any man to this apartment. Now, in the space of a single night, there’d been two different ones: Lola had left for the charity ball with Sergei and returned with Rodrigo.
When the kindly widow had told her she needed to get out and live a little, this probably wasn’t what she’d had in mind.
“Hi, Mildred,” Lola said. “Yes, I was feeling tired.”
“Did you have a nice time?” the elderly woman said stiffly, looking at Rodrigo.
Lola never liked giving too much away. But she didn’t want her neighbor to get the wrong idea. “This is Jett’s father.”
“Oh?” Her eyes went wide. She said with a big smile, “Oh.”
“How was Jett tonight?” Lola said quickly, changing the subject.
“He was an angel. I gave him his bottle and bath. He’s been asleep for about an hour.” Gathering up her knitting, she rose to her feet, a grin on her wrinkled face as she looked between Lola and Rodrigo. “I’m sure you two have things to talk about.”
Uh-oh. Now Mildred was getting the wrong idea. “There’s no need to rush off—”
“Thank you for watching him,” Rodrigo said gravely, holding out a wad of hundred-dollar bills. The widow waved off the money.
“I’m happy to help. Jett’s a little darling. I’m just glad you’re finally here, after all this time,” she added pointedly. “A baby needs a father. Just as a woman needs a husband.”
With those firm words, the widow left.
“I definitely don’t need a husband,” Lola said, her cheeks burning.
“She thinks I abandoned you?” Rodrigo said, looking irritated.
She shrugged. “I’ve never spoken of you to anyone. Even my best friends don’t know who Jett’s father is.” Her lips quirked at the corners. “I think they’re under the impression that you’re either married, abusive or a total alcoholic.”
He glowered at her silently, his jaw tight.
Lola cleared her throat. “But you wanted to see Jett.”
Hanging up her coat, she walked into the small apartment’s only bedroom, motioning for him to follow.
A beam of moonlight pooled from the bedroom window to a spot between the bed and the crib wedged against the wall. Going to the crib, Lola looked down at her precious son. The four-month-old was sleeping peacefully, his chubby arms flung up over his head. A swell of love went through her.
“This is Jett,” she whispered.
Rodrigo came up beside her, resting his powerful hands on the edge of the crib. He looked down at their sleeping baby. Lola’s heart lifted to her throat as she looked between them.
Jett looked exactly like his father. She’d never realized it before, because she hadn’t wanted to see it. But they had the same slight curl in their dark hair, the same black Spanish eyes. The baby yawned, showing a single dimple just like his father’s. His dark lashes blinked sleepily.
The powerful media tycoon said in wonder, “He’s so tiny.”
“For now.” A smile lifted her lips as she looked at him. “Someday he’ll be as big as you.”
For a long moment, they stood together, looking down at their son. She was aware of Rodrigo’s hand just inches from hers. She could almost feel the warmth from his skin.
Suddenly, she yearned to tell him everything. To share things she’d never told even Hallie and Tess. Her friends thought Lola was so tough, but the truth was, she’d been scared, coming to New York alone after their breakup. She’d chosen it as her new home in a desperate, hopeless yearning to be closer to her little sisters, the only family she had left. Then she’d been too scared to contact them.
She’d thought of Rodrigo so many times during her pregnancy. When she’d gotten her first ultrasound. When she’d learned she was having a boy. When she’d gone into labor. And every day before, and since.
But she hadn’t contacted him. Because she’d known the man she wanted—the man she’d loved—didn’t exist. And in his place, with the same gorgeous, devastating body and heartbreaking dark eyes, was a man who could destroy her.
Now, Rodrigo lifted his gaze to hers. For a moment, she held her breath. Then his expression shuttered, his face turning cold.
“You should have told me.”
“I couldn’t,” she whispered.
“I’m his father.”
The baby stirred at Rodrigo’s low, harsh voice. Alarmed, she put her finger to her lips and drew him out of the bedroom. Closing the bedroom door softly behind her, she whirled, glaring at him.
“You want to be a father? Then you should know the first rule of parenting is Don’t wake the baby!”
He looked around the modest apartment. “I thought you said you got him a nice apartment.”
“It’s a wonderful place, you jerk!”
“You could have asked to stay at my loft in SoHo. I’m hardly ever there.”
It was so pointlessly cruel, Lola sucked in her breath.
“You tossed me out of your house. You said I disgusted you and you never wanted to see me again! You think I would ever ask you for help after that? I’d die first!”
Her eyes were stinging. She blinked hard and fast. She wouldn’t let herself cry. Only weak people, or children, cried in public and she hadn’t been either for a long time.
Rodrigo’s expression changed. He took a step toward her in the small apartment, his face half hidden by shadow.
“You don’t need to ask for my help, or anyone else’s, ever again.” His voice was low. “Because if the paternity test proves he’s my son, I’m going to marry you.”
A rush went through her. A thrill of terror—or was it joy?
“What?” she whispered numbly.
“For his sake.” His dark eyes burned through her. “You will be mine.”
* * *
Lola’s hazel eyes were astonished. As well they should be.
After three broken engagements, Rodrigo had never planned to propose again to anyone. For any reason. His youthful dreams of love and family and home were just that—dreams.
But looking at his sleeping son, he’d felt a hard shift in his soul that shocked him. Looking down at the baby’s face, so much like his own, he’d remembered his own lonely childhood. And he’d vowed, to the depths of his soul, that his son would never feel like Rodrigo had once felt.
Jett would never believe his father didn’t love him. He’d never feel like a burden, unwanted and unloved, as his parents left him in the care of nannies and neglected him for their own selfish romantic pursuits. His son would have a stable home. His parents would raise him together. There would be no instability in their family life, no revolving door of new lovers and spouses. They would be a family. With the same last name.
Lola might hate Rodrigo now, but she loved their son. That was clear in everything she’d done, even taking the million-dollar check that must have hurt her pride. But she’d done it, because she’d feared Rodrigo might try to take the baby from her.
She’d chosen custody of their son over the vast fortune Rodrigo could have offered her.
She’d made a mistake, taking the child from him. But he’d also made a mistake, believing the very worst of her.
For Jett’s sake, he would try to forgive. They would start fresh. He would accept his responsibility to his son. Lola would do the same.