He shook his head and took the excuse to openly regard her from top to bottom. Not voluptuous, certainly. But nothing anyone would ever mistake for a boy . "Another wild guessno one's called you that in, oh. fifteen years."
She rolled her eyes with a sarcastic little exhale, then let her head fall back on the chair. "Oh, let's seewhen was the earthquake? Three months ago. I don't know for a fact, but Katie probably slung that term around three or four times a day. So, yeah, more recently than fifteen years."
It wasn't the first time he'd picked up a hint of rivalry, even something akin to jealousy, when Jo talked about this woman, this supposed sister of his.
"Was that what made her a royal pain in the butt?"
"Among other things." She smiled, her eyes still closed. She surely didn't realize what a sight she made, the narrow column of her neck exposed, her arms wide open, giving him a direct view of the vee in her collar and the hint of cleavage underneath it.
"Such as?"
"Trouble just follows some people around, you know?" She lifted her head and looked at him. "Like that Li'l Abner cartoon character who had the thundercloud over his head all the time. You remember that?"
"Vaguely."
She shrugged. "Well, that was our Lady Katie. One gorgeous, wild, irreverent, fearless little pack of problems."
"I got a brother like that," Cam said with a laugh. "The rebel, Colin."
"They could be twins."
Something twisted in his heart. "What do you mean?"
"'When I waslooking for information on your family, I found a picture of Colin in an article in Newsweek ."
He remembered the feature story on Colin's avant-garde architectural design of an opera house in Oregon. "And he lookedlikeher?"
She nodded. "The dark hair and eyes. Same face. Only Katie was tiny. Colin looked kind of tall, like you. But they could have been twins."
Until that very moment he hadn't bought the story. Not completely. Part of him had been playing a game, so intrigued by his unexpected guest that he hadn't bothered to take a stand and demand proof of her outrageous claims. He hadn't even really believed her paperwork to be legitimate until he saw it.
Had he really had a sister? Or even a half sister?
And, good God, did he have a niece?
It's up to you, Cam McGrath. You're the oldest. You'll heal the hurt.
He tunneled his hair with his fingers, then ran his hands over his late-day stubble. Oh, man. Was Gram McGrath right?
"Do you have a picture?" he finally asked.
Wordlessly she stood and walked to the entryway where she'd dropped her bag. "I have pictures of Katie and Aunt"
"Just Katie." He had no interest in seeing his mother.
She pivoted on her stockinged foot. "You better pound out that great big chip on your shoulder, Cam. She wasn't the Wicked Witch of the West."
He rolled his eyes. "Well, she sure as hell wasn't the patron saint of lost children."
"Cameron!" She barked his name so hard he thought she might have stamped her foot at the same time, the color rising in her cheeks. "Would you even consider the fact that maybe you don't know what happened? Has your father told you everything?"
"He told us enough."
"Then why would you hate a woman who was turned away by her husband for being pregnant with his child?"
That age-old white light of anger popped in his head, and Cam reached down to his most controlling depths to dim it. He closed his eyes and dropped his head back. "No, sorry, sweetheart. If she was pregnant, it wasn't my dad's baby. She wasn't turned away by anyone. She waltzed out the door to find herself ." He put air quotes around the phrase that had always disgusted him, then let his hands fall to his sides, resisting the urge to curse mightily. He hated this subject.
Her purse hit his stomach with a thwack, and his eyes popped open at the impact. "Hey!" He choked out the word.
"Well I see mule-headed ignorance is as hereditary as good cheekbones in your family." She stood in front of him, hands on narrow hips, fire in her coppery eyes. "You'll find some letters in there. From your mother to your father. Note that he never read a single one, but had them returned to her."
He narrowed his eyes at her, but a response utterly eluded him. Was it possible ?
"I think those letters will change your mind about your mother."
He doubted it. "Why do you care about changing my mind? It doesn't help your cause."
She shook her head in bewilderment. "My cause has nothing to do with Christine McGrath. Katie was the mother of the child I want, and she was the idiot who never drew up a will in case something happened to her. But Aunt Chris had a heart of gold, and years ago, someone broke it into a million pieces." She stabbed a single finger toward his face. "She deserves to be remembered by her sons. And loved for the sacrifice she made. Your hatred is misplaced."
He just stared at her, processing the speech. Broken heart? Sacrifice?
He hoisted the bag from his lap and dumped it on the floor. "Let's just leave my mother out of this. I'll handle the legalities of your friend's baby in the morning."
He saw her shoulders sag a little, like some air seeped out of her. "Fine. That's fine." She looked around the room. "Where's that extra bedroom?"
He gestured down a hallway off the dining area. "Last door on your right. There's a bathroom in there, too." He glanced at the bag as though it contained a bomb. "Don't you want that? Don't you need something to sleep in?"
For a moment she just looked at her satchel, then she reached down and unzipped it, puffing out a small, striped cosmetic bag. "I need my toothbrush." She stuck her other hand inside, her gaze still on him as she rooted around, then flipped out something white. "And clean underwear."
She turned on her heel and headed down the hall. "I sleep naked. Everything else in there is for you."
