The Werewolf Tycoon's Secret Baby(2)By: Saranna DeWylde
This was Emmie’s son.
Emmie from Santorini.
Emmie, the woman he thought he’d never see again. Beautiful, brilliant, sweet Emmie. He couldn’t believe she was standing in front of him.
With a son.
Someone else had claimed her, someone else made love to her, someone else—he cut the thoughts out of his head like a cancer. Emmie was human. She was never meant for him. He exhaled slowly.
“Gin, I’ll take care of the cost.” Drew found his voice, speaking to the rainbow-haired shop owner.
“That’s really not necessary, I—” Emmie broke off as her eyes raised ever so slowly to his face. “Andrew,” she gasped.
“We’re a long way from Santorini.” He smiled at her.
“Santorini?” Gin’s eyes widened, and she put a hand over her mouth.
“I’m sorry, Mama.” The little blond boy looked up at his mother and tugged on her hand, chocolate all over his little face and in his hair.
“I know. Let’s go get you cleaned up.” She picked him up.
He looked so sad, his expression completely at odds with his earlier behavior. Maybe he wasn’t a little demon after all. Poor little guy. He seemed to really be contrite for his behavior.
She picked him up, but he squirmed to get one last look at the chocolate and, for a second, his brown eyes seemed amber.
But that had to be a trick of the light.
Emmie was human. Her son wouldn’t… he didn’t allow himself to finish the thought. That was insane.
The kid had a mighty love for those truffles. Almost as if he couldn’t control himself.
Then he saw it. The crescent moon birthmark on his wrist that was just like Drew’s own.
No, no, no, and more no.
Andrew from Santorini couldn’t be in Den Hollow. He just couldn’t.
Emmie didn’t bother to make any excuses for her exit from the chocolate shop, she simply fled with Noah like the hounds of hell slavered at her heels. She kept expecting Andrew to chase her, to demand some kind of answer, but he didn’t.
And she was relieved.
What was he doing in Den Hollow anyway? Andrew was an art student and… and why did he look even better than he had on Santorini? She sighed. He was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.
It shocked Emmie that a man like him had been interested in her, even for a vacation fling. He looked like he belonged on the cover of GQ and she… well, she looked her age. Not that thirty-eight was necessarily bad, but it was a hard thirty-eight in her opinion.
She was hyper-conscious of the fine lines around her eyes and mouth, ever aware of the straying grey roots in a starburst at her brow each time her color grew out, and always critical of the cellulite she saw when studied herself in the mirror. Her breasts, while full and well-formed, had never been what could be described as “perky.” Neither time nor nursing had done much to improve their love/hate relationship with gravity. Nor had childbirth done much for her stomach.
In spite of all that, Emmie knew she was pretty—that when she dressed up people took notice and men still looked at her—but she wasn’t the kind of Cosmo model she’d imagine playing in the surf with a guy like Andrew.
She briefly imagined being naked in front of him now. Like hell that would happen.
A couple years looked good on him, but her? Not so much. She’d had hard enough time being naked in front of him at thirty-eight. At forty-four after having a baby? If things had ever been inclined to snap back in her youth, they definitely weren’t going to in middle age.
But damn if Santorini wasn’t one of her favorite memories. The way he’d touched her—it had been like there was only the two of them in the whole world. He’d taken his time, and he’d made her feel so beautiful.
Emmie had been nothing but happy when she discovered she was pregnant, but she hadn’t looked for him. Hadn’t wanted more from him that what he’d given her—the child she’d always wanted.
“Enough of your head in the clouds, my dear.” She scolded herself aloud. Emmie needed to nag Noah into the tub and get all that chocolate out of his hair—unless he’d transformed and licked most of it off.
If chocolate was bad for dogs, was it bad for baby werewolves, too? She felt guilty for having the thought, but consoled herself. This was all new territory for her. And how would she explain her concerns to the pediatrician? Or was it better to go to a vet? Actually, she probably needed a witch. Her phone rang and interrupted her self-recrimination. It was Gin. If she didn’t answer, the fairy would just come over. Which wouldn’t be a bad thing, since Gin was better at coaxing Noah into the tub.