His daughter he loved already.
And the other he…. wanted.
His gaze traveled over Lana’s profile. Her short blond hair was always stylish, but she’d done something special to it today and it looked fantastic.
Her cream suit fit her perfectly, but now she’d taken off her jacket and was standing there in a lacy top with spaghetti straps curved over her shoulders, leaving her smooth skin free.
And that short skirt and silk stockings showcased her long legs, one of which she’d kicked out behind her as she leaned over their daughter on the change table.
His groan kicked into gear in reply. This woman had to be the sexiest mother he’d ever seen.
And dammit, he still desired her.
As if sensing his presence, she looked over at him and he quickly blanked out his expression. It was going to be tough enough being in the same house, without her knowing that he wanted to strip those clothes from her body.
“You’ll have to teach me how to do that,” he said, determined not to let her know his thoughts.
Her elegant eyebrows rose a fraction. “You’ll change her diaper?”
“I think I should know how to do these things. I want to be a hands-on father.”
She relaxed with a wry smile. “Oh, changing diapers will certainly give you that experience,” she said, picking Megan up in her arms and turning toward the crib, but not before Lana’s smile swept into him.
“Wait,” he managed to say as he approached them. “I want to give her a good-night kiss.” He leaned forward to kiss his daughter’s chubby cheek. “Sweet dreams, Megan Valente.” She smelled of baby powder.
But as he eased back he caught a tantalizing hint of “Valente’s Woman,” the special perfume that was taking the world by storm. All the Valente women wore it—and now Lana was truly entitled to wear it, too.
It suited her.
Only for a year, he reminded himself, growing angry with disappointment at the woman she was. Damn her for stealing that money. He didn’t want a thief for a wife, or for the mother of his child.
A year, that’s all.
And then she could damn well wear whatever perfume she pleased.
“There’s some food and coffee in the kitchen,” he snapped, as he walked to the door.
“Thank you, but I’ll be fine.”
He stopped to look at her. “Neither of us had much to eat today.”
“You’ll join me?” she said with clear surprise.
“Is that a problem?”
She sent him a cautious glance. “No, I guess not.”
“The kitchen’s down the hallway on the right,” he said, leaving them alone.
He hated that her attraction got to him. She was fiery and icy at the same time, and watching her just now only served to remind him what he could have if he chose to bed her.
He cursed under his breath. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. And definitely not from their first day together.
Five minutes later she entered the kitchen. She’d slipped her jacket back on, but if she thought it would provide some sort of protective shield she was very much mistaken. The fine material might have veiled the bare shoulders and firm br**sts beneath her camisole top, but the clingy fabric couldn’t fully conceal the outline of that willowy figure beneath her short skirt.
She caught him looking at her and her blue eyes flared before darting away to nervously glance around the room.
Look at me again, he wanted to say, then immediately severed the thought.
Don’t look.
Don’t touch.
“This is a magnificent kitchen, Matt,” she began to chatter, still looking everywhere but at him. “Your housekeeper is sure to love it.”
“She’s your housekeeper, too,” he pointed out.
Her gaze flew to him. “But I’ve never had a housekeeper before.”
“You’re a Valente now. You’ll have to get used to it.”
Anger flashed in her eyes; then her chin angled. “Actually, I’m keeping my own name. Megan’s the Valente now, not me.”
The comment shouldn’t have surprised him, but it did. Most women he knew would jump at any chance to be Mrs. Valente.
He frowned. Or was her show of independence merely for his benefit? She might not have wanted this marriage, but she certainly knew how to take advantage of an opportunity.
“So you’re a liberated woman?” he drawled, not bothering to make an issue of it. He had her measure.
“I don’t see any point in taking on a name I have no intention of keeping.”
He gave a careless shrug. “Fair enough.”
She stared for a moment. “You’re not going to argue about it?”
“No. I agree. It makes sense.”
“Oh.” She seemed to be at a loss. “Good.” Then she swung away and viewed the selection of food on the marble countertop. “This all looks very appetizing.”
The muscles at the back of his neck were taut. The only thing that looked appetizing was her. “My mother thought we might be hungry.”
“That’s sweet of her.”
Funny, his mother had called Lana sweet. It worried him. He didn’t want his family drawn in or upset by her. His parents would be shocked if they knew what she was really like. It would be a hard pill to swallow knowing that the mother of their grandchild was so untrustworthy.
He gestured for her to sit on one of the tall stools. “Help yourself to the food,” he said tightly, moving around the other side of the countertop, not wanting to be too close to her right now.
She slid onto the stool and picked up one of the delicious-looking sandwiches, appearing to be at ease, but he knew she was anything but.
He took one of the sandwiches for himself. “Speaking of my mother, you were having a good chat with her this evening,” he said casually, remembering how he’d watched them and felt the urgent need to part the two women.
A wary look crossed her face, then vanished. “Were we?”
“You both looked deep in conversation.”
“Then we probably were,” she said, and took a nibble of her sandwich.
His brows drew together. It appeared as though she was hiding behind that sandwich, not eating it. That made him suspicious.
“I hope you’re not planning on worming your way into her good books.”
Her eyes widened and the sandwich lowered from her mouth. “Why would I do that?”