he would take full responsibility, and the sooner she knew it the better.
“Westmorelands take full responsibility for their actions,” he said, as if that explained everything. He tried to downplay the stirrings in his groin that had started the moment she had opened the door. And when she lifted perfectly arched eyebrows the stirrings increased.
“Westmoreland? Is that your last name?” she asked.
He studied her to see what about her was different from that night. She looked a lot younger than twenty-eight and the color of her eyes seemed darker than he recalled. But her lips, full and enticing, were just as luscious as he remembered. She was wearing a pair of jeans and a T-shirt that stretched across firm breasts. Her waistline looked small, not indicative of a woman who’d given birth to a child, but her hips had curves that hadn’t been there before. He, of all people, should know. He had touched and tasted every inch of her body.
“Quade?”
When she said his name, he realized he hadn’t responded to her question. “Yes. Westmoreland is my last name.” It also made him realize just how little they knew about each other. The only thing they did know was how much they could satisfy each other in bed. “And I take it that Steele is yours,” he decided to add.
She nodded slowly. “Yes, Steele is mine.”
Now that they’d gotten that out of the way, she still hadn’t answered his question—the most important one and the reason he was there. “Are you going to answer my question about the baby?”
* * *
Cheyenne wasn’t sure if she should answer him. Although there was no doubt in her mind that he had a right to know, she just wasn’t certain he would be ready for her response. He was inquiring about a baby. How would he handle the fact that there were three?
She let out a sigh as she studied the handsome face staring back at her. It was a face that still had the power to make her pulse race, her heart beat faster and cause goose bumps to form on her arms. And worse still, it had the power to make her vividly recall every single detail of the night they had spent together.
Fully aware of the lengthening silence between them and the fact she could tell by the tightening of his jaw that he was getting annoyed she hadn’t responded to his question, she said, “I think you should come in so we can talk about it.”
“Do you?” he asked in what she picked up as a rather cool voice.
“Yes.” She took a step back and opened the door a little wider in invitation.
He continued to stare at her for a moment before crossing the threshold into her home and closing the door behind him. It wasn’t until he was inside that she became fully aware of just how tall he was. Her cousins and two brothers-in-law were tall men and Quade would fit right in with them. His presence seemed to dominate the room and there was an air about him that said he was confident in his masculinity. Confident, even arrogant.
“You’re stalling.”
He had come to stand directly in front of her and she was all too aware of his presence. “Am I?” she asked, fighting the tightness in her throat.
“Yes, and I’d like to know why? I would think my question was simple enough,” he said in a tone that let her know he was getting even more agitated. “You were pregnant. The baby you gave birth to was fathered by me or by someone else. All I want to know is, was it me?”
Anger simmered in her belly at the thought that he could assume she had slept with someone else, but then she had to be reasonable—he didn’t know her. The only thing he knew was how quickly he had been able to get her in his bed and without very much effort. He had been a total stranger yet she had gone to his hotel room, stripped naked and had made love to him almost nonstop all night long.
She inhaled deeply and then asked. “And if I were to say that it wasn’t you?”
He gave her a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Then I apologize for seeking you out and wasting your time.”
“And if it was you?” she asked softly. “Not saying that it was,” she hurriedly added.
She saw a hardening in his gaze. “To be quite honest, you really aren’t saying anything,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Why can’t you just give me a definitive answer?”
Cheyenne placed her arms over her chest, as well. “It’s a bit complicated.”
He lifted a brow and gave her a probing look. “Complicated in what way? Either I’m the one who got you pregnant, or I’m not. Now which one is it?”
His gaze burned into hers with a warning that said he was impatient, and tired of her not giving him a straight answer. She swallowed the lump in her throat and then said. “Yes, you’re the one. But...”
“But what?”
From his expression it was hard to tell if he was disappointed or elated about being a father. Probably the former, since she figured most men preferred not becoming a daddy from a one-night stand. “There wasn’t a baby,” she said.
She actually saw the glint of concern that flashed in his eyes. “Did you lose it?” he asked softly.
“No,” she said quickly. “That’s not what I meant.”
He stared at her. His expression then became rather chilling. “Then how about telling me just what the hell you did mean.”
She glared at him. He was getting angry and so was she. She placed her hand on her hip and took a step closer to him with fire in her eyes. “What I mean, Quade, is that I didn’t give birth to one baby. I gave birth to three.”
* * *
Quade’s mouth dropped open in shock. He had seen the size of her stomach and, although his cousin Cole had joked at the possibility she was carrying more than one baby, Quade had dismissed it, assuming the baby was just a big one. She’d given birth to triplets—Westmoreland triplets. The first in his generation of Westmorelands. He couldn’t help but smile at the thought. Damn.
“Is there something that you find rather amusing?” Cheyenne asked in a somewhat annoyed tone. He glanced over at her. She looked as if she was ready to throw something at him. He could just imagine how hard it would be to give birth to one baby. But three...
He shrugged broad shoulders. “No,” he said, quickly wiping the smile off his face. “Are they okay?”
The anger eased from her eyes somewhat with his question of concern. “Yes. They were born eight weeks premature and had to remain in the hospital for almost three weeks, but now they’re fine.”
“I want to see them,” he said, wanting to make sure for himself.
From the look that suddenly appeared in her eyes he could tell his brisk and authoritarian tone hadn’t helped matters, but at the moment he didn’t care. If he had fathered babies, he wanted to see them. She said they were okay, but he wanted to see them for himself.
“No.”
Now it was his eyes that were narrowing. “No?”
“That’s what I said.”
He stared at her. She was trying to be difficult. The look on her face was proof of that. He was used to his orders being followed. Okay, he would concede that he wasn’t still with the PSF and she wasn’t one of his men. But still, had he requested something of her that was so complex?
“Is there a reason why I can’t see them?”
“Yes. They’re asleep.”
He studied her. “Is there a reason you can’t wake them up?”
For a single minute she looked like she wanted to hit him over the head with something again. “Yes. It will interfere with their sleep pattern. If I disturb their sleep now, they will stay up later tonight and I would like to get a