His Illegitimate Heir (12 page)

“Are there more of us? Because I could only find the other two.”

Chadwick nodded again. “There are a few that are still kids. The youngest is thirteen. I'm in contact with his mother, but she has decided that she's not interested in introducing her son to the family. I provide a monthly stipend—basically, I pay child support for the other three children.” They reached a fancy SUV with darkened windows. “It seems like the least I can do, after everything Hardwick did.” He opened up the back door and slid his daughter into the seat.

As he buckled in the little girl, Zeb stared at Chadwick in openmouthed shock. “You...you pay child support? For your half siblings?”

“They are family,” Chadwick said simply as he clicked the buckle on the child seat. He straightened and turned to face Zeb. But he didn't add anything else. He just waited.

Family.
It was such an odd concept to him. He had a family—his mother and the larger community that had orbited around her salon. He had Jamal. And now, whether she liked it or not, he had Casey, too.

“Why didn't you contact me?” He had so many questions, but that one was first. Chadwick was taking care of the other bastards. Why not him?

“By the time I found you, we were both in our thirties. You'd built up your business on your own, and at the time, I didn't think you wanted anything to do with us.” Chadwick shrugged. “I didn't realize until later how wrong I was.”

“What kind of man was he?” Zeb asked. And he felt wrong, somehow, asking it—but he needed to know. He was getting a very good idea of what kind of man Chadwick was—loyal, dependable, the kind of man who would pay child support for his siblings because they were family, whether they liked it or not. The kind of man who not only cared about his wife but bought her diamonds because she was tired. The kind of man who knew how to put his own daughter into a safety seat.

Zeb knew he couldn't be like Chadwick, but he was beginning to understand what Casey meant when she asked if Zeb was like his brother.

Chadwick sighed and looked up at the sky. It was getting late, but the sun was still bright. “Why don't you come back to the house? This isn't the sort of thing that we can discuss in a parking lot.”

Zeb just stared at the man. His brother. Chadwick had made the offer casually, as if it were truly no big deal. Zeb was family and family should come home and have a beer. Simple.

But it wasn't. Nothing about this was simple.

Zeb held up his small jewelry bag with the engagement ring that he somehow had to convince Casey to wear. “I have something to do at seven.” He braced himself for Chadwick to ask about who the lucky woman was again, but the question didn't come.

Instead, Chadwick answered Zeb's earlier question. “Hardwick Beaumont...” He sighed and closed the door, as if he were trying to shield his daughter from the truth. “He was a man of contradictions—but then again, I'm sure we all are.” He paused. “He was... For me, he was hard. He was a hard man. He was a perfectionist and when I couldn't give him perfection...” Chadwick grimaced.

“Was he violent?”

“He could be. But I think that was just with me, because I was his heir. He ignored Phillip almost completely, but then Frances—his first daughter—he spoiled her in every sense of the word.” Chadwick tried to smile, but it looked like a thing of pain. “You asked me why I hadn't contacted you earlier—well, the truth is, I think I was a little jealous of you.”

“What?”
Surely, Zeb hadn't heard correctly. Surely, his brother, the heir of the Beaumont fortune, had not just said that he was—

“Jealous,” Chadwick confirmed. “I'm not exaggerating when I say that Hardwick screwed us all up. I...” He took a deep breath and stared up at the night sky again. “He was my father, so I couldn't hate him, but I don't think I loved him, either. And I don't think he loved us. Certainly not me. So when I found out about you and the others, how you'd spent your whole lives without Hardwick standing over you, threatening and occasionally hitting you, I was jealous. You managed to make yourself into a respected businessman on your own. You did what you wanted—not what
he
wanted. It's taken me most of my life to separate out what I want from what he demanded.”

Zeb was having trouble processing this information. “And I spent years trying to get what you have,” he said, feeling numb. Years of believing that he had been cut out of his rightful place next to Hardwick Beaumont. It had never occurred to him that perhaps he didn't want to be next to Hardwick Beaumont.

Because he could see in Chadwick's eyes that this was the truth. His father had been a terrible man. Sure, Zeb had known that—a good man did not buy off his mistress and send her packing. A good man did not pretend like he didn't have multiple children hidden away. A good man took care of his family, no matter what.

Zeb suddenly had no idea if he was a good man or not. He took care of his mother, even when she drove him nuts, and he looked out for Jamal, the closest thing he'd had to a brother growing up.

