“Not exactly dating.”
“Then why is she here?” He leaned forward, picking up his glass. “And don’t tell me it’s none of my business, because she’s distracting you.”
He wanted to argue the point. But who the hell would he be kidding?
Instead, he dropped his voice. “This goes no further than the two of us for now.”
“I’m offended you have to ask that.”
“Right. Well, she’s pregnant. It’s mine.”
“You’re certain?” Dempsey set his glass on the marble side table, face darkening like a storm rolling out.
Gervais stared him down. Not in the mood for that runaround.
“All right. Your child. What next?”
“My child, my responsibility.” He would be there for his child. That was nonnegotiable.
“Interesting choice of words. Responsibility.” Something shifted in Dempsey’s expression. But Gervais didn’t have to wonder why. Dempsey was Gervais’s illegitimate half brother. Dempsey hadn’t even been in the picture until he turned thirteen years old, when Yvette, Dempsey’s mom, had angled to extort money from their father, Theo, at which point Theo brought Dempsey to the family home.
To say the blending had been rough was generous. It was something that felt like the domestic equivalent of World War Three. Gervais’s mother left. Then it was just a houseful of men—his brothers, Theo and Gramps. And it was really Gramps who had taken care of the boys. Theo was too busy shucking responsibilities.
“I’m sure as hell not walking away.” He’d seen too well the marks it left on Dempsey not knowing his father in the early years, the sting of growing up thinking his father didn’t care. Hell, their father hadn’t even known Dempsey existed.
Not that it excused their father, since he’d misled Dempsey’s mother.
“I’m just saying that I understand what it feels like to be an inconvenient mistake. A responsibility.” His jaw flexed, gaze fixed over Gervais’s head.
“Dad loves you. We all do. You’re part of our family.”
“I know. But that wasn’t always the case.”
“We didn’t know you then.”
“He did. Or at least he knew that he’d been with women without considering the consequences.” Dempsey’s eyes darkened a shade, protectiveness for his mother obvious, even though the woman had been a negligible caregiver at best. “Anyhow, it took us all a long time to come back from that tough start. So make sure you get your head on straight before this baby’s born. Better yet, get things right before you alienate the child’s mother. Because if you intend to be in the kid’s life, you’re not going to want to spend years backtracking from screwing up with words like responsibility at the start.”
The outburst was swift and damning. Dempsey shot up and out of his seat. He began to storm away, heading for the door.
Gervais followed.
“Dempsey—wait, I...” But the words fell silent as he nearly plowed into his brother’s back.
Dempsey had halted in his tracks, his gaze on the staircase in the corridor. Or, more accurate, his gaze on the woman now standing on the staircase.
Erika. In nothing but his jersey that barely reached midthigh. And she looked every bit as tantalizing as she had in her dress.
Gervais’s eyes traced up, taking in her toned calves, the slope of her waist. The way her breasts pushed on the fabric. That wild hair of hers... She was well covered, but he couldn’t help feeling the possessive need to wrap a blanket around her to shield her from his brother’s gaze.
“I heard noise and realized there was someone wandering around.” She drifted down a step, gesturing toward a shadowed corner of the hallway outside the den, where Gervais’s grandfather stood. “I believe this is your grandfather?”
Gramps must have been wandering around again. Leon Reynaud was getting more restless with the years, and forgetful, too. But it was Erika who concerned him most right now. Her face was emotionless, yet there was a trace of unease in her voice. Had she overheard something in their conversation in the den?
Gramps Leon shook a gnarled finger at them. “Somebody’s having a baby?” He shook his head. “Your father never could keep his pants zipped.”
A wave of guilt crashed against him. For years he had tried to avoid any comparisons between himself and his father. Purposely setting himself on a very different path.
His father had been largely absent throughout his childhood and teen years. Theo Reynaud was a woman chaser. Neglectful of his duties to his children, his wife and the family’s business.
Gervais would make damn sure he’d do better for his child. Even if Erika wasn’t on board. Yet. He’d be an active presence in his future child’s life. Everything his father failed to be.
Dempsey moved toward their grandfather, face slightly flushed. He stood and clapped Leon on the shoulder. “Dad’s not expecting another child, Grandpère.”
“Oh.” Leon scratched his sparse hair that was standing up on end. “I get confused sometimes. I must have misunderstood.”
Dempsey looked back at Gervais, expression mirroring the same relief Gervais felt. Crisis avoided.
His brother steered Gramps toward the door. “I’ll walk with you to your room, Gramps.” He gave Erika a nod as they passed her, though his focus remained on Leon. “I programmed some new music into your sound system. Some of those old Cajun tunes you like.”
“Thank you, boy, thank you very much.” They disappeared down the hall. Leaving Gervais alone with Erika.
Her arms crossed as she met his gaze. Unflinching bright blue eyes.
“You look much better in that jersey than anyone on the team ever did.” God, she was crazy sexy.
“Whose jersey is this?” She traced the number with one finger, tempting him to do the same. “Whose number?”
He swallowed hard, a lump in his throat. “It’s a retired number, one that had been reserved for me if I joined the team. I didn’t.” He shook off past regrets abruptly. He’d never played for the team, so he’d bought it, instead. “So shall I escort you back to you room?”
He couldn’t keep the suggestive tone from his voice. Didn’t want to.
She tipped her haughty-princess chin. “I think not. I can find my own way back.”
That might be true enough. But they weren’t done by a long shot. He wouldn’t rest until the day came when he peeled that jersey from her beautiful body.
She was really doing it. Spending two weeks with Gervais in his mansion on the shores of Lake Pontchartrain. She’d slept in his house and now that her luggage had been sent over from the hotel, she had more than a jersey to wear. She tugged at the hem, the fabric surprisingly soft to the touch, the number cool against the tips of her breasts.
This was actually happening. Last night had been more than just an overnight fluke. True to his word, Gervais hadn’t been pushy about joining her here. But she felt his presence all the same.
And she was here to stay. A flutter of nerves traced down her spine as she fully opened the pocket doors to get a better look at the guest suite. She crossed the threshold from the bedroom to the sitting room, clothes in hand.
But she paused, toes sinking into the