Once Touched, Never Forgotten - By Natasha Tate Page 0,28
“I don’t want Janet or Emma to hear us fighting.”
“Oh, we’re not going to fight,” he said, in a deceptively mild voice that sent a tremor of unease down her spine. “This is no lovers’ squabble.” He gripped her upper arm and escorted her to his car, then loomed over her, his brittle blue eyes daring her to refute him. “This is you telling me exactly what I want to hear, followed by you listening as I tell you how we’re going to handle it.”
“But—”
“No.” He cut her off with a harrowing slice of his hand. “This is my child we’re talking about, and you’ve lost the right to offer input.”
“But I’m her mother!” she protested. “I’ve only done what I thought was best.”
“What you thought? What about what I thought?”
“You were never part of the decision.”
“Exactly,” he growled. “You thought it was best to keep her from knowing her father,” he said, leaning forward to bracket her within the cage of his powerful arms. “You thought it was best to hide her from the man who gave her life, the man who could give her everything.”
“Except what she needed most!” she blurted, her frantic pulse clubbing hard against her chest. “You’d only hurt her, and I couldn’t allow that!”
Ice slammed into his eyes, and his voice assumed a frigid edge. “Hurt her? You think I’d hurt my own daughter? Good God, Colette, what kind of monster do you think I am?”
“The kind that doesn’t know the first thing about commitment. The kind who has no desire to settle down or give up his playboy lifestyle to raise a child!”
“Since when does my desire to not settle down translate into an inability to do the right thing by my child?”
“Are you serious?” She stared at him, wondering how he could even ask. “You’re only interested in temporary flings, and fatherhood is a permanent gig.”
“Who the hell gave you the right to determine what my interests are?” he snapped.
She firmed her jaw, knowing she was right. “You did. You said you didn’t want children. On multiple occasions. You said you’d never bring another Whitfield into the world.”
“Only because I didn’t want to subject a child to the life I’d had,” he ground out. “I certainly didn’t mean I couldn’t accept my responsibilities when our protection failed us.”
“And there’s the difference. I don’t view Emma as a failure or an accident or a plan gone awry. She’s a child. A precious, beautiful child who deserves to be wanted. And I won’t ever allow my daughter to feel otherwise.”
“Your daughter?”
She straightened her spine, pressing against his car and putting as much distance between them as possible. “I’m the only one who wants her.”
“You’re wrong.”
“No, I’m not. You just think you want her right now. Once you’ve had a few moments to adjust to the shock, you’ll realize I made the right choice for everybody. A child has needs, Stephen, needs that don’t vanish simply because you tire of meeting them.”
“I’m aware of that.” Palpable anger knotted his jaw as he bowed over her. “And I’m perfectly capable of committing to my child and providing her with everything she needs.”
“Are you really?” she pressed. “Because last I heard you were incapable of feeling that tense, messy emotion called love.”
His nostrils flared as he glared at her. “Love doesn’t feed or clothe a child.”
“No,” she agreed, hiking her chin. “But it makes her feel happy and safe and wanted. Emotions you’ll strip from her if you make her feel like an accident that wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“I would never make her feel that way.” “You say that now.”
“So, what? You’re calling me a liar now?” He laughed, and it was a biting, humorless sound. “Oh, that’s rich.”
“I didn’t lie. I just omitted the truth,” she blurted. “And you can’t blame me for it. We both know what would have happened if I’d told you I was pregnant with your child.”
“No, we don’t know. Because you made sure nothing could happen,” he bit out. “You gave me no chance to react at all.”
“Because I already knew how you’d react.”
“How could you possibly know, when I don’t even know myself?” he asked, frustrated anger sharpening his tone to a razor-thin edge.
“Tell me, then. Tell me what you would have done had I told you. No. Wait,” she scoffed, holding her hand aloft. “I already know. You’d have shouldered the mantle of responsibility like all decent men do. You’d have pushed aside your reservations and your resentment and