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Only the loosened tie and undone top button of his white shirt hinted at the turmoil he must be going through.
The will could wait—whatever it held would not change now. And Connor looked like a train wreck.
“Would you like a cup of coffee?”
“God, I don’t know if I need more stimulants,” Connor muttered, leaning against the counter.
She gestured to the crowded countertop. “I’ve just made tea for myself. Would you like a cup?”
She took his grunt as assent, poured him a cup of tea from the little white teapot and topped the brew up with boiling water.
He glared into the cup she passed him. “What the hell is this?”
“Chamomile tea,” she said sweetly. “Lots of antioxidants. Good for you in times of stress.”
“I doubt it will help.” His startlingly pale eyes clashed with hers but the opacity in them caused Victoria’s heart to bump and her throat to contract with painful emotion. She wanted to offer him the same comfort she craved—an embrace that went beyond words—but she knew he wouldn’t accept it. Not from her.
And to be truthful she didn’t care much for him, either. But she felt empathy for him—in the same way she felt pity for herself. She’d lost the person she’d been most deeply bonded to in the world. And, hard as it was to imagine Rock-Man bonded to anyone, Michael had been fond of him. Judging by the emptiness in Connor’s eyes, somewhere in that cold heart he’d been fond of Michael, too.
The sadness—the futility of it all—made her want to weep.
But she couldn’t let herself forget that he was Dylan’s guardian now. Please God, he hadn’t been granted custody, too.
Connor wasn’t the right person to bring up Dylan—he was too hard. Yet, given the animosity between them, it would be no easy task convincing him she was the right person. But failure to do so was not an option.
Because even though she hadn’t carried him in her womb, Dylan had been conceived from her egg—he was her baby.
“Come and sit out here.” Picking up the two cups and saucers she led him to the small deck that opened off the living room, edged with planter boxes filled with primulas and purple pansies.
Without a word, Connor followed.
Once seated, he placed the leather document holder on the white wrought-iron table where she often ate breakfast, and zipped it open.
Unable to restrain herself, Victoria snatched up the will, scanning the headings as she flicked through the pages. And found the clause that spelled out guardianship and custody.
Four
F ury bubbled up inside Victoria. She threw the papers down on the table and her chair scraped back against the deck. “You told me you were Dylan’s guardian,” she accused.
“Coguardian.” Connor shrugged. “And we share custody, too. We need to discuss it.”
The coldhearted bastard had nearly given her heart failure. She’d thought she’d have to beg to be allowed a say in Dylan’s upbringing. All her unspoken reservations about her ability to be the kind of mother that Dylan needed came crashing in on her.
A gust of chilly wind cut through the fabric of her dress. She shivered. Crossing her arms, she rubbed her hands absently up and down her body. She couldn’t allow her insecurities to take hold. She had to believe in herself. Because she was the only parent Dylan had.
Joint custody and coguardianship. How on earth was that going to work? Damn, what had Suzy been thinking?
Or not thinking.
Clearly Suzy had not imagined dying. Suzy would not have thought how impractical it all was to juggle such a young baby between two households.
Sure, it had been done before. But Connor had no motive to cooperate—it wasn’t as if he was the baby’s father. Still, as a single man who ran a large business, he probably wouldn’t want to be hamstrung with a baby. Her heart lifted a little at the realization. In fact, he’d be glad to be rid of the burden.
Connor moved his chair a little nearer and Victoria tensed as she always did when he invaded her space. He stopped, too close now, and leaned toward her. Protectively she tightened her arms around herself. She could smell the crisp, lemony scent of his aftershave, which still lingered after the long day.
The light-gray eyes held her captive. “Victoria, if you don’t mind keeping Dylan for another day or so while I get a room ready and painted out for him, I’ll take him as soon as I can. Certainly by Thursday.”
The spell snapped. Don’t mind keeping Dylan? Then give him up to Connor in a day or two? That wasn’t happening!
Pushing her chair back, she leapt to her feet. “Dylan will live with me,” she cut in, desperate to get this settled as quickly as possible.
