Katherine McIntyre had never seen a man’s face blanch to a ghostly white so quickly. Even at night, with the patio light behind him, she could see the blood drain from his face and his attractive tan fade. If he hadn’t seemed so steady on his feet until now, she might worry that he was about to pass out.
She wasn’t sure why he was so upset about the news. He wasn’t the father. He wasn’t pregnant. He hadn’t just found out he’d slept with a lying cheat. She was the one having a terrible night. Sure, he’d been slapped by mistake and would have a lot of explaining to do when he saw his date again, but this was hardly his problem.
The valet brought her car around at last. “I’m sorry. It took a few times for it to turn over,” he said.
Kat glanced to where the valet was waiting and then back at the dumbstruck Steele heir. “I’d better go.”
He reached out to her, almost appearing to surprise himself as he did it. “Wait. Come back inside and we can talk some more.”
She was tempted to say yes. There was a kindness in his eyes that beckoned her to climb the steps and chat with him. It was different than what she’d seen in those familiar eyes before, so his story seemed to hold up. While identical in appearance, the Steele twins were very different men. But talking made no sense when Sawyer wasn’t the one she needed to talk to. At least about the baby.
A white Rolls Royce started up the driveway and the front doors of the house opened. People started pouring out onto the stairs. It must be time for the bride and groom to make their exit. Kat wasn’t going to stay around for that. Even if her old Jeep wasn’t in the way.
“I can’t,” she said. “But Saw—I mean Finn—should know how to reach me when he gets back to the States. Please have him call me.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a business card. She’d given Finn one before, but it had likely ended up in the trash the next morning.
Sawyer glanced over his shoulder at all the people coming toward them and his jaw flexed with what looked like irritation as he reached to take the card from her hand. He sighed and nodded as he glanced down at it. “I’ll make sure he calls you before he gets back. I’m actually going to phone and wake him up right now. He deserves it.”
Kat nodded and walked around her Jeep to get inside. She told herself not to look in the rearview mirror as she pulled away, but she did it anyway. She watched Sawyer Steele as his gaze followed her into the distance. He was still watching as she turned out of the driveway and the big house disappeared from sight.
With a groan, she wrapped her fingers tightly around the steering wheel and pressed down the gas pedal. This was not how she had envisioned this night playing out. She’d just wanted to pin Sawyer—Finn—down to talk, the same as that first night. Pregnancy was not what she had been going for back then. Far from it. But now that it was done, she wanted to do the right thing and tell the father. If he wasn’t going to return her calls, she had to find another way to reach him.
The idea was to locate him, pull him aside to talk, and take things from there. Slapping the father of her child hadn’t been a part of her plan, but when she saw him dancing with that beautiful blonde, she couldn’t help it. Between morning sickness and pure exhaustion, she’d been uncomfortable for the last few weeks. He could be uncomfortable for a moment or two himself.
Then she’d found out she’d hit the wrong guy and everything just unraveled. China. Her baby’s father was in China and that was the least of her troubles. Her baby’s father was also a “trickster” in his own brother’s words, one who had no problem seducing a woman using his brother’s name. That was not the kind of man she wanted in her child’s life, but it was too late now. It was done and she would have to find a way to deal with the aftermath.
Kat slowly pulled into her narrow driveway and turned off the Jeep’s engine. She looked over at the historic Charleston-style house she called home. Located in the heart of the Peninsula, it had always been enough for her. The twelve-hundred-square-foot structure was the perfect space for a free-spirited artist. It had plenty of light, the traditional piazza patio allowed her to work outside sometimes and, best of all...the place was paid for.
She climbed from her Jeep and went inside. Her little abode was no Steele mansion, but what was? To be honest, she really hadn’t understood what kind of family she’d gotten involved with until she pulled into that driveway and got her first view of the house. The Corinthian columns, the whitewashed stone, the lane of old live oak trees dripping Spanish moss on the long drive to the house...it was like something out of a Southern gothic novel. In this day and age it was the kind of place that was usually a museum, or rented out for weddings and events. But no, the Steeles actually lived there.
Kat wasn’t a stranger to money. Both her parents had been successful, her father a famous mystery writer and her mother a celebrated painter. They’d done well for themselves, and when they were both killed in a car accident, their estates and life insurance policies had supported Kat through art school and allowed her to be an artist herself without worrying about starving or working a day job. Yes, she needed a new car. And yes, the house probably needed a new coat of paint, but she didn’t want for much.
She tossed her purse onto the couch beside a box of woodworking tools and wood scraps. It would go with her Monday morning when she went down to the District to work. The old warehouse-turned-artist-community was where she spent most of her days. She rented a studio in the building even though she had room at the house to work. Woodworking was messy, but being there was more about community and exposure than anything else. If she wasn’t working there or selling pieces to folks strolling by, she was hanging out with the other artists, who had become her family since her parents died.
Honestly, losing that place would be like losing her parents all over again. And that was what she was facing. That was why she’d gotten all dressed up and gone downtown to that stupid awards ceremony the night she’d met Finn. Because she was going t
o lose it all to the wheels of progress and commerce.
Four months ago, the owner of the District passed away and his children sold the building to a developer. The place would be gutted and renovated. It would remain an artist community—at least that’s what the letters they all received said—but it would be more about selling than creating, by necessity. The rent would be tripling to cover the costs of the renovations and bring the place more in line with the new owner’s vision.
Kat had the money to pay the rent at the new building, but most artists weren’t so lucky. When the District reopened as a fancy, funky downtown venue for people to shop and be seen, most of the people she knew and loved would be long gone.
Walking up the stairs to her bedroom, she unzipped her dress and let it slip to the floor on the landing. Kat stepped out of it and turned sideways to admire her slightly rounding tummy in the hallway mirror. She’d just started to show in the last week or so. Her normally flat belly had begun to curve out, making her favorite jeans uncomfortably tight at the waistband. She’d told Sawyer the truth when she said this was the only dress she had that fit. Most formals weren’t made of particularly forgiving fabrics.
Life didn’t always turn out the way she expected it to. This baby was evidence enough of that. Kat had gone to that award ceremony to try and talk some sense into the District’s new owner, Sawyer Steele. Instead, she was having his brother’s baby.
Two
“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”
“What?”
As always, Finn’s voice didn’t betray even the slightest bit of guilt for what he might have done. There was only an edge of sleepiness, which was to be expected given the hour in China. At least where Finn was concerned. The average Beijing citizen was likely preparing to eat lunch by now, but his brother had still been asleep after a late Saturday night of high jinks that probably involved beautiful Chinese women and too much baiju to drink.
“Sawyer, you know I’m half asleep and half hungover. Why don’t you just tell me what you think I’ve done wrong instead of making me guess. Then we can move straight on to you yelling, and I can take some ibuprofen and go back to sleep.”
“You’re not going back to sleep, Finn. And I don’t think I know what you did, I’m certain of it. And it’s a big one this time.”
“I doubt that. You’re prone to overreaction, like Father.”