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“I KNOW you’re in there, you rat bastard!” Bailey yelled, pounding on the door as she did so. She shot a glance at little Anastasia in her stroller—the baby was still asleep, though probably not for long. But Bailey needed to reach Alex Kamarov worse than she needed Ana to sleep, so she kept pounding.

Dirty bastard. Knocked Kayla up and left her to have the baby by herself. Not that Bailey had known the first thing about it since her sister had taken off around six months ago with only a brief note.

Going to California with Melanie. I’ll call.

Kayla had not called, and Bailey had fretted the entire time. But postcards came every once in a while, and Kayla’s Facebook page sported the occasional photo. Maybe Bailey should have been more worried, but she was used to Kayla taking off. Her sister would be gone for a few weeks or a few months, but she always came back again. Usually when the money ran out and she had nothing left.

But this time she’d returned with a surprise. A bouncing-baby surprise. Bailey had opened the door just a week ago to Kayla and Ana. Kayla hadn’t wanted to tell her at first who the father was, but Bailey insisted. After a couple of days of pushing, she got a name.

Alex Kamarov was a Navy SEAL Kayla had met while waitressing at Buddy’s Bar & Grill. Bailey had only been in there a handful of times, mostly when Kayla was still working, and she knew the place was overrun with tall, muscled military types. They were also the type who often came to the Pink Palace and hooted the evening away. Bailey shuddered. To think one of them had touched her sister. Knocked her up and let her deal with it alone, damn him. It pissed Bailey off more than she could say.

Bailey had argued with Kayla about the baby, but for some reason Kayla wouldn’t hear of asking Alex for money. Three days after her revelation, Kayla left again, this time leaving a note that said she didn’t have time for a baby and didn’t want to be a mother. She knew Bailey would know what to do with little Ana.

Yeah, Bailey knew what to do all right. After she’d gotten over Kayla’s figurative roundhouse kick to the gut, which she still didn’t understand because she’d have sworn Kayla adored the kid the way she’d fussed over her, Bailey had piled the baby into her old Volkswagen, praying the whole time that today wasn’t the day it gave up the ghost for good, and puttered over to the house she’d found when she’d started searching for Alex Kamarov. She hoped he still lived here.

Ana made a noise and Bailey started to tap rather than pound. It had taken forever to get the kid to sleep, and Bailey didn’t want to have to start over again.

“I know you’re in there, you rat bastard,” she repeated as she tapped on the door repeatedly. “Answer the goddamn door!”

She lifted her hand to hit the door again, but it opened and she stumbled, colliding with a hard body. Bailey scrambled backward, trying to right herself without falling. The man—very tall, very broad, very sexy, with no shirt and a pair of boxers, not to mention a head of dark hair standing up as if he’d just gotten out of bed—squinted into the light.

Holy mother of—

“Are you Alex Kamarov?”

“Yeah. Why?”

His voice was gravelly with sleep, but it still managed to drip down her spine like honey. No, stop. He’s a bad man. A man who takes advantage of young women and leaves them high and dry.

“Because you need to step up and stop shirking your responsibilities, that’s why.”

“Lady, I don’t know who you are or what you’re talking about.”

Fury rolled through her. She reached for the stroller and turned it so he could see little Ana, who was thankfully still asleep.

“I’m talking about your baby, Alex. Your baby.”

His leaf-green eyes narrowed. She resolutely did not focus on the happy trail of dark hair leading down his abdomen and disappearing beneath the boxers. Eyes, Bailey. Look at the eyes.

They were pissed-off eyes. Sexy eyes.

“You expect me to believe that’s my kid? I don’t even know you, lady. You could be anybody, making shit up for reasons of your own.”

Holy ab muscles, she wanted to punch him. What kind of man knocked a woman up and didn’t even care? “How dare you? I am not making this up. Anastasia is yours.”

She wasn’t expecting the sudden grin that broke out on his face. It wasn’t immediate, but when it happened, it was not at all what she’d thought it would be. She’d expected an explosion, not a response that intimated she’d just told him a great joke.

“Sorry, babe,” he drawled, “but you’re going to have to prove it.”