He watched her until she disappeared inside the last door, then dropped his head back with a soft groan. Why would his father lie to them?
After a minute he stared down at the bag, imagining just what contents she'd brought for him . His fingers itched to dig through it. To read those letters. To know the truth.
Or at least someone else's version of the truth.
He slowly reached down and pulled out a thick stack of papers, folded and wrapped in a rubber band. Like a dealer cutting the deck, he took one from the middle of the pack and slid one piece of paper out, then unfolded it.
Dear James,
Your daughter has turned four.
He closed it again.
He really didn't want to deal with this. He wanted to think about anything but the possibility that his father had lied to them. He'd much rather think about the woman who slept naked , who was probably in the act of undressing right now in his guest bedroom. But he pulled out another letter at random, his gaze sliding down to the middle of the handwritten page.
I long for news, a word, a picture. Anything about my boys. Is Colin riding a bike yet? Does Quinn still climb trees ? Is Cam playing baseball this year?
His heart spiraled straight into his stomach and hit bottom like a boulder.
Oh, man. This changed everything.
* * *
Chapter Four
The sheets must have cost five hundred dollars. In a guest room, no less. Jo slid her bare legs over the icy-cold cottonsix-hundred thread count if it was one and punched the down pillow again. Cameron McGrath certainly had the means to take care of Callie, if not the motivation.
She reached over to the nightstand and picked up her watch, angling it into the moonlight that peeked in through the blinds.
Ten thirty according to the watch she'd stubbornly left on California time. No wonder she wasn't sleepy. She'd timed this trip so she could sleep on the plane. But instead of flying thirty thousand feet over the Midwest right now, she was in a million-dollar Upper East Side apartment, slithering around on Buckingham Palace-quality sheets.
In a different time zone, trying to fix a different
kind of wreck. And this boy wasn't just wrecked. He was totaled .
Why couldn't she leave well enough alone? How that man handled the memory of his long-lost mother was really none of her business. All that mattered was that he relinquished any rights over his niece so they could each go on their merry way with life.
She'd been so close. Why did she have to slam that final hammer stroke and force him to deal with something he'd obviously buried years ago? He needed a shrink. Not a collision repair expert.
She sucked in a little breath at a sound. Footsteps in the hall. He was still up. At the tap on her door, she pulled the covers higher. Didn't he believe her? She had nothing on under these sheets.
"Jo, are you awake?"
"Just a second." She grabbed the shirt she'd left folded on the nightstand and slipped into it, pinching one snap over her chest before she scurried back under the covers. "Come on in."
A narrow band of light from the hall illuminated him. He'd changed from his suit and wore some kind of baggy pants and a T-shirt. He looked even broader, more masculine than in his business attire. "What's the matter?" she asked.
"I could use some company." His voice sounded like eighty-grit sandpaper, the sound piercing her heart.
She patted the side of the bed. "As long as you stay on top of the covers and on your own side."
He closed the door behind him, cloaking the room in darkness again. She could sense him approaching the bed, smell his scent feel his warmth. The king-sized mattress dipped with his weight, but he remained on his side.
"I read them," he said simply.
"Good."
"I'll have to tell my brothers tomorrow."
Anxiety trickled through her. Could they step in and stop the adoption? "Of course," she said.
For a long time he said nothing, breathing steadily. As her eyes adjusted, she could make out his form, leaning against the headboard, an elbow propped on his bent leg, a hand behind his neck.
"Now do you want to talk about her?" she finally asked, turning on her side to watch him in the shadows.
He let out a long, slow exhale. "I think I know enough."
That much was probably true. Aunt Chris had written faithfully to her ex-husband, several times a year in the beginning, then on birthdaysand their anniversary. She'd never given up.
"How did you get those letters?" he asked.
"After the earthquake, my mom went to the site of the collapsed apartment complex and pleaded with the demolition company to allow us to go through the personal belongings that had been retrieved. Lots of families did that, but it was harder for us, because we weren't really family. Anyway, my mom knew about Aunt Chris's secret, of course. I didn't. I couldn't figure out why she was so determined to dig through the rubble."
She paused for a moment, remembering the day they'd gone to the site, the pain of picking up fragments of people's lives still vivid and fresh.
"My mom knew there was a strong box where Aunt Chris kept the letters. She found it. I didn't even notice her picking it up. I found something else." She swallowed as she remembered the sad moment of seeing Katie's hat trapped under a bookcase.
"Anyway, she didn't tell me right away. Not until a few weeks ago, when it looked like the adoption would go through uncontested. Then she sprang it on me and I searched you out."
"Did Katie know?"
"About you and your family? No. But the sad part was Aunt Chris was about to tell her." Jo closed her eyes, remembering how her own mother had cried when she'd told Jo the story. "Last March, just before the earthquake, Aunt Chris went back east. She said it was to see some friends, but my mom told me she went to her mother's funeral."
"I saw her there."
Shivers danced up her spine. "What?"
"We had a private ceremony. Just my brothers and Nicole, Quinn's wife, and Grace, Colin's fiancee. Itwas in Newport, Rhode Island. Outside the gate, I saw a woman watching us. I had this feelingI thought maybe it was her. We had held off on a ceremony to bury my grandmother's ashes, but since it was part of a groundbreaking for a new building, the date was publicized. She could have found out about it."
