the company, and Vi had always had other intere
sts. She left the company to Hunter and always backed up his decisions, but the fact that she didn’t trust her husband told Hunter all was not well with her marriage. Between their father’s death, the court case and the wedding, however, Hunter hadn’t had a chance to dig into it with her.

  Now he had this—he looked at the baby—circumstance.

  The doors slid open and Amelia said with great cheer, “Guess what, Peyton? You get to come out of your car seat!”

  Hunter set the seat on the wide bench in the foyer and watched as Amelia released Peyton. If anything, some of her tension seemed to dissipate as she gathered up the baby and kissed her cheek. She closed her eyes and made a contented noise as she nuzzled the baby, behaving as though she had missed her daughter when the kid hadn’t been out of her sight for a second.

  It was cute, though, especially when Peyton let her head snuggle into Amelia’s shoulder and opened her mouth against her own fist. All seemed right in her little world now, too.

  Through a vague sense of being shut out, Hunter still had to acknowledge how beautiful they were, like a Renaissance painting with the baby’s lashes drooping and light stealing in to frost the wisps of hair framing Amelia’s face. She was wan, but her skin was clear and smooth, her mouth pink and somber. Angelic.

  He had the urge to kiss her. Not in foreplay, but in greeting. Maybe foreplay, too. Despite only knowing her the one night, she had stayed in his thoughts along with a near constant ache of want. He wanted the right to touch her and kiss her when her eyes were closed and open his mouth across hers with more purpose—

  Amelia’s lashes lifted, and she caught him staring.

  He looked away, annoyed with himself. This was battle conditions, not a time to let his libido cloud his judgment.

  “We have a lot to discuss. We’re losing our chance to control the narrative. Come.” He led her into the lounge. “Do you want anything? Coffee? Something stronger?”

  “I’m breastfeeding,” she reminded. “I try to stay sober when I’m in charge of another life.”

  “Is that a dig?” Because as appealing as getting blackout drunk sounded, he didn’t usually have more than two or three himself. He was charged with the lives and livelihoods of thousands of workers. Also, his stepmother had covered the ground of public drunkenness pretty thoroughly. He didn’t need to contribute anything to that cause.

  “It’s a fact,” she murmured, wandering the open plan, taking in the Italian marble and twenty-foot ceiling and floating stairs to the upper floor. She paused to study the Casson and the Carmichael before moving to the wall of windows that stretched to the upper floor. Beyond was the spacious terrace, the city skyline and the horizon where the blurred line of Lake Ontario met cloudless sky.

  “You play?” She nodded at the grand piano.

  “Vienna does.”

  “She lives here, too?”

  “She and Neal have a place on the waterfront that they use when they’re in town.”

  “You bought this for you and Eden,” she said in a tone of realization, tilting the engagement photo on the end table.

  He had an urge to take it from her and throw it in a drawer. He would do that. Later.

  “No, we’re—” He swore as he remembered something and brought out his phone, texting his real estate agent to put a hold on the house in Bridle Path. “This is mine. It’s a good location and convenient for entertaining.” The kitchen noise was tucked behind closed doors, the big screen was a button-touch from descending from the ceiling, and the building was in the city center.

  Amelia gave him a befuddled look. “You don’t strike me as a partier.”

  “This doesn’t scream raves and orgies?” He waved at himself, still in his tailored but very traditional morning suit. “I hold charity events and host those who expect it.”

  “Like?”

  “Celebrities.” He shrugged. “Athletes in town for a game. VIPs from overseas.”

  She tucked her chin. “That’s the kind of people you invite for supper?”

  “Sometimes.” He shrugged it off, never starstruck. They were people. Some pleasant, others vapid. Either way, he didn’t want to talk about them right now. “I’ll start the coffee and get changed. I have decaf and soft drinks.” He led her into the kitchen. “I usually have a housekeeper, but most of my regular staff were given the next two weeks off since I expected to be on my honeymoon.”

  She made a noise halfway between a choke and a cough, pausing at the autographed photo that hung inside the door to the kitchen. “I’ve seen him on the celebrity chef Bake-Off thing. He cooks for you?”

  “He does the annual benefit for our foundation.” He poured beans into the grinder and pushed the button, nearly missing what she said because of the noise.

  “Of course he does,” she snorted.

  “Why is that funny?” he asked when the grinder silenced.

