Secret Baby Santos by Bárbara McCauley Read Free Book Online Page A

anything. He liked them well enough, he’d just never been around them, certainly was never expecting to have any of his own. What the hell would he know about being a parent? His own mother split the day before his tenth birthday, and the stepfather she’d left her son with spent more time in bars than the run-down apartment they’d called home.
    Besides, he’d have to get married to have kids, and why would he do a silly thing like that? He liked his life just as it was. He was doing exactly what he wanted, when he wanted, with whom he wanted.
    Well, at least until Maggie had turned up. If he was doing exactly what he wanted, with whom he wanted,
they’d be somewhere alone right now, preferably his bed.
    â€œWanna see my bike?” Drew asked Lucas, pulling Nick out of his fantasy. “My mom flattened it real good.”
    â€œDrew.” Maggie blushed. “I’m sure Lucas has things to do.”
    â€œNot at all.” Lucas took the boy’s hand. “Let’s go have a look.”
    They were gone before Maggie could protest. She watched her son drag Lucas out of the shop, babbling the entire time about trucks and motorcycles. Her heart skipped when she turned back to Nick. The man absolutely took her breath away.
    He’d rolled the sleeves of his deep blue flannel shirt to his elbows, revealing strong, muscled forearms lightly sprinkled with dark hair. Faded blue jeans fit low over lean hips and long powerful legs. The boots were also well-worn, black, Western-style with a strap across the back. Everything about this man was rugged and masculine and positively sexual.
    She knew she was staring, she just couldn’t help herself. And he was staring back, with a smug, selfsatisfied smile that told her he knew exactly what she was thinking. When the portable phone on his work bench began to ring, he turned away to answer it. She breathed a sigh of relief and wandered through the shop, needing some distance from him as much as being curious about his business.
    Clean, was her first thought. The concrete floor shone, the walls had been freshly sprayed with softgray paint, sunlight poured through spotless windows that rimmed the upper half of the entire building. Motorcycles in various stages of repair lined one wall,
thick tires, racing decals, shiny chrome and polished leather. Even with her inexperienced eye, she could tell they weren’t the kind that one would take out for a Sunday ride. They looked sturdier, more powerful, formidable. Not so different from the man, she thought, glancing over at Nick’s broad shoulders and tall, muscular body.
    She quickly squashed the longing that welled up inside her and forced her attention to the back half of the shop where a corner section had been converted into a spacious office with floor-to-ceiling windows. She strolled inside, caught the scent of strong coffee warming on a corner table that sat beside a desk piled high with mail and newspapers. Racing posters lined one wall, along with photos of Nick on his motorcycle. She moved close and stared at one framed shot of him airborne over a mound of dirt, a flash of yellow racing suit and flying dirt.
    â€œI broke my leg when I landed on that one,” he said from behind her. “Put me out of the circuit for six months.”
    â€œI remember.” She’d fretted over that injury, had asked for an assignment to cover the accident just so she could legitimately call the hospital and check on him. “That was in Colorado.”
    â€œWell, well.” He sat on the desk beside her, his knee nearly touching her leg. “I wouldn’t have taken you for a racing fan.”
    Stupid, stupid, she cursed herself. “Actually, I’m not.” Because her hands were shaking, she slipped them into the pockets of her slacks and forced herself to meet his steady gaze. “I had to sub for a colleague that week who wrote the sports column. Nick Santos breaking his