But the Beaumonts were his family, too. Instead of looking out for them, he'd done everything he could to undermine them.

He realized Chadwick was staring. “I'm sorry,” Chadwick said quickly. “You look like him.”

Zeb snorted. “I look like my mother.”

“I know.” Chadwick moved a hand, as if he were going to pat Zeb on the shoulder—but he didn't. Instead, he dropped his arm back to his side. Then he waited. Zeb appreciated the silence while he tried to put his thoughts in order.

He knew he was running out of time. Chadwick's daughter would sit quietly for only so long—either that, or someone with a camera would show up. But he had so many questions. And he wasn't even sure that the answers would make it better.

For the first time in his life, he wasn't sure that knowing more was a good thing.

“I don't know how much of it was PR,” Chadwick suddenly began. “But the press conference was brilliant and I wanted to let you know that we're glad to see that the brewery is back in family hands.”

Really?
But Zeb didn't let his surprise at this statement show. “We're still competitors,” he replied. “Casey is formulating a line of beers to compete directly with Percheron Drafts as we speak.”

Chadwick notched an eyebrow at him. “She'll be brilliant at it,” he said, but with more caution in his voice. Too late, Zeb realized that he had spoken of her with too much familiarity. “And I expect nothing less—from both of you.”

Inside the car, the little girl fussed. “I have to get going,” Chadwick said, and this time, he did clap Zeb on the shoulder. “Come to the house sometime. We'll have dinner. Serena would love to meet you.”

Zeb assumed that was Chadwick's wife. “What about the rest of your brothers and sisters?”

“You mean
our
brothers and sisters. They're...curious, shall we say. But getting all of us together in one room can be overwhelming. Besides, Serena was my executive assistant at the brewery. She knows almost as much about the place as I do.”

Zeb stared at him. “You married your assistant?” Because that seemed odd, somehow. This seemed like something their father would've done. Well, maybe not the marrying part.

Had his brother gotten his assistant pregnant and then married her? Was history repeating itself? Was it possible for history to repeat itself even if Zeb hadn't known what that history was?

Chadwick gave him a look that might've intimidated a lesser man. But not Zeb. “I try not to be my father,” he said in a voice that was colder than Zeb had heard yet. “But it seemed to be a family trait—falling for our employees. I married my assistant. Phillip married a horse trainer he hired. Frances married the last CEO of the brewery.”

Oh, God. Had he somehow managed to turn into his father without ever even knowing a single thing about the man? He had gotten Casey pregnant because when he was around her, he couldn't help himself. She'd taken all of his prized control and blown it to smithereens, just as if she'd been blowing foam off a beer.

“Hardwick Beaumont is dead,” Chadwick said with finality. “He doesn't have any more power over me, over any of us.” He looked down at the small bag Zeb still clutched in his hand. “We are known for our control—both having it and losing it. But it's not the control that defines us. It's how we deal with the consequences.”

Inside the car, the toddler started to cry in earnest. “Come by sometime,” Chadwick said as he stuck out his hand. “I look forward to seeing how you turn the brewery around.”

“I will,” Zeb said as they shook hands.

“If you have any other questions, just ask.”

Zeb nodded and stood aside as Chadwick got into his vehicle and drove away—back to the family home, to his assistant and their children. Back to where he could be his own man, without having to prove anything to his father ever again.

Hardwick Beaumont was dead. Suddenly, years of plotting and planning, watching and waiting for an opportunity to take revenge against the Beaumonts—was it all for nothing?

Because Zeb wasn't sure he wanted revenge—not on his brothers. Not anymore. How could he? If they'd known of him for only six years—hell, six years ago, Zeb had been just moving to New York, just taking ZOLA to the next level. What would he have done, six years ago? He wouldn't have given up ZOLA. He would've been suspicious of any overtures that Chadwick might've made. He wouldn't have wanted to put himself in a position where any Beaumont had power over him. And then he wouldn't have been in a position to take the brewery back from the corporation that bought it.

And now? Now Chadwick wanted him to succeed? Even though they were competitors—and nowhere near friends—he hoped that Zeb would turn the brewery around?

It was damned hard to get revenge against a dead man. And Zeb wasn't sure he wanted revenge against the living.

He looked down at the small bag with an engagement ring in it.

