Skin Deep by Pamela Clare

so that what had happened to her wouldn’t happen to anyone else. But with past felonies, she would almost certainly be denied admittance to the bar, even if she passed the bar exam with flying colors.
    On the mantel, a clock chimed, drawing Megan’s gaze.
    Ten.
    The money drop.
    Worries she’d tried to set aside through the evening rushed back at her.
    Please stay safe, Marc! Keep everyone safe.
    Nate took her hand, gave it a squeeze. “Your brother knows what he’s doing. He’ll be all right. I just hope they get the bastards.”
    “So do I.”
    “How long has this Donny asshole been stalking you? Why did he choose you? Who is he anyway?”
    “He’s been stalking me for almost three years now.” Megan would have given almost anything in that moment not to answer the second part of Nate’s question, but she couldn’t ignore him or lie. “He’s… He’s Emily’s father.”

CHAPTER 7
     
    D onny Lee Thomas was Emily’s father.
    Working in the pre-dawn dark, Nate lowered the snowplow on the front of his Ford F-150, put the truck into gear and drove forward, punching through more than three feet of snow, the forcefulness of it only partly satisfying his need for aggression.
    What kind of man terrorized and attacked the mother of his child, tried to rob her, threatened to harm his own daughter?
    No, not a man. A monster.
    A man would have done all he could to make certain both mother and child were safe. A man would have provided his share of financial support. A man would have been a father to his child, even if he and the child’s mother weren’t together and hated each other’s guts.
    Nate could not wrap his mind around the fact that a bastard as revolting and fucked up as Donny could be Emily’s father. Nate had gotten a good look at him—rotten teeth, sallow, unhealthy skin, dark, greasy brown hair. There was no trace of him on that sweet little girl’s face.
    Haven’t you always said it’s more the dam than the sire that makes the foal?
    And that was the other thing.
    Nate couldn’t stand the thought that this son of a bitch had gotten his hands on Megan. It wasn’t jealousy he was feeling. Hell, he knew Megan wasn’t a virgin—and it wasn’t just the fact that she had a child that gave that away. Like everyone who’d read those articles in the Denver Independent, Nate knew how she’d lost her virginity. Nothing he’d ever read in a newspaper had sickened him more.
    Oh, Megan!
    He’d seen the shame on her face when she’d told him the truth about Donny. She hadn’t been able to look him in the eye. But he didn’t believe for one minute that she’d met Donny, gotten to know him, and decided he was something she wanted a piece of. Given Megan’s past, it was far more likely that he’d taken advantage of her in some way or forced himself on her.
    The thought had gnawed at Nate last night until he’d gotten up at almost two in the morning, gone down to his dad’s office, found the file on Marc Hunter and read through the articles about Megan again. None of the stories had mentioned Donny, but Nate was pretty certain he’d pieced it together.
    If Donny came any where near Megan again, Nate would rip him apart—balls, blood, and bones.
    Of course, it wasn’t just learning the truth about Donny that had kept Nate awake half the night. It was also the junk that hung about eight inches below his navel. How he could be so angry and so horny at the same time, he didn’t know. He’d had to beat one out before he’d finally been able to sleep.
    Kissing Megan had been such a bad idea. He hadn’t planned it. He’d just done it. And now he was paying for it.
    He probably owed the old man a thank you for barging in like that. Nate had been so caught up in the sweet taste of her that it was only after the kiss had ended that he’d realized he ought to have asked Megan how she felt about being kissed before locking lips with her. He’d given her a moment, trying to gauge her response