Sending him a look from under her lashes, she sidled closer, and he realized he’d backed himself into a corner. Or, to be more specific, against the wall. She laid her hand on his chest. Lowered her voice. “Why should I stay at a cold, lonely hotel when you have all this space?”

She tipped her head back, her lips parted. She was beautiful, no doubt about it. Then again, all of his stepmothers had been beautiful. Beautiful and, as the years had gone by, younger and younger.

And this one, barely twenty-eight years old, was making him feel a hell of a lot older than thirty-six.

C.J. snagged her wrist and held her away from him. “Lonely? Guess your friend Chip is out of town.”

Carrie’s eyes widened. “Wha-what do you mean?”

He almost felt sorry for her. Almost. Then again, she’d brought all of this on herself. “Chip Foxworth. Your ex? The man you visited last weekend at his room at the St. Regis?”

With a gasp deep enough to use up half the oxygen in the hallway, she laid a hand over her heart. “Are you spying on me?”

“Save the faux outrage. No one needs to spy on you. You paid for Foxworth’s room with my father’s credit card. His business manager alerted me to the charges. You should be more discreet.”

Then again, his father hadn’t married his last three wives for their brains.

C.J. had planned on talking to his brother Oakes about what to do with the information that their invalid father’s wife was cheating on him. Instead, the problem had landed on his doorstep. Literally.

“What are you going to do?” Carrie asked, sounding small. Afraid. Which was understandable. After all, she was about to lose everything. “You...you can’t tell Clinton. It’ll kill him.”

“The old man’s stronger than you think.” But C.J. didn’t relish the idea of sharing the news. “Be out of the house by Sunday afternoon, and I won’t tell Dad. You can file for divorce, citing irreconcilable differences, and move on with your life. Or, I can hire a private investigator to find proof of your affair. Which, I believe, would mean you would no longer be eligible for the generous settlement allotted in the prenup you signed.”

She blinked rapidly. “You wouldn’t tell him. Not in his condition.”

“I wouldn’t want to,” he admitted, leading her to the door. “But if it came down to telling him or letting you continue to make a fool of him, I’ll choose the former.” He opened the door, nudged her into the main hall. “Do yourself a favor. Take the money and run.”

She made a squeaking sound, which he took for agreement, and he shut the door on her.

“Your life is a bona fide soap opera.”

He couldn’t argue with that. He turned, saw Ivy leaning against the wall next to the bathroom door, her face pale, her eyes huge and rimmed red. “How are you feeling?”

“Dandy.” Her voice was rough.

“Here.” He offered her the ginger ale. “This might calm your stomach.”

“How am I to trust you didn’t poison it?”

“You have a very creative imagination.”

“Hey, you’re the one who could give Dallas—the TV show, not the city—and J. R. Ewing a run for their money. For all I know, you regularly poison women and hide their bodies in a bedroom closet.”

To appease her, he took a long drink. Held out the glass. She accepted it and took a tiny sip but that probably had more to do with her having just been sick and not her naturally suspicious nature.

“I want proof the baby is mine,” he said, crossing his arms, feeling like an idiot for not just saying that outright when she’d first claimed to be pregnant with his child. “We’ll have paternity testing done.”

She took another sip. Licked her lips. “It’s as if you don’t trust me.”

“It’s a reasonable request.”

“It certainly is. Reasonable. Rational. Completely understandable.” Another sip. “I would have happily agreed to it had you brought it up earlier. Unfortunately, that ship has long since sailed.”

She shoved the glass at him, giving him no choice but to take it.

“How am I to be sure the child you’re carrying is mine?”

With a shrug she walked past him, her heels clicking, the sound loud to his ears. “Thanks to the check you wrote me, that is no longer my problem.”

She opened the door. She was leaving. Walking out of his life, just like that.

Exactly what he’d wanted.

Reaching past her he slammed the door shut, and then stepped in front of her. “We’re not done.”

“When I’m done, I leave. And, believe me, buddy, I am done with you.” He didn’t move. She raised her eyebrows. “Don’t make me kick you in the shin.”

It wasn’t the threat of violence that had him moving aside, it was the exhaustion on her face. Knowing she’d just been ill.

“In other words,” he said, when she opened the door again, “you can’t prove you’re telling the truth.”

“You don’t get it. I came here because I thought it was the right thing to do. This pregnancy came as a shock to me, too, but I thought we could sit down, discuss our options and come up with some sort of plan on how to proceed. Together. Instead you treated me like dirt, accused me of being a lying, manipulative slut.” She shook her head, her hand gripping the doorknob as if it were a lifeline. “You didn’t have to be such an arrogant ass. You didn’t have to make me feel so cheap. So beneath you. None of it had to be this way,” she continued quietly. “It didn’t have to end this way. I hope you remember that long after I’m gone.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

I T DIDN’T HAVE to be this way.

C.J. paced the length of his apartment, Ivy’s words replaying in his head.

He felt caged in, like a wild animal recently caught, forced to hide his instincts to keep control. Usually keeping control was easy for him. Emotions were messy and had never helped anyone make a good decision. No, problems needed to be solved by using one’s head, by using logic and reason and looking at all the angles, by seeing the pros and cons of each decision.

Following your heart only led to suffering. Not that he’d followed his heart that night with Ivy, he thought with a sneer. That had all been his groin telling him what to do. He could admit that his arrogance hadn’t helped, either. He’d had the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen come to him, flirt with him, and he’d given in to his baser needs.

It wouldn’t happen again.

The edginess fled as he realized that he could handle this. He handled everything. His blood chilled and he was cool. Calm. Collected. Getting upset wouldn’t solve anything, wouldn’t get to the truth, and that was what he needed right now. The truth.

A knock sounded on his door and though he knew it wasn’t Ivy, his heart sped up anyway, almost as if he was looking forward to seeing her again, as if he wanted to see her again.

He yanked the door open. “Took you long enough,” he growled.

His brother Oakes raised his eyebrows. “I hadn’t realized I was being timed.” He came in, looking like the attorney he was, in a dark suit, his brown hair rumpled. “I left a very promising date to come over here because you said it was an emergency.” He helped himself to a beer from the fridge and sat on the couch. “Well? What’s up?”

C.J.’s mouth tightened. He didn’t know how to go about this. He’d called Oakes as soon as Ivy had left. Demanding his brother drop whatever he was doing and telling him to come over here was one thing, but actually letting him know what was going on? That seemed extreme.

At least it wasn’t Kane, who’d never let him hear the end of it.

“Are you going to stare at me all night?” Oakes asked. “Want me to read your mind?”

C.J. sighed. Damn it, he’d have to tell him. Would have to admit what an idiot he’d been. “I need your help.”

Oakes froze in the act of lifting his beer to his mouth. Slowly lowered the bottle. “Excuse me?”