Page 22 of The Billionaire's Secret Child

"Wow." Laura sipped her ice water. “One of you is pretty impressive. I can’t imagine seven more.”

He chuckled. "We're a handful, but really close. Most are married with kids now." He shook his head, a sliver of sorrow appearing and disappearing in an instant. It spread to her, sadness for his great loss. It was joined by something else, however, equally as strong. He might not know it, but his dream had already come true.

He was a father.

She was about to pose the next question when her phone vibrated. Her hand hovered over the silence button when her parents' number flashed. "I'm sorry, I have to answer this." When he gestured for her to go ahead, she accepted the call and turned away. "Hi Mom, what's going on?"

"Actually, it's Dad."

She parted her lips. Her father hadn't called in months. With Aidan listening to every word, she held the phone closer, "Hey, Dad, is everything okay? How are you feeling?"

"As well as can be expected, I suppose. I hate you ask you this, but I have an appointment tomorrow morning at the hospital and was wondering… well, could you take me? Your mom usually does it, but an old friend is coming to town, and they hoped to see that new play at the community center. You can just drop me off, and Mom can pick me up when she's done. I wouldn't ask but it took a month to get this appointment."

It was the first favor her dad had asked for in a year. "Of course. I could visit the volunteer office at the hospital while I am there."

"Thank you. I appreciate it." He gave her the appointment information and then paused. Was there something else, something to bridge the chasm between them? A second later, the phone clicked dead. So much for a bonding family moment.

But, still, it was a start.

"Sorry about that." Laura returned the phone to her purse. "I'm helping my dad with something."

For a moment Aidan didn't say a word, studying her as if trying to solve a puzzle. He clasped his hands together. "You volunteer at the hospital?"

Laura flushed. "Yeah, a couple of times a week."

"What do you do?"

She waved her hand. "Nothing too vital. I spend time with patients, play cards, read, that sort of stuff. Now tell me about–"

He didn’t let her finish. "You underestimate just how vital those things are. That includes helping your dad, even though you don't get along."

Her flush deepened. "It's not a big deal. Our relationship isn't really that bad, and now I'm hoping…" She stopped. “Never mind.” The questioning had gone far enough, especially amidst the unbidden urge to share all with him. If she let something slip, it could be disastrous.

Unfortunately, he switched to an even more sensitive topic. “I’m surprised there's no Mr. Laura.” His eyes shone. “At least I assume there isn’t from the peck on the cheek we shared back there.”

Forget the flush. Now she was as red as the marinara sauce on the pizza.“Peck on the cheek? Is that what that was?”

His lips tugged up. “More or less.”

Actually more. Much, much more.“I would have to disagree with that classification.”

“Should we repeat it to see who is right?” he drawled. “All in the name of journalistic integrity, of course.”

A hundred “yesses” boiled her blood. Thankfully before she could jump over the table, bend him back and plant what was definitely not a peck on the cheek, the waiter returned, and this time his timing was perfect. She departed the land of what-ifs and focused on the oversized pizza pie on the table, steaming with the aroma of fresh mozzarella, basil and oregano. When he left, she answered with a simple, “Definitely not.”

He chuckled, smoothly cutting slices, first for her, and then for himself. “You seem like the type of woman who would have men lining up at the door. Tell me the truth. Is it Jeanie?" Laura stiffened, but his gaze didn’t waver. "You know, the culinary cat?”

That difficult, conniving, handsom… um… man."You figured it out. They're intimidated by a pancake-making cat who whips up a mean soufflé." She smiled slightly, twisting the piping hot dough in her hands. “But actually, I just haven’t found Mr. Right.”

“And what do you look for in Mr. Right?”

With every question, he delved deeper into the personal life he didn’t know they shared. Why was he interested? Why did she care? “Smart, kind, caring. Why do you want to know?”

“It’s something people always ask me.” He shrugged as he bit into his pizza. “Don’t tell me you weren’t going to ask.”

“All right,” she replied, nerves sparking courage. “What do you look for in a woman?”

“I thought I already showed what I prefer. However, maybe I need to clarify things.” Hie expression, and voice, turned pure predator. “I’m used to getting what I desire, Laura. I want this information from you, and rest assured, I will get it. But now, I’m not so sure I don’t want something else as well.”

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