  “It’s not. Is that filter real gold?”

  He turned from setting it and filled the carafe from the tap. “You’re judging me.”

  “No.”

  She was, and it annoyed him. Was that why she hadn’t told him he had a kid? Because she was a snob who disdained wealth? In case she hadn’t noticed, she wasn’t his first choice to share parenting, either.

  “I’ll make a call, find out when the nurse is supposed to get here.” He glanced at the clock. “The paternity test will inform a lot of our decisions.” He finished filling the coffee maker, swiveled the filter into place and pressed the button. “Here.” He opened the refrigerator and waved at the door. “See if there’s something you might like.”

  She turned the labels on the soda bottles. “Lime and jasmine, rhubarb and cardamom, fennel...” She gave her head a shake. “I didn’t even know these flavors exist.”

  “Try the cola with pear. It’s good. Actually, it probably has caffeine. There are organic juices, too.”

  “Can I, um, use the washroom?”

  “Sure. It’s through there.” He pointed.

  “Thanks.” She offered Peyton.

  For two thudding heartbeats, his brain couldn’t make sense of what she was doing. Then a bolt of realization struck him. He took the baby, stomach pitching because holding her was like trying to cradle a soap bubble without popping it.

  Amelia walked away, and he swallowed a reflexive, Wait. Come back. What do I do?

  Hunter knew to protect her neck, but that was where his familiarity with babies ended. What else were you supposed to do? Feed ’em and clean ’em and keep them from being eaten by wild animals, he supposed.

  This felt a lot like holding a freshly caught fish, given her absent wiggling. The average salmon weighed more than she did, though, and they didn’t have delicate limbs that looked like they could snap in a stiff breeze.

  Her wandering gaze found his, and she smiled.

  Why that hit him like a kick in his chest, he couldn’t say. Maybe because that dimple high on her cheek was exactly like Vi’s. Maybe it was her oblivious joy. Her unconditional welcome at finding someone new. That smile of hers was so happy and pure it hurt to see, like looking into the sun.

  Maybe it hurt because this was the moment he’d been avoiding. Holding her and seeing her forced him to acknowledge her. She was his. He didn’t need a test. He would do his due diligence, but too many things pointed to the obvious. He had made this child with Amelia.

  With acknowledgment came the repercussions, all deeper than he’d been prepared to face until he had to. Here they came, though. Even as he smirked back, guilt washed through him because Amelia was right. Peyton had been better off not knowing she was a Waverly. His name would impact her from now until the end of time, and all the five-star meals and chartered planes in the world couldn’t protect her from it.

  His arms instinctually enfolded her in apology and a desire to protect.

  As her achin
gly delicate weight met the wall of his chest, his heart slammed hard enough he feared he might bruise her, but his arms contracted, holding her closer still.

  What the hell was happening to him? A ferocious strength was gathering in him, the kind that would step in front of a charging grizzly to protect her. At the same time, he felt so damned vulnerable a cold sweat lifted on his skin.

  A few hours ago, he hadn’t even known he had created this life, but he was suddenly sick with the knowledge that life would happen to her. She would fall off swing sets and get her feelings hurt by some jerk at school. She would have a fender bender and go on spring break to Florida and face sexism and fall in love only to have her heart broken. Those bumps were inevitable, and he already couldn’t forgive himself for letting them happen to her.

  She gurgled and wiggled and batted her fist against his Adam’s apple, gently hammering herself into his heart and blood and soul.

  She took all the labels he had applied to himself through the years—son, brother, friend, man, CEO... Today, he had even been prepared to call himself a husband.

  He had never once imagined the power and humility in calling himself a father.

  He swallowed, shaken to realize he had been reacting as he did to any iceberg strike against his ship. Contain the damage, deploy a team, salvage what was valuable. Recover.

  Recovery wasn’t possible. That hard truth impacted him like a brain-jarring uppercut. Peyton wasn’t a scandal to be contained. She wasn’t changing his life. She was changing him. He had to rise to this new role and rethink all his objectives, because his child had just become his top priority. His next steps weren’t about spinning what had happened today. They were about shaping his future and ensuring that future held plenty of room for Peyton.

  And therefore Amelia.

  A sensation like a shot of whiskey went straight to his gut and radiated into his pelvis.

  He turned his thoughts from where they had automatically gone. Did he want to sleep with Amelia again? Sure. On a base, randy level, of course.