The Paternity Proposition. Merline Lovelace

their night together.

      “I don’t get it,” she said, sternly repressing the memory of his mouth on hers. “How does my spending a week in Oklahoma City answer the question of whether or not I’m your daughter’s mother?”

      He hesitated and speared a glance at the other two men. Chuck maintained a stoic, unreadable expression. Dusty cocked his head and waited with as much interest as Julie to hear the answer.

      “It doesn’t,” Dalton finally admitted. “What it does is give you a chance to spend some time with Molly and me, see how we fit together. Make sure this is what you want if, in fact, you are her mother. It will also give you an insight into Dalton International’s operations,” he added when her mouth opened on a hot protest.

      Before she could voice it, Dusty leaped into action. “Wait outside,” he ordered, shoving their visitor to the door. “My partners and I need to talk about this.”

      “No, we don’t,” Julie said indignantly as he slammed the door in Dalton’s face. “I’m not trekking off to Oklahoma City for a week.”

      “You make it sound like the wilds of Africa. It’s just down the road a piece, missy.”

      “Dusty. Listen up! I am not spending a week in Oklahoma City.”

      “Well, now, let’s just chaw on that a bit.”

      Alex was leaning against his Jag when Julie exited the office some twenty minutes later. She stalked out of the hangar, her face stormy, those long legs of hers eating ground with stiff strides. He was careful to avoid any sign of triumph when she curtly announced they had a deal.

      “But just so you know, I’m not happy about this, Dalton.”

      “I can see that.”

      “Nor do I intend to have you foot my bill. I’ll make my own arrangements.”

      “If that’s what you want,” he said with a shrug. “But DI maintains a guest suite for out-of-town visitors. It’s empty and available.”

      She hesitated, common sense warring with her obvious anger at being manipulated, then gave a grudging, “All right.”

      “Do you want me to wait here while you pack a few things or follow you to your place?”

      “Just give me the address of the guest suite and a key, if you have one on you.”

      “I planned to drive you into the city.”

      “I’ll drive myself. I’ve got some things I need to take care of first.”

      He’d won the battle. No need for additional skirmishes. With a tight feeling of anticipation he didn’t stop to analyze, Alex extracted a business card and wrote the address on the back along with the keypad code for the door. “And this,” he said as he added another set of numbers, “is my private line. Call me when you get in.”

      He handed her the card but held on to an edge when she reached for it. Her distinctive eyes flashed up to meet his.

      “Thanks for doing this,” he said quietly.

      The wave of temper she’d ridden out of the hangar subsided enough for her to dredge up a reluctant smile. “You might not be thanking me when you end up with Dusty for a partner. He’s the best pilot in twenty-six states but … well …”

      “I can handle Dusty.”

      But could he handle her?

      The thought added another edge to his anticipation as she made for a pickup parked to the side of the hangar with that hip-swinging stride of hers.

      The next week, he told himself during the drive back to the city, should prove interesting.

      Julie covered the same route later that afternoon. She still couldn’t believe she’d let Dusty whine and weasel and guilt her into this ridiculous situation. She’d fully intended to tell Alex Dalton straight out to look elsewhere for his baby’s mother. Sign whatever release the man put in front of her. Spit into the nearest empty cup.

      Yet here she was, cruising east on I-40 toward the cluster of skyscrapers that thrust up from the flat Oklahoma plains like a bundle of steel celery stalks. The only reasons she’d caved, finally, was because Dusty swore a solemn pledge to stay away from the casinos if she agreed to Dalton’s deal. Plus, she would get a first-hand look at DI’s operations, scope out their engineering and test facilities. Added to that was the fact that they were between growing seasons and Julie hadn’t had a vacation in longer than she could remember.

      She would hit the shops, she decided as fallow, straight-lined farm sections gave way to suburbs sprinkled with strip malls and fast-food stops. Visit a couple of Oklahoma City’s world-class museums. Maybe catch the musical Jersey Boys at the Civic Center. And, oh by the way, spend a few hours with Alex Dalton and his family.

      She’d looked them up on Google this afternoon. She’d skimmed through all sorts of articles and financial publications chronicling Dalton International’s steady rise from a small family venture to a mega-corporation that manufactured and supplied equipment to oil-rich countries around the world. She’d also found a profusion of articles and photos from various society pages. There was the two-page color spread of Delilah Dalton’s mansion, thrown open to the public for a garden charity event last spring. And a profusion of photos showing one or both of the Dalton twins with be-gowned and be-jeweled babes on their arms.