What did he want?

Twelve

W
hat did she want?

Casey had been asking herself that exact question for hours now. And the answer hadn't changed much.

She had no idea.

Well, that wasn't entirely the truth. What she wanted was... God, it sounded so silly, even in her head. But she wanted something romantic to happen. The hell of it was, she didn't know exactly what that was. She wanted Zeb to pull her into his arms and promise that everything was going to be all right. And not just the general promise, either. She wanted specific promises. He was going to take care of her and the baby. He was going to be a good father. He was going to be...

Seriously, they didn't have a whole lot of a relationship here. She didn't even know if she wanted to have a relationship—beyond the one that centered around a child, of course. Sometimes she did and sometimes she didn't. He was so gorgeous—too gorgeous. Zeb wasn't the kind of guy she normally went for; he was cool and smooth. Plus, he was a Beaumont. As a collective, they weren't known for being the most faithful of husbands.

That was unfair to Chadwick. But it wasn't unfair enough to Hardwick.

Fidelity aside, she had absolutely no idea if Zeb could be the kind of father she wanted her child to have. It wasn't that her own father, Carl Johnson, was perfect—he wasn't. But he cared. He had
always
cared for Casey, fighting for her and protecting her and encouraging her to do things that other people wouldn't have supported.

That was what she wanted. She wanted to do that for her and for this child.

Based on Zeb's reaction in the office earlier? She didn't have a lot of faith.

Casey had not been the best of friends with Chadwick Beaumont. They had been coworkers who got along well, and he'd never seen her as anything more than one of the guys. Which was fine. But she knew all of the office gossip—he had fallen in love with his assistant just as Serena Chase had gotten pregnant with someone else's baby. He had given up the company for her and adopted the baby girl as his own. Hell, even Ethan Logan—who had not understood a damned thing about beer—had given up the company for Frances Beaumont because they'd fallen in love.

Zeb's entire reason for being in Denver was the brewery.

Besides, she didn't want him to give it up. In fact, she preferred not to give it up, either. She had no idea what the company's maternity-leave policy looked like, though. She didn't know if Larry could handle the production lines while she was away. And after the leave was over, she didn't know how she would be a working mother with a newborn.

She didn't know if she would have to make it work herself or if she'd have help. And she still didn't know what she wanted that help to look like. But she didn't want to give up her job. She'd worked years to earn her place at the brewery's table. She loved being a brewmaster. It was who she was.

She was running a little bit late by the time she made it to the mansion where Zeb had set up shop. As she got out of her car, she realized her hands were shaking. Okay, everything was shaking. Was it too early to start blaming things on hormones? God, she had no idea. She hadn't spent a lot of time around babies and small children growing up. Other girls got jobs as babysitters. She went to work as an electrical assistant for her father. Small children were a mystery to her.

Oh, God.
And now she was going to have one.

Stuck in this tornado of thoughts, she rang the bell. She knew she needed to tell Zeb what she wanted. Hadn't she resolved that she was going to do better at that? Okay, that resolution had been specifically about sex—but the concept held. Men were not mind readers. She needed to tell him what she wanted to happen here.

All she had to do in the next thirty seconds was figure out what that was.

It wasn't even thirty seconds before the door opened and there stood Zeb, looking nothing like the CEO she'd seen in the office just a few hours ago. But he didn't look like the sports fan that she'd gone on an almost date with, either. He was something in the middle. His loose-fitting black T-shirt hinted at his muscles, instead of clinging to them. It made him look softer. Easier to be around. God, how she needed him to be easier right now.

“Hi,” she croaked. She cleared her throat and tried to smile.

“Come in,” he said in a gentle voice. Which was, all things considered, a step up from this morning's reaction.

He shut the door behind her and then led her through the house. It was massive, a maze of rooms and parlors and stairs. He led her to a room that could best be described as a study—floor-to-ceiling bookcases, a plush Persian rug, heavy leather furniture and a fireplace. It was ornate, in a manly sort of way. And, thankfully, it was empty.

Zeb shut the door behind her and then they were alone. She couldn't bring herself to sit—she had too much nervous energy. She forced herself to stand in the middle of the room. “This is nice.”

“Jamal can take the credit.” Zeb gave her a long look and then he walked toward her. She hadn't actually seen him for several weeks—outside of this morning, of course. Was it possible she had forgotten how intense it was being in Zeb Richards's sights? “How are you?” he asked as he got near.

