Manacled in Monaco Read Free Page A

knife through a bunch of parsley, mincing the verdant leaves while muttering under her breath. All at once, she stabbed the axelike tool into the wooden cutting board letting the handle vibrate, and bounded to her feet.
    “I hate you, hate you, Rolan Anthony Paxton. You are not taking my son away from me.”
    “Isn’t this just dandy? We’re already dysfunctional and the family nucleus is in its infancy,” he drawled, pleased when she turned to him, bronze skin paling, features caught in a grimace, one lone tear slipping to hover at a stubborn jaw line.
    He snapped a paper towel off the under the counter dispenser and edged forward. “Here. Crying isn’t going to solve anything. We need to talk.”
    She stumbled backward, the bar stool wobbled, and Rolan had to grab it with both hands to prevent a nasty spill. Wide almond eyes with spiky lashes blinked up at him, and he caught a flash of vulnerability before that Zen-like mask descended again.
    It irked him.
    She irked him.
    She looked so fragile, so vulnerable.
    Red hot fury faded.
    Strands of sunset hair escaped her high ponytail, slipping forward onto her shoulders as she straightened and dashed away the moisture on her cheeks with the back of her hand. The childlike gesture melted the rest of his anger and banded his chest.
    “What do you want?”
    His senses remembered that low throaty purr and his cock came to life in an involuntary reaction. And it was like they’d never been apart, all the old protectiveness, possessiveness, and lightening lust flaring through his soul.
    Sarita.
    His.
    Rolan rescued the vibrating knife and set it on the cutting board. He slid onto the other barstool.
    “You said you wrote?” Praying for calm, he decided to start at the beginning.
    “Twice, one to your home and another to the college.” One forefinger flicked the minced parsley, shuffling the leaves into a rough circle. “I never heard from you, so I figured I was on my own.”
    “Obviously I never received either letter. You didn’t think about picking up the telephone?”
    Their gazes locked and he read the fury in hers as those pupils dilated and darkened, making the honey tint into a mere halo.
    “You went out of your way to avoid me, Rolan Paxton, and you can’t deny that. I was the mistake you wished you’d never made.”
    “Jesus Christ, Sarita, I was embarrassed. I took your virginity with all the finesse of a stampeding bull. You cried, damn it, and my raging hormones didn’t give a crap.”
    For a second, naked pain lanced those amazing eyes, but she dropped her lids and concentrated on the minced parsley, one pearl eyetooth gnawing on her lower lip.
    “And before I could say anything, you ran away. Look at me, damn it.”
    “I wasn’t crying because you hurt me, Rolan.”
    She said the words so softly he had to strain to hear them.
    “Why then?”
    She shook her head and he thought blood would spurt she bit down so hard.
    A stream of anger returned heating his skin, and frustrated by her unwillingness to communicate, he snapped, “Burying your head in the sand isn’t going to help resolve this situation. I want joint custody of our son.”
    “What?” Her head whipped up then, one hand fluttering to her throat. “No. You don’t have the right to ask that.”
    “You want to take this to court?” Ah, rage again, good healthy anger. “One paternity test is all it takes. I’m his biological father. The courts will grant me joint custody. What have you got to offer the boy? I can afford full-time help, put him in the best private schools. I guarantee you -- you don’t want to take me on in a public battle for custody.”
    “You always were a bully, especially on the football field.”
    “And you’re hired help, plain and simple. One word to the captain and you’re out of a job. I bet your savings amounts to nil. I can ruin you, Sarita, and I will if that’s what it takes.”
    Pounding footsteps preceded Tony’s skidding entrance, and he