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“He’s very nice.”
Beth stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. Maybe he had. Eric took a bite of pie.
“How can you eat?”
He set down the fork when he saw the slight green tinge to her face. “So, your parents don’t know?”
“Know what?”
“About the White Orchid?”
She covered her pale face with her hands and took a deep breath. “My mom knows. But not my dad.”
Eric thought of the man’s perfect posture and elegant suit. The jaunty hat and manicured fingernails. “I think that’s probably a good thing.”
She dropped her hands, her eyes wide with surprise. “Do you?”
“I’m not saying you should hide it, but I can understand why it seems like a good idea.”
“You don’t think I’m a horrible person?”
“Do you think he’d want to know?”
“No,” she said quickly. “I don’t. But I can’t honestly say I’ve lied for his sake. My mom doesn’t think I should tell him, but I feel so guilty.”
“And relieved?” he prompted, understanding perfectly.
“Yes.” Her shoulders slumped. “And relieved that I can say it’s my mom’s idea.”
“Come on. Eat your pie. The ice cream is melting.”
Beth didn’t reach for the pie, she just set her hands on the table and looked at him. “You’re really nice, you know that?”
Eric cleared his throat and picked up his fork. He wasn’t nice at all. Sure, he almost always did the right thing, but it was rarely because he wanted to. It was because he felt he should. And he was still haunted by what his sister had told him a few months ago.
When she was fourteen, only weeks into mourning her parents’ deaths, she’d come downstairs to find Eric sharing a beer with a friend. And Eric had said something horrible. And she’d overheard it and never said a word. Of course, I’d walk away if I could. But I don’t have a choice.
He wanted to put his fist through a wall every time he thought of it. Such a small thing to say. And so cruel. And the worst part of it was that he’d meant every word. Tessa had recognized the truth in his voice and lived each day with the fear that he might leave. If things got too tough. If she got bad grades. If Jamie pissed him off. She’d honestly thought that Eric might pick up and run. And sometimes he’d damn well wanted to.
So, no, he wasn’t a nice guy. He was just a guy trying desperately to be as good as the man who’d adopted him and given him the Donovan name. Eric had hoped he’d grown into Michael Donovan’s shoes, but he’d long ago realized he never would.
Beth finally picked up her fork and took a small bite of pie. Then another. Eric was distracted from his brooding by the memory of the last time they’d shared a dessert. She’d seemed unattainable then. A dark beauty whose sexual promise surrounded her like an aura. He’d watched her eat just as she was doing now. Delicate bites. The flash of a tongue. The fantasy of that mouth.
She wasn’t unattainable now. Now he knew how to make her come. With his hands. And his mouth. And his cock.
But it wasn’t just that. He’d cracked a little of her mystery tonight. She wasn’t a sexual goddess sprung whole from Zeus’s head. Tonight, Eric had gotten a glimpse of the girl she’d once been, and a hint at the woman she was now.
“So you haven’t taken any men home to meet your parents?” he asked.
Beth’s fork froze halfway to the pie. “No.”
“Nothing serious?”
“Not really. And I don’t usually—” She looked startled by her own words and bit them off.
“Don’t usually what?”
She cleared her throat. “We talked about this at the hotel. I don’t usually date men like you.”
