Page 14 of Delinquent Daddy (Banks/Kincaid Family 2)

"Shit, shit, shit," she muttered and fumbled to unbutton the shirt.

As she did, she hurried toward the doorway that led onto the back porch, which in turn doubled as the laundry room.

Glad she hadn't gotten around to folding the last load in the dryer, she yanked out the first top she saw and shrugged out of the egg blouse. Her fingers tripped over the buttons in her haste to shed it. She'd just lifted her arms to pull the clean, yet wrinkled T-shirt over her head when she turned to reenter the kitchen.

Gasping, she screeched to a stop as she came eye to eye with Boston. Grocery bag still in hand, he'd found his way back and was perched frozen in the opposite doorway across the room, appearing caught off guard by her state of undress.

Though ten feet of space separated them, he might as well be touching her by the way his gaze slid down her bra and flat stomach.

Ellie remained frozen for probably a full second before she yanked her shirt the rest of the way down. Boston made a disinterested snort as he stepped into the kitchen to set her second sack of groceries on the countertop. He turned away, keeping his back to her, and examined her mini kitchen.

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"The eggs broke when I dropped the groceries," she explained needlessly.

Feeling moronic, she returned to the counter and wiped dripping yolk off other foodstuff. She made a point not to make eye contact with him. But from the corner of her peripheral vision, she watched him wander toward the refrigerator. Proof of his daughter's existence littered the surface.

Pausing at a picture of Cassie in her soccer uniform, posing with a ball, Boston studied the shot for a good fifteen seconds. Ellie wondered what he was thinking, wondered if he experienced that instant spark of pride she always did every time she looked at her daughter. He turned suddenly as if staring at the picture was too much to take in and zeroed in on a graded math test where Cassie had scored an A+. Slowly reaching out, he tugged the sheet f

rom its magnet.

"Where is she?" he asked.

"What?" Ellie jumped and spun fully toward him, startled to discover he'd lifted his face and was staring at her, waiting for an answer. She focused on the test in his hand and let out a breath. "Oh. Cassie's at..." she was about to spill out her exact whereabouts. One of the carpool mom's would be bringing her home from tumbling lessons any minute now.

But she caught herself, realizing she didn't want him knowing too much.

"She's not here," she finished in a bold voice she didn't feel.

He scowled.

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She sighed and stopped wiping. "Look, Boston. I don't know what gave her the idea to send that letter to your brother, but—"

"Dammit, Ellie," he snapped. "Is she mine or not?"

Ellie blinked. "Of course she's yours."

"Of course," he repeated on a derisive snort. Every muscle in his face pulled tight as he threw her a look to kill. "Then why did you tell me she died?"

When Ellie jumped at his tone, he paused to wipe at his mouth, a full attempt to gain some composure. But then it all slipped and boiled over again.

"You told me the baby was dead. You said you had a miscarriage. You demanded I get out and leave you alone.

Lord above, Ellie, why did you do that?"

Ellie folded her hands in prayer and pressed them to her mouth. When she moved them away, she met his accusing gaze directly. Why exactly had she lied to him? That was the million dollar question.

At the time she'd thought she was in love. It didn't matter if he'd hurt her and resented ever meeting her; she'd adored him. She hadn't been able to bear the thought of him hating her and holding a grudge against her because she'd accidentally gotten pregnant. He'd been full of so many dreams, had so many plans for his life. Those plans had been important enough to him that he'd gotten rid of her in order to pursue them. Ellie had presumed that if his dreams were that big, then he should go after them. So, she'd cut him loose and taken all the fear and trouble of a baby onto her own shoulders.

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