“Gray released her abruptly. “You told this child I was his father?” His head whirled, fogged by brandy.“No, I wouldn’t—” She stepped away from him, her expression a mixture of entreaty and confusion. “Olivia called you his papa, but he does not understand what it means.”The child toddled into the room, pointing. “Papa! Papa!”“Sean, no.” She scooped him into her arms.“John?” Gray snapped. “By God, do not tell me you named him John?” There would not be a person alive who would believe he had not ...sired this child.The boy struggled in her arms. “Not John. Sean. After my . . . .” She clamped her mouth shut.The child quit squirming and popped his thumb in his mouth. He laid his curly head on her shoulder. With one last liquid-eyed look in Gray’s direction, she fled the room.Gray sank down onto the bed. What the devil was he about?He’d almost taken her to his bed, almost bullied her into it, in fact. Some gentleman he was.Too damned foxed, that’s what he was, and more the fool for succumbing to long-lashed eyes, rose-colored lips, and curves that begged for a man’s hands to explore.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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