A Father's Love: A Heartbeats Novel

strength.

Chapter 1

Maxwell Banks smiles at the buxom blond across from him. Her name has escaped his memory, but she will make a suitable companion for the night. The image of her long blond hair splayed like gold across his pillow fills his mind, sending his pulse into overdrive. Her yoga instructor body is just calling out for his attention if the tight shirt she is sporting is any indication.

Discreetly, he turns his wrist to check his watch. Fifteen minutes since they finished dinner. Surely that is a long enough segment of small talk. You want to finish this somewhere more comfortable? He reaches across the table to stroke her hand as he says the words. A little flattery goes a long way. He has mastered that art in the last few years.

Her tongue darts out and swipes across her lips, and her teeth bite the bottom one, causing the blood to flow to it and tint it a shade darker. Um, sure, I guess that would be okay.

Her words are hesitant, and Maxwell knows he will have to turn up his charm. He doesn’t usually have to work hard to get women to come home with him. With his dark hair, blue eyes, broad shoulders, and chiseled chest his looks alone attract many. The fact that he comes from money attracts the rest. Those are the harder ones to get rid of, the ones after his money. They tend to show up uninvited and blow his phone up all hours of the day.

But this one isn’t looking for a sugar daddy. This one he picked up in yoga class. Yoga was not usually his thing; he preferred lifting and running, but his friend Justin had dared him to try the class, and as the instructor was hot, Maxwell had taken the chance.

He could tell when he entered the large room that she found him attractive as her eyes followed him as he crossed the room to grab a mat.  His blue cut-off t-shirt had showed off his muscular arms and brought out his eyes, and his playing dumb had kept her by his side most of the class. Asking for her number had been easy after that.  He had simply put on his puppy dog face and emphasized the need for private lessons if he was ever going to improve. She had fallen for it; hook , line, and sinker. Now it was time to seal the deal.

Great. He whips out his wallet and places four twenties on the table. It is more than enough money as she only had salad and water – another perk to taking out weight conscious women. Then he stretches out his hand to her.

Don’t you need to wait for change? she asks, glancing around for the waiter.

No, I believe in big tips. He flashes his best smile, hoping it will soothe some of the hesitation he hears in her voice.

She shakes her head in disbelief, but accepts his outstretched hand. He gives it a squeeze for good measure and then leads her out of the restaurant and back to his black BMW Z4.

What about my car? Shouldn’t I just follow you? She glances around for her car in the full parking lot.

Don’t worry about it. I’ll bring you back to your car later. Her smile is a little more relaxed as he opens the car door for her, and she slides into the grey leather seat.

He folds himself into the driver’s seat and turns the engine. As the air has cooled considerably, he presses the button for the heated seats before pulling out of the restaurant parking lot.

The girl—he really should remember her name—pulls on her skirt to stretch it back down. It has crept up her leg revealing smooth, toned thighs underneath.

Can I turn on some music?

He mentally kicks himself. He’s been so distracted with her thigh that he didn’t realize they were driving in silence. Silence is never good. It lets them think. Of course, whatever you’d like.

She punches the buttons on the dial a few times before landing on some newer pop music. Inwardly, he cringes – he’s more of a hard rock fan himself, but he knows the payout will be worth it.

Fifteen minutes later, he hears the sharp intake of her breath as he pulls into the driveway of his house. While not a mansion, the 4000-foot ranch home is impressive. The craftsman style boasts three slanted roofs, two chimneys, a grey-brick exterior, and a white wraparound front porch. A small working fountain sits in the middle of the circular drive.

You live here? The awe is plain in her voice.

He smiles inside. The deal is almost sealed now. Yeah, it’s a little big for one person, but I hope one day to fill it with a family.

When she turns back to him, he can almost see the stars in her eyes.

He pulls into the three-car garage and parks next to his Harley Davidson. The third bay contains no vehicle. The garage is neat; he can’t stand messes, and the few tools he owns meticulously line the shelves along the wall.

Her heels click across the cement floor as he leads her to the door into the house. It opens onto a large laundry room with a washer, dryer, and table to fold clothes on. The door from the laundry room leads into the hallway. To the left is the kitchen, dining room, and family room. To the right are the bedrooms. He leads her to the left where he has a bottle of wine waiting on the counter. It is yet another tactic he has learned will loosen women up and lower their inhibitions.

The kitchen is large, half the size of most houses entire first floors. The appliances are all stainless steel and a marble topped island in a crème color with brown and gold flecks fills the middle of the room. A large silver light fixture hangs above the island, and a deep sink takes up a portion of the space under the light. A bottle of red wine and two glasses sit prominently in the middle of the island, and across from the sink four plush barstools covered in black leather line the island. The cabinets that circle the room are a deep brown, and a large walk-in pantry covers most of the back wall, but it is the wine that he focuses on.

Drink? he asks as he uncorks the bottle and begins pouring the glasses.

Oh, I don’t know if I should. I can’t stay too long. I teach an early class tomorrow. The hesitation is creeping back into her voice, and her eyes are darting around as if she might bolt. It’s time to turn up the charm.

He pushes his lower lip out in a slight pout. You wouldn’t make me drink alone, would you? Besides, what will one glass hurt? The glass he extends to her is half full, and he focuses his steely blue eyes on her. Many women have told him that his eyes are what drew them in, and he knows how to use them to his advantage.

Her eyes flicker back and forth, but return to his gaze, and he knows he has her. Okay, maybe just one. Her arm rises and accepts the glass.

