Coward. You just don’t want him any closer than necessary.
She flipped her inner know-it-all the finger.
And if she stiffened but didn’t shift away from the broad hand he settled at the small of her back, well... She just didn’t want to be rude.
Joshua led her to an elevator, and soon they were alighting from it into a huge apartment that could’ve fit her whole childhood home inside. She couldn’t trap the gasp that escaped from her. Just as the charity event had exposed her to another level of wealth and luxury, so did his place.
Gleaming and pristine floor-to-ceiling windows that offered an unhindered and gorgeous view of Falling Brook and beyond. A king surveying his kingdom. The impression whispered through her head, and she had to agree. Shaking her head, she moved farther into the foyer, taking in the rest of his space. An open floor plan that allowed each room to flow seamlessly into the next. A sunken living room, freestanding fireplace, dining room with a table large enough to fit a large family with no trouble, a large kitchen with a floating island, beautiful oak cabinets and what appeared to be stainless steel, state-of-the-art appliances. Because why not? Although, something told her he most likely used the double-door refrigerator for takeout instead of cooking with the wide six-burner stove and oven.
Beyond her stretched a dim but deep hallway, and just off the living room stretched a railless staircase to an upper level. Expensive-looking but comfortable furniture filled the vast space, but there was something missing.
Art.
No paintings decorating the cream-colored, freestanding walls. No sculptures that people often staged on tables or in the wide foyer. Not even a knickknack on an end table. The absence glared at her, and she glanced sharply at Joshua, who remained standing next to her, watching her survey his private sanctuary.
“Let me take this for you.” He settled his hands on her shoulders and his jacket that she still wore. Though it was undoubtedly made of the finest wool, it should’ve disintegrated under the heat from his palms. Grinding her teeth against the inappropriate response, she nodded. “Would you like a drink?” he asked, opening a door behind them and hanging up the jacket and her wrap.
“Sure.” She headed toward the living room, where a large and fully stocked bar stood next to the dark fireplace.
“What would you—” His phone rang, cutting him off. He removed it from his pants pocket and glanced at the screen. “I need to take this. Help yourself, and I’ll be right back.” Pivoting, he headed toward the hallway, pressing the cell to his ear. “Joshua Lowell.”
She stared after him for several moments as he disappeared into a room, shutting it quietly behind him. Only then did she move into the living room, releasing a heavy sigh.
A scotch sounded really good right about now.
Before long, she had a finger of the amber alcohol in a squat tumbler, and she raised it to her mouth for a slow, small sip. She hummed in appreciation at the full-bodied, smooth taste as it burned a path over her tongue and down her throat, settling a ball of warmth in her chest.
“Wow, that’s good,” she muttered, taking and savoring another mouthful.
Grasping the glass between her hands, she headed toward one of the windows and the magnificent and tranquil view. But there was a scattering of papers on the low chrome-and-glass table in front of the couch. How hadn’t she noticed it before? The haphazard pile contrasted so sharply with the pristine order of everything else in the room. Hell, the apartment.
Unable to resist the lure it presented, she approached the table. Guilt crept inside her. Joshua hadn’t invited her here to snoop. Yet, she still peered down at the papers.
A printout of names and notes written beside each in his heavy scrawl. Women’s names. Now, even if God himself came down and admonished her for breaking the eleventh commandment—thou shall not poke thy nose into thy neighbor’s business—she still wouldn’t have been able not to look.
She recognized some of the names. A high-powered attorney who lived there in Falling Brook. A society darling known for her parties and benevolent efforts. A B-list actress one blockbuster away from catapulting onto the A-list. And about three other names she didn’t recognize. But each one had dates typed next to them. Then a handwritten note about whether Joshua had called, made contact and the result.
No baby.
Child but two years old. Not the right age.
Has a little boy. Same age, wrong sex.
Her grip on the glass of scotch tightened until her fingers twinged in protest. Joshua hadn’t been idle. This list bore that out. A list that apparently included the names of women he’d been intimate with in the last four years, if the earliest date was an indication. She wrestled down the hot flare of dark and unpleasant emotion that flashed to life in her chest and twisted her belly. Six women wasn’t a lot, but damn, she resented each one because they’d experienced the passion he’d very briefly unleashed on her. With grim effort, she refocused on the paper in front of her. Joshua had clearly been working on finding the woman who was supposed to have birthed his child.
Shock and a softer, far more precarious emotion stirred behind her breastbone, melting into her veins like warm butter. Lifting her free hand, she rubbed the heel of her palm over her heart. Since her offer to Joshua on Wednesday to help research more about the DNA report, she’d done some digging. But she kept hitting dead ends.
She wouldn’t stop investigating but... Could the DNA results have been mistaken? Either that or Joshua’s outrage at her accusation of being an absentee father had been genuine, and he really didn’t know he had a child out there. He
