One night spent with Will Connelly surpassed all the fantasies she’d ever had about Nicky and more, though. So much more. It was the only reason Julianne could come up with for calling out Nicky’s name. That—and even more shameful—she hadn’t known her lover’s name.

The fact remained, Will Connelly had been the perfect lover. But she didn’t want her friend to know just how vulnerable she was to him. To his body.

“A word of advice here,” Carly said. “When you two talk about this, and you two need to talk about everything, don’t mention that you don’t remember having sex with him. He’s a professional athlete and if his ego’s anything like my husband’s, he won’t take it very well.”

They were quiet for a few minutes before Julianne forced herself to ask the question she most wanted the answer to. “What’s he like?”

“Will? Oh gosh, I don’t know if anyone really knows the real Will Connelly. He keeps to himself. Definitely the strong, silent type. Very cerebral. He went to an Ivy League school, Yale, I think. I know that management and the guys on the team really respect him both as a player and a person.”

Julianne pulled out of Carly’s embrace and began to pace the room again. “But what about his personal life?”

Carly sighed. “I don’t know a lot about that. Like I said, he’s very private. He was involved with an actress from a crime drama that’s on cable, but I don’t think it was serious.”

“She said in several interviews they were very serious.”

“Aha! So you at least took the trouble to find out his name and keep tabs on him. Good to know.” Carly sounded relieved. “I wouldn’t worry about what some actress said. They all try to use a relationship with an athlete to get publicity . . . wait . . .” Carly stood and turned Julianne so they were face to face. “Is that why you never said anything to him about the baby? You thought he was involved with someone?”

“That was a big part of it. The birth control failed and I got pregnant. I didn’t want to mess up a relationship that might have been important to him because I wanted to keep the baby. I have the money to support a child, and I’m not the type of woman who wants to brag about her kid’s famous father just for publicity’s sake. Besides, the whole idea of having that conversation with a total stranger was humiliating. I just thought we’d all be better off if no one knew who Owen’s father was.”

“Well, you’re going to have to have that conversation now. And everyone is going to know Will is Owen’s father.”

When Julianne didn’t say anything, Carly reached out and grabbed her shoulders. “Oh no, Julianne.” Her voice was laced with disappointment. “You don’t seriously think Will is going to come in here, give his son a few pints of blood, and then walk out of your lives? Is that what you want? To take Owen back to Italy where you can hide out until you figure out what to do with your life? Pretending Will doesn’t exist?”

Carly’s tone implied she was disgusted again, the fragile truce they’d been working on these past few minutes gone. “There is something you should know about Will. He didn’t grow up with a father in his life. I don’t know the whole story, but I do know he is very passionate about a father doing right by his children.”

Pulling out of Carly’s hands, Julianne crossed her arms defiantly. “We don’t know that for sure. Maybe he doesn’t want kids right now. Maybe he’ll be just fine with us going back to Italy and going on with our life without him!”

The color drained from Carly’s face, her eyes focused owlishly behind Julianne. Taking a slow peek over her shoulder, she saw the object of their discussion standing in front of the curtain. His posture was equally defiant. Julianne licked her lips and wondered how a man so massive could move so quietly. As she turned, she took in his Gucci loafers and an Armani business suit that made him look like he preferred lobbying politicians to crushing opposing players. Her gaze wandered up from his strong, square jaw to meet angry green eyes.

“Don’t count on it,” he said before disappearing behind the curtain again.

Three

Mr. Clem prattled on about something, but Will wasn’t listening. Instead, he tried to rein in his temper. The woman was insane if she thought he’d let her take his son to live in another country. She was certifiable if she believed he’d give up his paternal rights to any child of his.

If in fact he was the boy’s father.

That pertinent bit of lab work still had yet to be resolved. His DNA had been collected as soon as he and his entourage had arrived at the hospital, but according to Mr. Clem, the results could take up to twenty-four hours in spite of the fact the hospital had put a rush on them.

That technicality didn’t deter the hospital ombudsman one bit, however. Mr. Clem was prepared to rip off Will’s jacket and begin transfusing blood immediately. The man’s enthusiasm for his job was a bit over the top, but Will was glad the baby had someone in this world protecting him. Someone other than his lunatic mother.

