Dating Linc’s new sister wasn’t an option for a hundred and ten reasons. Not constructive thinking, dude, not constructive at all. Frustrated with himself, Reame decided to work and, as per usual, he promised himself that in the morning he’d make it a priority to find himself a date.
Reame pulled open the door to the baseball center and looked down when Shaw tugged his coat. “You really aren’t listening to me, Unca Reame.”
Reame winced. He hadn’t heard a word Shaw had said. “Sorry, bud, what’s up?”
Shaw reached inside his jacket and Reame saw a scaly tail, tiny feet and the pissed-off face of Spike, Shaw’s bearded dragon. “Spike’s going to want pizza when we’re done. Batting makes him hungry.”
Yeah, food wasn’t what he was hungry for. But if Lachlyn Ballantyne offered to eat pizza with him, preferably naked, he was sure he could force down a slice or two.
Back at The Den, which was situated a block or so from Central Park, Lachlyn was being guided by Linc down the hall to a set of stairs leading to a great room on the ground floor. A small picture on the wall to her left caught her eye and she sucked in a quick gasp. That couldn’t possibly be a Picasso, could it? They walked past a nineteenth-century drop-leaf table, every inch of its highly polished surface covered with heavy silver frames containing photos of the current members of the Ballantyne family. Lachlyn hauled in a breath, trying to get some air to her too-tight lungs.
Up until her fifteenth birthday, being a normal girl—being part of a normal American family—had been her deepest desire, the one thing she wished for above all else. Living with an emotionally checked-out mother and an older brother who’d been forced to work to help supplement their mom’s meager income, she’d grown up mostly alone. Lachlyn had comforted herself by imagining another life, cutting out pictures of wholesome, happy families from magazines and carefully pasting them into scrapbooks. She’d covered the walls of her shoebox bedroom, naming her pretend brothers and sisters and weaving fantasies about midnight snack parties, days at the beach, family arguments and Sunday lunches.
She’d made scrapbooks filled with smart and witty friends, fantasy boyfriends and carefully cut out pictures of men who looked like they’d gallop into her life and rescue her.
Then, one summer’s night, her illusions about family, about the bonds that tied people together, had been shattered. Lachlyn’s crash with reality had been brutal—she’d ripped the pictures from her wall, shredded her scrapbooks. What was the point, she’d decided, of living in a dream world? Lachlyn had finally accepted that she was alone, that she couldn’t, and wouldn’t, expect anyone—not family, not a friend, not a lover—to run to her rescue, to be there to support her when her world fell apart. She was the only person she could rely on, would rely on. She’d decided, then and there, not to ask, or expect, anything from anyone ever again.
She’d been young but she’d made the right choice and she still lived her life around that decision. Few friends, no boyfriends, some contact with her brother. But damn, those photos made her feel just the teeniest bit envious.
“Are you okay, Lachlyn?” Linc asked. “You look a little pale.”
She wasn’t used to fancy houses containing amazing artwork, she’d just met the first man who’d ever managed to set her skin on fire and she had no idea of the agenda of this upcoming meeting with the Ballantynes. Was it any surprise that she felt a little, well, stressed?
Lachlyn stopped and half turned to look at him. She wanted to say something smart or charming but she saw sympathy in his eyes. She wanted to tell him that she was feeling overwhelmed, by who the Ballantynes were and the fact that there were so many of them. But it had been a long time since Lachlyn had confided in anyone about how she was feeling. “I’m fine.”
Linc’s gentle smile suggested that he didn’t believe her and Lachlyn realized how very good-looking he was. Actually, all the siblings looked like they could grace magazine covers and, if she wasn’t mistaken, they all had at one time or the other. Sexy, educated, talented and successful, the Ballantynes were the American dream personified. Yet Lachlyn, the only person who carried Connor Ballantyne’s direct DNA, was anything but.
“I understand that this is a lot to deal with, Lachlyn,” Linc said, his deep voice reassuring. “For that reason, it’s just us tonight, the siblings. You, me, Jaeger, Beck and Sage.”
Four against one...
One meeting, a discussion, and she would be done with them, Lachlyn thought, walking into a great room that rolled from a gourmet kitchen into a dining area and then a messy, lived-in space filled with comfortable furniture, books and toys.
Jaeger and Beck stood up and both shook her hand. Sage sent her a hesitant smile from the corner of the huge couch, her feet tucked under her bottom. Her face looked drawn and she had purple stripes under her eyes. Man trouble, Lachlyn decided. And the man causing the trouble was her brother Tyce.
Cue another awkward moment, but she couldn’t ignore Sage’s pain so she stopped next to Sage, bent down and touched her arm with the very tips of her fingers. “Is everything okay? The baby?”
Sage nodded and Lachlyn noticed that Sage’s eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot. “The baby is fine but your brother is driving me mad,” Sage told her, trying to sound jaunty but failing miserably.
Lachlyn wanted to tell Sage that Tyce was a product of their past, of a family that had no idea how to do family. Or relationships.
“I’m sorry, Sage,” Lachlyn murmured, feeling obligated to apologize. Latimores sucked at relationships in general; she needed her solitude and Tyce had his own hang-ups. She and Tyce were masters of the art of self-protection.
Jaeger waited for her to sit before handing her a glass of red wine and then resumed his seat between Sage and Beck on the big sofa. Linc sat down on the ottoman between her and Sage and took a long pull from the bottle of beer Jaeger had offered him. “So, let’s get to the heart of the matter of why you’re here,” Linc said.
Lachlyn placed her wine on the coffee table and clasped her hands together. Linc was going to offer her a payoff, a lump sum of money to go away, to fade into anonymity. They would buy back the Ballantyne International shares Tyce had bought for her and they would squash the reports surfacing in the press about her parentage and connection to the family.
All would go back to being normal. She couldn’t wait. People exhausted her.
“We had a discussion about you, about your arrival in our life and what that meant to us,” Linc said, his eyes not leaving her face. “The past year has been one of phenomenal change...six months ago we were all single. Now we have life partners.”
Jaeger flashed his pirate’s grin. “A hell of a lot of babies on the way. Piper, Cady, Sage...”
“Some by blood, all by love,” Beck murmured. He raised an inquiring eyebrow at Linc, who instantly shook his head.
“We have a five-year-old bandit and an eighteen-month-old bandit-in-training,” Linc retorted, answering the unspoken question. “We’ve got all we can handle at the moment.”
Lachlyn shook her head, trying to keep up with their banter. She hoped pregnancy wasn’t contagious. Oh, wait, you had to have sex to get pregnant. Just then the image of a pair of grape-green eyes in a tanned face appeared in her mind. Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen...ever.
“It would be a manageable three but Jaeger had to be his usual obnoxious self and one up the rest of us by impregnating Piper with twin boys,” Beck muttered, hooking his thick arm around Jaeger’s neck and pulling it tight.
While Lachlyn enjoyed Jaeger and Beck’s banter, she just wished Linc would get on with his little speech. There was more to come and Lachlyn preferred quick and nasty to kind and drawn out.
“Let’s