Page 2 of The Bad Girl and the Baby

Mathew Peterson’s brother.

What worried her the most was that they had the same genes. Maybe he was just as big a bastard as his brother had been. And he had custody of Lulu. She had to find out. She owed it to her sister. And once she had, maybe she could put this all behind her and learn how to move on.

She forced herself to relax. She needed to be calm, cool, and collected. It was still early, and they’d snagged an empty table, though she’d been too wound up to sit. Now she perched herself on a stool where she could see the door. Regan sat next to her, and Summer opposite.

The door yielded a steady trickle of people, and she relaxed a little…which meant she was totally unprepared. She’d been about to take a sip of wine, and the glass froze halfway to her mouth. A large group entered together. They weren’t in uniform, but she would have taken them for military even if she hadn’t known. This was a stag night, but they were all dressed smartly, with short, military-style hair-cuts. All well-built. Her gaze homed in on him straight away. He was the image of his brother, and a wave of hatred washed through her. Her hand was shaking, and she put the glass down slowly.

Summer, who had been talking them through the arrangements for her up-and-coming wedding, fell silent and twisted on her stool. “Is he here?” she asked.

Darcy didn’t take her eyes off him. “He’s the one on the far right.”

“Holy moly,” Regan muttered. “I saw a photo, but it didn’t do him justice. He’s stunning.”

“He looks like Steven.”

Regan reached out and patted her arm. “I’m sorry, sweetie. But that doesn’t mean he’s the same sort of man.”

Darcy could feel her heart beating slow and hard. She swallowed and made herself look at him objectively. There were actually significant differences. She knew he was a couple of years older than Steven, but he looked younger. Years of self-indulgence had taken their toll on Steven, who’d been slightly overweight. There wasn’t an ounce of spare fat on this man. He was long and lean. At least six-foot-three and dressed in black pants and a black shirt. Short black hair, and even across the length of the club, she could see his blue eyes.

He’d been talking to the man beside him, but now, he paused, as though he could sense her watching. He turned and stared straight at her. His face was all hard lines, his nose big and bony, high cheekbones and a mouth… On Steven, that mouth had looked sulky and self-indulgent, but on this man, it looked… Jesus.

Get a grip.

Summer leaned in close. “He’s staring at you,” she whispered.

“No, he isn’t.”

Yes, he is.

And his stare was causing queer tingles in her stomach. Hatred. Yes, that’s what it was. Maybe undeserved, but she knew she would never be able to look at this man objectively. His brother had as good as murdered her sister. How could she ever forget that?

And why would she want to?

Except that if she wanted to get to know Lulu, she needed this man’s cooperation.

Breaking the link, she looked away. She picked up her wine, swallowed it in one gulp, then leaned across and filled her glass again. When she finally glanced back, the group had moved on, and he was gone from her sight.

She exhaled. She’d always thought herself to be so tough. She was the one in charge. She’d always known what to do. Now, she was floundering in a swamp of doubt.

“Are you okay?” Regan asked.

“I’m fine.” She forced a smile. “It was just a bigger shock seeing him than I expected. He’s so like Steven. Yet, not really. Where are they?” She didn’t want to be obvious and turn around and search for him.

“At the bar, behind you. And he’s still looking.”

“He’s probably sensing the waves of hatred.”

“Maybe. But he looks…interested.”

Christ, that was the last thing she needed. She’d sworn off men until she got her life in order. She hadn’t missed sex. Hadn’t thought about it in a long time. There was too much else on her mind. Now, for the first time in years, she was aware of her body, and a surge of longing rose inside her, drowning out the logical arguments.

Longing for some sort of physical connection.

But with this man?

Never going to happen.

Things had to be kept on a business-like footing.

---