She burst through the curtain in much the same manner as he ruptured offensive lines, with a ferocious look on her face. Not that she was necessarily intimidating. Standing nearly a foot shorter than his six-foot-three-inch frame, she’d have to stand on her toes just to reach his shoulder. He knew from experience she weighed next to nothing. Pregnancy hadn’t exactly fattened her up. In fact, she looked nothing like the woman he’d encountered that long-ago stormy night.

Gone was the hot dress she’d worn to tantalize the men at the wedding. Today, she was dressed in an ivory turtleneck, the outline of the cross necklace she wore visible beneath it. Her black yoga pants fit snugly over generous hips, but they were frayed slightly at the bottom. Not exactly the haute couture she was supposedly famous for creating. Tortoiseshell glasses couldn’t hide her red-rimmed eyes or the dark smudges beneath them. Her wild mahogany hair pulled tight in a high ponytail accentuated the gauntness of her face. The only part of her that hadn’t changed were her lips: still pink and full where she’d obviously been gnawing on them, much like the night they’d made love.

She opened her mouth to speak, but Will raised the palm of his hand to silence her and she stilled, her eyes wide. If she spoke, he wasn’t certain he’d be able to control his anger. He’d worked all his life to suppress the rage he often felt, channeling his pent-up aggression into football while perfecting his stoicism so no one saw the intense ire that boiled beneath his surface. The crazy nymph in front of him just might shatter his carefully crafted façade. When he thought about her scheme, his fingers itched to wrap themselves around her neck and throttle her.

Or pull her in for a kiss.

And that pissed him off even more. He was disgusted at the part of him that still wanted her. She leveled angry eyes at him as she crossed her arms under her breasts. Those had definitely benefited from pregnancy, not that they were bad before. Will had to take a reflexive step back as a bead of sweat trickled down his back.

Mr. Clem stepped in between them, momentarily defusing the situation. “Miss Marchione, we won’t be able to perform the transfusion immediately, unfortunately.” He shot a furious glance at Will.

Julianne’s hands dropped to her sides as Carly Devlin emerged to support her with an arm behind her back. He wasn’t sure why the wife of the Blaze’s quarterback was here, but he’d figure out that mystery later. Right now, he needed answers to the many questions Mr. Clem hadn’t been able to answer during his hurried explanation of the blood disorder Julianne Marchione’s baby had been born with. Until he got them, there was no point in arranging a transfusion.

“I don’t understand.” Julianne sounded deflated as her eyes darted to Mr. Clem’s face.

“It’s pretty simple, really.” Sarcasm dripped from Roscoe’s voice as he spoke from somewhere behind Will. “Until we know definitively who this baby’s daddy is, no one is sticking another needle in my client.”

“Roscoe!” Carly admonished her husband’s agent and best friend.

“We don’t have time for this!” Julianne’s eyes were slits in her face.” My baby needs a transfusion as soon as possible, and you’re his father.” She flung a hand at Will.

He arched an eyebrow at her, not relishing the fact that he wasn’t enjoying her discomfort more. “Not until the lab says so.”

“Will!” Carly turned her censure onto him.

Julianne shrugged out of Carly’s embrace and stepped to within inches of Will. His body’s visceral reaction annoyed him. “Of course you’re his father! My God! If I were going to make up an imaginary father for my son, do you think I would pick you?” She finished up with a few mumblings in Italian.

“Julianne!” Carly was practically calling roll in their little drama.

Will absorbed the pain of her words and internalized them without flinching. Of course she thought he wasn’t good enough. No one ever thought Will Connelly was good enough for anything. No matter how he tried to improve himself, he’d still be the poor, fatherless kid from the trailer park whose mother drove a school bus and cleaned houses for a living. But this woman had another thing coming if she thought she could walk all over him. Nobody did that anymore.

“Perhaps we’d best take this discussion inside.” An urbane-looking black man appeared at Will’s shoulder, carrying an armful of coffee and scones. His British accent made the statement sound like a question. The expression on his face, however, made it clear it was not.