Hot & Bothered by Susan Andersen Page B

they’d stay home with their children if they could afford it. You might be surprised at how many would leap at the chance. I know I’m fortunate to have the resources that gave me a choice, so guess just how much your input means to me? You’re the last person I’d ever solicit an opinion from on parenting. My God, you bullied your way into moving in here with unfounded accusations that I never in a million years would have thought to do. Not to mention that subtle threat to make things ugly for everyone involved if you weren’t given the opportunity to get to know your daughter.” She ignored the fact that she was using him in return for protection.
    â€œ What subtle threat? I haven’t said one freaking word that could remotely be construed as a threa—”
    â€œBut now that you’ve gotten what you wanted,” she said right over the top of him, surprised to find she was all but quivering with fury, “funny thing. I haven’t seen you make any effort to spend so much as five minutes with Esme since I introduced the two of you.”
    John stared at the passion in Victoria’s face and felt hisheart pound in his chest. This was the woman he remembered, with her electric eyes and intense fervency. The cool and reserved socialite he’d been dealing with since entering the Hamilton mansion annoyed the hell out of him, but he almost wished she’d come back. At least she didn’t confuse him so much, and God knew she was a whole lot easier to hold at arm’s length. This woman he wanted to throw down on the desk and have the kind of red-hot head-banging sex he remembered from six years ago.
    She made a sound of disgust deep in her throat and he realized he’d been staring at her too long without responding to her accusation. Before he could say a word she’d whipped around on her expensively shod heels and he watched her hair bell out then settle back into place as she stalked from the room. The door closed behind her and he threw himself back into his chair. Swearing, he rammed his fingers through his hair and ground the heels of both hands into his scorched eyes.
    What the hell was he doing here? He knew nothing about being a parent. Less than nothing. The truth was, just the thought of it scared the bejesus out of him.
    And wasn’t that one for the books? In the ordinary run of events he wasn’t a man prone to fears. The day after graduating high school he’d forged his old man’s signature so he could join the Marines and he’d spent the next fifteen years in every hellhole and hot spot in the world. It wasn’t that he’d never been afraid, of course—only a fool went up against trigger-happy terrorists armed with the latest in automatic weaponry without a healthy dose of fear to keep him cautious. But he’d learned to take in stride the kind of things that would probably start the average guy’s bowels to churning.
    Wasn’t it a hell of a note, then, that a tiny peanut of agirl with a mess of hair and big dark eyes should be the one to strike terror in his soul?
    He’d deliberately stayed out late last night and had left before breakfast this morning in order to avoid running into Esme. Not that curiosity wasn’t gnawing at him like a rat on cheese. He wanted to know everything about her—what kind of toys did she like, which vegetables did she hate, did she like to be read to? Or maybe five-year-olds read for themselves—what did he know about such matters? He’d like to discover the answer to that, too. But the voice in his head that had kept him one step ahead of his father’s fists, one dodge away from bullets sprayed by captors of the political hostages he’d been sent to retrieve over the years, whispered warnings to keep his distance.
    He should probably head back to Denver and let Victoria get back to her well-structured life. Hell, let her raise little Esme any way she