Free The Real Father (Twins) (Harlequin Superromance No. 927) by Kathleen O`Brien

her little girl,the child who obviously owned every square inch of her mother’s heart.
    But he had to wait. Somehow, he had to be patient.
    As a rule, patience didn’t come naturally to him. That had always been the one advantage to being the “bad” brother. Everyone expected Jackson to be outrageous, to say and do whatever he wanted, no matter who didn’t like it. He could think of a hundred people—most of them women—who would laugh out loud at the idea of Jackson troubling himself to resist temptation.
    But maybe those hundred skeptics didn’t know him quite as well as they thought they did. They had no idea that resisting Molly was not a new experience for Jackson. It was a way of life.
    â€œAnd speaking of the Planet Cuspian—as long as you’re here, is there any chance I could rope you into helping me with the decorations in Liza’s room? I’m in desperate need of someone tall and strong and brave to hang the third moon.” She grinned. “I can’t promise you won’t go home glittering like the Sugar Plum Fairy, but who knows? You might decide it’s a good look for you.”
    He cocked one eyebrow and thanked fate for seeing fit to reward him so quickly for his five seconds of patience. “We tall, strong, brave guys aren’t afraid of a little glitter. Especially when the Queen tells us she believes we can hang the moon.” He glanced toward the bedroom hallway. “But didn’t you say Liza was sleeping?”
    â€œThat’s okay. She sleeps like a stone. And I didpromise her that everything would be in place when she wakes up tomorrow.”
    He stood and held out his hand. “Then I’m yours, my Queen,” he said. “Take me to your leader.”
    When Molly eased open Liza’s door, Jackson stared, hardly able to believe the magic she had performed in that tiny, ordinary bedroom. A dozen large posters—drawings of castles and dragons and shooting stars, of tall green towers and fantastic red roses and sloping blue mountains—had turned the plain white walls into an elaborate stage set. Most, he guessed, had been created by Molly. He recognized her special eye for color and composition. But some of them had been enhanced by a younger, less sophisticated artist who was spectacularly liberal with glitter.
    Two huge golden globes hung in one corner of the room, swaying slightly in the breeze from the half-open window, catching the lamplight and tossing it out across the room in a luminous shimmer. Multicolored, gold-spangled scarves had been tied to the headboard of the little twin bed, drawn up to a point and attached to the wall to create a royal canopy.
    Under that canopy, honey-brushed by the light from the Cuspian moons, lay the princess. He looked for one long minute at the peaceful profile, the yellow hair splayed against the frilly pink pillowcase, the absurdly incongruous Atlanta Falcons nightshirt. But then his throat did something painful, and he couldn’t look anymore.
    He turned to Molly. “Does the moon go over there, with the others?”
    He had instinctively whispered, but when Molly answered she spoke at a nearly normal level. “Yep. It’s the biggest moon—so big it pulled the hook right out of the ceiling.” She walked to the corner, casually brushing the silky bangs from Liza’s forehead as she passed, and picked up a huge gold ball from the floor. She grinned sideways. “See? Cuspian’s dominant moon. It needs to be screwed into a beam, but this good old wood is really hard. It’s difficult to get enough leverage while I’m standing on the chair.”
    He almost laughed. The foam globe was as big as a beach ball and had been rather clumsily decorated with everything from the gold aisle at the craft store: gold spray paint, gold sequins, gold velvet ribbons, gold braided trim, rhinestones and, of course, glitter. But he could imagine