Her hesitation was brief. She skirted the desk and settled in the chair next to him, her movements graceful and unhurried. Quiet dignity surrounded her like armor and something else that intrigued him. It was in her eyes. A soul-deep sadness, as if she grieved for something. He shrugged it off, chalking it up to the fact that she'd lost her husband two years earlier.

"Okay," he said in a low voice heavy with a challenge. "I'm listening."
She dropped her head for a moment. That was another of her girlhood traits. She'd always had a hard time looking him in the eye when they talked about intimate subjects. The word sex would have had her burying her face in her hands or his chest.

"Joey is your son."

"That, I'd figured out for myself. Does he know?"

"He knows that Les Covington was not his father. Les and I explained that to him when he was nine. Joey knows his real father is...he thinks you are still in prison."

That hit him in the gut. It was the truth, something the boy needed to know, but still, it burned him to think that the biggest thing his own son knew about him was that he'd done time.

"Why the..." he paused. Tiffany hated profanity. How many times in her girlhood had she reminded him of that fact, even making him promise to curtail his rough vocabulary around her? Well, he would keep the promise, not for her, but because the value of his word was all he had left of his honor.

"Why did you tell him that? I'm sure you could have found a better way to make him hate me. You didn't have to tag him with having a jailbird for a father."

Her head came up and she lifted her chin defiantly. "I believe that giving my son the truth is the best way of protecting him from untruths. He knows his father went to prison unfairly. He does not hate you."

Indignation flew like a flag over every word. It was clear that she didn't appreciate having her motives questioned, especially when it came to her son.

"Does he know that every man in that stinking prison says he's there unfairly? Do you really expect him to believe that in my case it's true? And even if he does, what difference will it make now?" Corey could not sit another minute, he had to move or explode. He sprang from his chair and circled to stand behind it. Her cautious eyes followed him.

"He believes it because I gave him proof."

Corey stopped breathing as his mind decoded the betrayal implied in her words. All this time, she'd had proof...? He struck with the speed of a coiled snake, taking just two strides to reach her chair. Grabbing both her arms, he yanked her to her feet, his trembling hands circling her throat and pushing her head up. He wanted her to see the firestorm he knew was in his eyes.

"Please, Cor...Corey." Her eyes begged him to back off, but it was ten seconds too late as the scent of her perfume rushed over him. The feel and smell of her, so familiar, so mind-tortuously painful, caused sweat to bead on his body. Desire, compounded by years of subjugation, burst through the bars of his restraint. He fought to push it back, to wipe out his weakness for this woman. A weakness that mocked him as a fireball of need burnt away the threads of his control, jumping every break he'd carefully set.

One hand moved purposefully up the back of her head. Silken threads of lavender-scented hair clung to his fingers. He used the advantage to lift her mouth to his. Her gasp gave him instant access to her moist inner chamber. In a shadowed corner of his mind, he knew she struggled to free herself from his hold. He wanted to free himself as well. Instead, one traitorous hand slipped to the curve of her waist and drew her closer.

A voice penetrated his rage, and a body rammed into his back.

"Get away from my Mother!"

The words, effective as flame retardant, left Corey standing in the ashes of his scorched emotions. For the boy's sake, he needed to do something and quick.

"It's okay, boy."

The fists pummeling Corey's back continued their attack. Corey gently brushed the back of his hand across Tiffany's cheek.

"Tiff, tell the boy it's going to be all right. Tell him to back away."

She nodded. "Joey..."

Her voice barely carried past her own lips. He would have to do this himself. He loosened his hold on her slowly. When he was sure she was steady, he let go of her. Then, he spun around, grabbed the boy by the back of his shirt, and jerked him an inch off the ground.

"Your mother is fine. Look for yourself." He swung him in the right direction. "Now stop struggling and I'll let you go."

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Poor Tiffany. She's got her hands full with this father and son duo.