To a wonderful night with a beautiful woman, he says, clinking her glass ever so slightly. A blush spreads across her face, and she drops her eyes to the murky red liquid as she takes a sip. He is about to suggest they retire to the living room, where his leather couch will be more inviting and conducive to his seduction, when his doorbell rings.

A glance at his watch reveals it is nearly ten p.m. No one he knows should be ringing his bell, and it is too late for solicitors. Make yourself comfortable, he says to her, I’ll be right back.

As his shoes echo on the hardwood flooring, he curses the timing of whoever is on the other side of the door. He has worked hard to get this woman here, and she has proven more skittish than many before her. If he loses her because of this, there will be retribution.

He is fully prepared to lash into the unfortunate soul on the other side of the door, but when he swings it open, his heart stops and his words fail him. The anger sizzles as if doused like a campfire, and he blinks not believing his eyes.

Chapter 2

"S arah?"

Though much paler and thinner than the last time he saw her, he is almost certain that the woman before him is the only woman he ever loved, the woman he lost three years ago without a word of explanation. Though he was promiscuous before, it was her disappearance that sent him into the philandering tailspin he has been in for the last three years.

Hi Max, can we come in?

We? His eyes drop lower to take in the small child clutching Sarah’s hand in a death grip. She has dark brown hair and large blue eyes. Her daughter? But she didn’t have a daughter when he was seeing her, so that means the girl must have come after she left. Not much longer though. He isn’t a good judge of age, but the child can’t be younger than two.

Though every fiber in his body is screaming for him to say no, shut the door, and return to his busty blond—who must be getting bored by now—he finds himself opening the door wider. Of course, come on in. He never could deny Sarah. In fact, though he never told her, he probably would have married her if she hadn’t just up and left him.

Sarah and the little girl cross over the threshold and stand, staring at him. Can we go somewhere more comfortable so we can talk? Sarah asks, tilting her head at him.

Right, of course. He shuts the front door and leads them into the living room, completely forgetting the blond until she stands as they enter.

Her eyes shift from him to Sarah and the child and back again. What is this, Maxwell?

Uh, this is my friend Sarah, Sarah this is…

The blonde’s eyes widen as she realizes he doesn’t know her name. Seriously? You don’t remember my name?

Max cringes and shrugs. He should care; he doesn’t like getting caught, but Sarah has taken his attention. Brigitte? Heather? Selena?

The woman’s face flames red as her hands curl into fists and jam into her slim hips. Those aren’t even close. It’s Margo. I can’t believe you. She pulls her purse strap tighter on her shoulder and shoves past Max, pausing to turn at the doorway. Don’t bother walking me out; I can find my own way home. The angry clomp of her heels echoes on the floor as she stomps  to the front door.

Sarah turns her hazel eyes on Max. Her left eyebrow arches on her face. I see some things haven’t changed.

What can I say? he says, shrugging again. Women find me irresistible, and there are too many to remember all their names.

Sarah’s head shakes back and forth. I’m not sure this was a good idea.

No, wait. Max’s demeanor straightens as he reaches out to stay Sarah. Tell me why you’re here.

Sweetie, why don’t you go in the living room and play while I talk to Max? The little girl responds with wide eyes and a silent head shake. Go on, you have your tablet. I’ll be right in here. Reluctantly, the little girl lets go of Sarah’s hand and trudges into the living room. A tattered backpack hangs from her thin shoulders.

As Sarah sits in one of the barstools, Max notices the dark circles under her eyes and the hollowness of her cheeks. What has happened to her? He eases himself onto the stool next to her and waits for her to speak.

Sarah’s frail shoulders rise with her inhaled breath, and she forces her eyes to Max’s. I guess there’s no easy way to say this, but I’m dying. I have anaplastic carcinoma. There’s a cancer hospital in New York that specializes in treatment for my condition, but I’ll be too weak to watch Peyton. You know I have no other family, and—she looks into the living room where the girl is curled on one of the couches playing a tablet before turning her attention back to Max— Peyton is your daughter, so I’m hoping you’ll take her in.

Her words hit him like a truck, shaking any response from his mind. She is dying? He has a daughter? When he can finally wrap his mind around it, the words come out small and quiet. Why didn’t you tell me about Peyton before?

She tilts her head at him as if she can’t understand why he would even ask that. Maxwell, you always told me you weren’t one for settling down, and the day I was going to tell you, you told me about your friend Justin being trapped into a relationship with a pregnancy and that he was going to push the woman to have an abortion.

Maxwell’s eyes drop. He remembers the conversation. Justin is as much of a philanderer as he is, maybe more so. Justin taught him a few trade secrets, and it is true that the few times he ended up getting a woman pregnant, he forked over the five hundred dollars for the abortion rather than being sucked into a relationship or fatherhood. But Maxwell wouldn’t have pressured Sarah into that, would he have?

I couldn’t take the chance you would do the same, as I wasn’t strong enough to fight back because I loved you so much. I probably would have agreed just to keep you, and then I would have hated us both, so I left.

Does she know? Max asks, shrugging towards the little girl in the other room. He is still having trouble grasping the gravity of Sarah’s words.

When she smirks, he sees a glimpse of her old playful nature. That I’m dying or that you’re her father? Then her face grows serious. Yes, she knows both. She isn’t excited to be left behind, but she understands I have little choice. It’s either you or foster care, and she is more inclined to try you than a total stranger not related to her.

But, Sarah, I’m no role model for a little girl.

So I see, but I took that into consideration. She reaches into her purse and pulls out a card. This is my best friend’s number. She has known Peyton since she was a baby, and she can help you out if you need anything.

Then why doesn’t she just take her? Maxwell doesn’t