“Well, I'm pregnant.”

He took another step closer and she tensed. Right about now it would be great if she could figure out what she wanted. “I don't mean this to sound callous,” he said, lifting his hands in what looked a hell of a lot like surrender, “but I thought you said you were on the Pill?”

“I am. I mean, I was. I diagnosed myself via the internet—these things can...happen. It's something called breakthrough ovulation, apparently.” He was another step closer and even though neither of them were making any broad declarations of love, her body was responding to his nearness all the same.

She could feel a prickle of heat starting low on her back and working its way up to her neck. Her cheeks were flushing and, God help her, all she wanted was for him to wrap his arms around her and tell her that everything was going to be all right.

And then, amazingly, that was exactly what happened. Zeb reached her and folded his strong arms around her and pulled her against the muscles of his chest and held her. “These things just happen, huh?”

With a sigh, she sank into his arms. This probably wasn't a good idea. But then, anything involving her touching Zeb Richards was probably a bad idea. Because once she started touching him, it was just too damn hard to stop. “Yeah.”

“I'm sorry it happened to you.”

She needed to hear that—but what killed her was the sincerity in his voice. Her eyes began to water. Oh, no—she didn't want to cry. She wasn't a crier. Really. She was definitely going to blame that one on the hormones.

“What are we going to do?” she asked. “I haven't seen you in weeks. We had one almost date and everything about it was great except that it ended...awkwardly. And since then...”

“Since then,” he said as she could feel his voice rumbling deep out of his chest. It shouldn't have been soothing, dammit. She wanted to keep her wits about her, but he was lulling her into a sense of warmth and security. “Since then I've thought of you constantly. I wanted to see you but I got the feeling you might not have reciprocated that desire.”

What?
“Is that why you've been sending me emails every day?” She leaned back and looked up at him. “Asking for status reports?”

Oh, God, that blush was going to be the death of her. If there was one thing she knew, it was that an adorable Zeb Richards was an irresistible Zeb Richards. “You said at work that it was all about the beer. So I was trying to keep it professional.”

Even as he said it, though, he was backing her up until they reached one of the overstuffed leather couches. Then he was pulling her down onto his lap and curling his arms around her and holding her tight. “But we're not at work right now, are we?”

She sighed into him. “No, we're not. We can't even claim that this is a corporate outing.”

He chuckled and ran his hand up and down her back. She leaned into his touch because it was what she wanted. And she hadn't even had to ask for it. She let herself relax into him and wrapped her arms around his neck. “What are we going to do, Zeb?”

His hand kept moving up and down and he began rubbing his other hand along the side of her thigh. “I'm going to take care of you,” he said, his voice soft and close to her ear.

God, it was what she needed to hear. She knew she was strong and independent. She lived her life on her own terms. She'd gotten the job she wanted and a nice place close to the ballpark. She paid her bills on time and managed to sock some away for retirement.

But this? Suddenly, her life was not exactly her own anymore and she didn't know how to deal with it.

“There's something between us,” Zeb said, his breath caressing her cheek. She turned her face toward him. “I feel it. When I'm around you...” He cupped her face in his hands. “I could fall for you.”

Her heart began to pound. “I feel it, too,” she whispered, her lips moving against his. “I'm not supposed to go for someone like you. You're my boss and everything about this is wrong. So why can't I help myself?”

“I don't know. But I don't think I want you to.”

And then he was kissing her. Unlike the first time, which had been hurried and frantic, this was everything she dreamed a kiss could be. Slowly, his lips moved over hers as he kissed the corner of her mouth and then ran his tongue along her lower lip.

If she'd been able to help herself, she wouldn't have opened her lips for him, wouldn't have drawn his tongue into her mouth, wouldn't have run her hands over his hair. If she'd been able to help herself at all, she wouldn't have moaned into his mouth when he nipped at her lip, her neck, her earlobe.

“I want you in a bed this time,” he said when she skimmed her hands over his chest and went to grab the hem of his shirt. “I want to strip you bare and lay you out and I want to show you exactly what I can do for you.”

“Yes,” she gasped. And then she gasped again when he stood, lifting her in his arms as if she weighed next to nothing.

“Casey,” he said as he stood there, holding her. His gaze stroked over her face. “Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?”