His for the Taking - By Ann Major Page 0,46
footsteps outside her door and jerked her hand free a second before Greg burst through the door. The unruly lock of blond hair that usually fell across his brow was as unkempt as ever. Smiling bashfully, he handed her a vase of limp yellow roses.
“I’m afraid I left them in my car all morning in the heat.” His soft brown eyes held genuine regret.
“Why, thank you, Greg,” she said, feeling awkward since Cole was staring holes through her. “There’s someone here….”
When Greg turned to Cole, she lifted the roses to her nose in an attempt to conceal her nervousness. “Mr. Coleman is just leaving after making a donation.”
She glared at Cole frostily, willing him to leave. Greg held out his hand to Cole. “The mission welcomes all donors, large or small. I’m Greg Martin, Miss Gray’s fiancé.”
“John…Coleman. Most people call me Cole.” They shook hands.
“The oilman I’ve been reading about, who owns Coleman’s Landing, who played a hunch and discovered the Devine-Chalk oil play over in Devine County?”
Cole nodded. “The same. More importantly, I’m Noah’s father.”
Maddie’s face flamed with a mixture of guilt and anger even before Greg whirled on her. “Noah’s father?”
“He was just going,” she said.
“Noah’s father?” Greg repeated. “No wonder I had the impression I was interrupting something important.”
“We ran into each other last week in Yella,” Cole said.
“Now I see why you’ve been so tense and uncommunicative this week,” Greg said, glancing at Maddie.
“I—I meant to tell you,” Maddie whispered.
Greg turned to Cole. “Maddie told me you were out of the picture…that you wanted nothing to do with Noah.”
“I didn’t know about him—until she came to Yella last week and we reconnected.”
“Reconnected?” Greg’s soft eyes glanced at Cole before settling on Maddie. “I see,” he murmured at last, after reading her face.
She resented Cole for forcing this on her. The last thing she’d ever wanted to do was to stun Greg like this or to hurt him.
“Greg, it’s too complicated to explain right now, but if you and I don’t leave, we will lose our reservation.”
“We’re not that late. I think I’d like to hear what Mr. Coleman has to say about this complicated matter.”
She placed a hand on Greg’s sleeve. “No….”
“Maddie and I parted in a rather unpleasant way,” Cole began. “I was unaware she was pregnant. When she called to tell me about Noah a year or so later, I was newly married, so I refused her calls…and her letters. Now that I know about Noah, I want to be part of his life full-time.”
“Of course.” Greg’s hurt, thunderstruck tone intensified her guilt.
“While it may complicate things for the three of us, having his father in his life will be wonderful for Noah,” Greg said.
Maddie’s mouth went dry. She resented the way both men seemed to be making all the decisions as if her opinion didn’t matter.
“So—are you free for lunch?” Greg demanded of Cole.
She shook her head. When Cole said he was, she could have kicked him.
“What do you say I bow out, and you take her instead?” Greg said to Cole. His firm tone held a schoolteacher-like edge that she’d never heard before.
“Greg?” she pleaded. “What are you doing?”
“Sounds to me like you and Cole have a lot to work out,” Greg said.
“Let me explain!”
“Don’t worry. If you still need me tonight, I’ll babysit…like I promised.”
Then, just like that, he was gone—seemingly out of her life—and she was alone with Cole, whose green eyes glittered with infuriating triumph.
“I’m glad that’s settled. Now, will you agree to marry me?”
Twelve
The French bistro where Greg had made reservations was located in a discreet brick building just off Sixth Street in downtown Austin. The waitstaff was French, the food was fresh and authentic, and the softly lit, informal rooms with their lace curtains and their cut flowers in old French liquor bottles had a sweetly romantic air.
Not that Maddie felt the least bit romantic. What she felt was a burning fury that Cole was so determined to have his way that he didn’t care who he crushed to get it.
Since the restaurant was so popular, the small rooms were crowded, even at one-thirty, and the two of them were jammed so tightly into a tiny corner booth that every time she moved her thigh brushed Cole’s. Despite her anger, she blushed in response.
Sulkily, she ordered her usual salade verte while Cole cheerfully ordered a croque-monsieur for himself. When their food came, they ate in silence. Only after she’d finished chewing her last scrap of lettuce did