The possibility that they'd come so close to a reunion made Jo ache. "When she came back, she told my mother that she'd decided to tell Katie the whole story. She never said what changed her mind."
He grunted in disgust. "What a mess. What a screwed-up mess two people made."
He was right, of course. "But the earthquake hit less than a week later at 6:20 in the morning while they were sound asleep."
"Really? They were asleep? How did Callie survive, then?"
"Miraculously her crib was in an air pocket and the firefighters and rescue workers dug for twenty-four hours to get to her."
"Oh, God." His voice nearly cracked with emotion. She was theI saw that on the news. I remember the baby cradled by that firefighter. I remember that."
"And you didn't notice having the same name?" She wished she could see him in the dark, to see his expressions and read the thoughts he didn't share.
"McGrath is a common name. I do remember thinking, though"
"What did you think?"
"Just what a miracle it was. How that baby lived for a reason."
She couldn't stop the little gasp that escaped her.
"What?" he asked, looking down at her. "What is it?"
"It's just that I think that same thing. That Callie" She lowered her voice, almost scared to share her revelation with him. "That Callie has a special destiny and if she ends up in some foster home oror orphanage, she'll never realize it."
He slid down the bed, closer to her. "You really love her." His hand found hers and clasped it.
"Yes, I do. I've loved her since before she was born. I love her and I will do anything to protect her."
He squeezed her hand, then threaded his fingers through hers. "I couldn't want more for her."
Relief washed over her like a shower of warm water. "Thank you." She pulled their locked hands near her heart. "Thank you, Cam."
He eased himself farther down the bed, so that his long, powerful body now lined up with hers, the comforter separating them. Stroking her hair back from her face, he said softly, "Go to sleep now. We have a big day tomorrow."
"Okay. Good night."
He leaned forward and kissed the cheek he'd just ca-ressed. His breath was warm, his lips tender as they touched her skin. When he lifted his head, she turned her face, so their lips lined up. Without a word, he took her mouth in a deep, soulful kiss.
Instant fire shot through her as his tongue took entry, a low moan vibrating from her throat. Oh, it would be so easy. One toss of the covers and she could feel him against her whole body. Her breasts tingled and ached at the mental image of his hands closing over her nipples, his mouth doing the same.
She barely knew him. Wasn't this exactly the kind of risky behavior she had always admonished Katie for?
He dropped some of his weight against her, intensifying the kiss, and she responded by gliding her hands over his arms and back. His muscles were solid, defined, unyielding under the pressure of her hands. He released her mouth but burned her cheeks and throat with more fiery kisses, his hands closing over her shoulders.
The comforter was about to be history.
Slowly he lifted his head, revealing hooded eyes and half-parted lips. He'd managed to hold himself away from her, but she knew that as soon as they gave in to the lust, as soon as they allowed the body contact to happen, she'd feel that he was definitely as aroused as he looked. As she felt.
"Wait," she said softly.
"Wait, Okay," he agreed, none too enthusiastically. "For what?"
She smiled and scooted ,a bit away. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe until we know each other and have sorted through the legal mess we have between us."
He closed the space she'd made, but still didn't press against her. "The only thing between us is a blanket." he said, his voice still raspy but for an entirely different reason. "And I can sort t
hrough that in a second."
The idea, and the sexy way he said it, made her whole lower half melt. She fought the need to rock against him. "Look, as good as this feels, it's not right. I told you I do the right thing."
"As do I," he said softly. "So much so that it's a joke with my own brothers."
"So why are you doing this?"
"It feels right."
"It feels good . There's a difference."
Slowly he dropped to the bed, his weight next to her but not where they both wanted iton top of her. "Who's the lawyer here?"
That made her laugh and as she did, he pulled her close to him. The laugh changed into a moan at the demanding hardness of his entire male body and another potent kiss.
"Then, here's my closing argument, sweetheart." He breathed the words into her ear, and every hair on the back of her neck leaped and danced. "I would very much like to make love to you, Jo Ellen Tremaine."
Even the way he said her name inflamed her body. She had to hang on to common sense, because the other five had melted into a pool between her legs.
"You don't want to make love," she told him. "You want comfort. Your heart is heavy, Cam. You're seeking consolation."
"A lawyer and a psychiatrist, I see."
She smiled and reached for him, her fingers grazing the rough stubble on his jaw, then nesting into the dark-gold locks of hair. "But not a mechanic."
He laughed and kissed her forehead. "Okay. And you're right."
"About the comfort."
"Yeah." It killed him to admit it, she could tell, but he started to roll away.
For some reason she couldn't stand that. She didn't want Mm to leave. "If you like, if you can control yourself" she put her hand on his arm, "you can stay here and sleep next to me. On top of the covers because I really don't have much on underneath."
He let out a tiny grunt under his breath. "I've never had a problem with control. But I can't promise that I won't have X-rated dreams about naked cowgirls working on myengine."
She gave him a little push. "Don't you listen to me? I don't do engines."
"I couldn't say body . It was too obvious."