Page 4 of Their Virgins Secret

“Jessa, calm down. ” Burke demanded.

“Let me go. I have to get him!” Jessa’s voice sounded strangled in her throat. He could feel her hot tears hit his hand.

Her husband. She was fighting for him. She was clawing at Burke, scratching and fighting to get to another man. His chest buckled. His heart fucking ached. Jessa was in love with someone else and willing to die to save this douche she’d married who’d left her alone to fend off an intruder in the basement by herself.

“I’ll get Angus, Jessa,” Cole growled. “Where is he? You let Burke get you the hell out of here. ”

“Angus? Oh, god. He was in the living room sleeping earlier. ”

“On it. ” Cole turned and ran down the stairs.

“Oh, god. Please. Let me go. I have to get Caleb!” Jessa fought again, bringing her foot forward, knee up to her waist, and kicked back with all her might.

Caleb? Burke groaned as her heel met his cock with surprising force. He released Jessa and dropped to his knees.

She wasted not a minute. As Burke strained to get to his feet, she disappeared around the corner.

Goddamn it. Burke forced himself up. From downstairs, he heard a loud hissing and Cole swearing. Apparently his brother had found the damn cat again instead of Jessa’s husband. He let it go. If Cole couldn’t handle a kitty cat by himself, then all those years as a SEAL had been for nothing. Ignoring the pain, he ran after Jessa.

Who the fuck was Caleb? Another lover? Why hadn’t the investigator’s report mentioned him? And why did Jessa think he was worth dying over?

He lurched down the hall. There was no question where she had gone. Only one door was open at the end of the corridor.

Rage churned in his gut. She’d obviously never loved him or Cole. He’d tortured himself nightly with visions of her, sweet and warm and loving, while she’d run happily off and apparently found not one but two men. Well, he and Cole had shown her the pleasures of ménage. He guessed it was all their fault. She’d taken to it beautifully even though she’d been a virgin at the time.

Yet he couldn’t walk away. He was going to get Jessa, Angus, and this Caleb person out of here if it was the last fucking thing he did. Then he was going to find some way to get on with his life.

He stalked into the room, unwilling to take no for an answer. This time he would be ready for her struggles. He would drag her out, kicking and screaming if he had to. He opened his mouth to explain to her just how this was going to go. Then he stopped dead in his tracks. He’d expected to be in her bedroom. This room was filled with stuffed toy puppy dogs and smiling lions. And a crib.

Jessa stood, tears coursing down her face as she grabbed a swaddled, slightly fussing baby to her chest. She’d slung a big tote bag over her shoulder.

“I’m ready. We can go,” she headed for the door. “As soon as Cole gets Angus. You should warn him. Angus gets twitchy around new people. He scratches. Uhm, and he throws up. He’s really a terrible cat. ”

Cat? Angus wasn’t her husband, but a cat. And Caleb was… Even in the dark, he could tell the baby was small and very young. He came to one stunning, jaw-dropping conclusion.

Caleb was their son.

* * * *

One year earlier, Christmas Eve – New York City

Jessa Wade eyed the ladder.

“Ah, my nemesis. We meet again. Don’t think you’ll best me tonight. This time, I will use you and put you away and come out of the experience unscathed. ”

Fat chance of that happening. And, awesome, she was all alone on Christmas Eve, talking to a ladder. Nothing said “pathetic” quite like that.

She glanced around the bar of the Hotel DuMonde. Her aunt owned the place, but she was off in Barbados, her usual holiday haunt. Jessa had been invited to go, but she’d had the ridiculous dream that her parents would get into the Christmas spirit and call her home.

Clearly, that wasn’t happening. So she was alone in the hotel bar, cleaning up and doing inventory. And dealing with a ladder that had it in for her.

She picked up the martini glasses. They belonged on the highest shelf. The DuMonde’s bar was a magnificent concoction of glass and silver and mirrors that reached to the top of the twelve-foot ceiling. On a normal night, she wouldn’t have to climb up there. Those glasses on the highest level were almost decorative, but the night before had been a blowout of the highest order. Some corporate party. Every damn glass in the place had been used, and the cleaning crew had only just finished with the dishes.

She sighed. She’d sent the bartender and the waitress home. She’d always heard that Christmas Eve was a big night for bars, but she didn’t have any customers. It hadn’t seemed right to keep those two away from their families when the money would be crap.

“Miss, a Scotch, please? Single malt. ”

She nodded, grateful for the distraction. Working would keep her mind off the fact that her mother and father had turned her out, and the only relative still speaking to her in the world was currently windsurfing in the Caribbean. She turned to look at her new customer and practically forgot to breathe.

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