Nashville Heat by Bethany Michaels

Author:Bethany Michaels
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: A Ravenous Romance

Chapter Six

I dragged myself off the couch, wrapping the blanket, still warm from our bodies, around me. I stumbled to the window.

Outside was a swarm of reporters, and photographers were crowding around my car and the house.

“Damn it. I left the gate open last night.”

“What do they want?”

Dex turned to me ran hand through his hair. “They probably want to know if I’m acknowledging my love child and if I plan to support the baby.”

“What?”

Dex walked to the couch and sat down. It was the first time I’d seen him genuinely angry. “Remember that crazy woman in Tulsa?”

“Yeah. The one who thought she was your wife.”

Dex nodded. “Turns out she’s pregnant and told everybody the baby is mine.” He rubbed his eyes. “My publicist told me yesterday she was running her mouth to the press but I told him not to worry about it. That no one would believe her and it would all blow over.”

“It didn’t.” I wrapped the blanket more tightly around me.

“No.”

I’d seen the woman on television. She looked like a lot of his other conquests. Tall, blond, big boobs. If he’d slept with her… “Could it be yours?”

He looked up at me, shocked at first. Then his mouth tightened into a thin line. “No.”

I shrugged. “I mean, if it is, it’s okay. It’s not like you and me…well, it’s none of my business.”

“The baby is not mine,” Dex said through gritted teeth.

“But how can you be sure? I mean –”

“Sydney.” Dex stood and stalked over to me, wrapping his hands around my shoulders. “It’s not mine. You need to believe me here.”

I wanted to believe him. I really did. But I’d seen the tabloids. I’d read about the wild nights spent on the road with anonymous women who looked just like the alleged baby-momma. Dex Wilder had a reputation. And it seemed his partying, free-wheeling lifestyle had just landed him in family court.

No wonder the press wanted a piece of him. Nashville’s charming, all-American bad boy had just fallen off his throne.

Sirens blared through the early morning quiet as two squad cars pulled up, scattering the throng of reporters and photographers.

“I’m going to have to go talk to them,” he said, tucking in his wrinkled blue shirt and smoothing his hair. The trademark scruff was starting to reemerge along his jaw line and apart from the frown marring his full lips and chasing away his ready grin, he looked like the Dex Wilder I’d known before last night. He was back to looking like his poster and living up to his reputation.

The guy I’d spent time with, talking and laughing and writing music with, had disappeared.

“Oh, sure. I need to get going anyway.” I folded the blanket and out it back on the sofa. “Do you have my tape?”

“Over there, on the table,” he said, looking out the window again.

The police were herding the photographers out through the front gate, but that didn’t stop them from snapping pictures as they left.

I grabbed the tape and my shoes and headed towards the door.

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