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And apparently Wentworth couldn’t stop himself from staring.
“Could you please hand me the robe?” she asked.
“Robe?” Wentworth appeared dazed. How much booze had he enjoyed at his little shindig?
“Behind you on the lounge chair,” she said. “If I come close to grab it, I’ll drip all over you.”
He hesitated, the hint of a smile playing on his lips. What was he thinking?
Finally, Wentworth reached behind him, grabbed the white terrycloth, then rose and carried it to her.
“Thanks.”
“You’re quite welcome.”
She took the robe from his hands, covered herself and tied the waist with a quick jerk. Wentworth returned to his seat and this time lifted his legs and leaned against the back. He continued to gaze at her as he took a sip of whatever was in his glass.
Still wary, but more at ease now that her boobs weren’t staring him in the face, she used the hood of the robe to squeeze water from her hair. She ought to go to her room, but curiosity about wherever he’d gone held her in place.
“You must have gone to some fancy soiree tonight.”
His dark eyes stared at her. “A benefit for—what was it?” He shrugged. “Alzheimer’s I believe was the disease of the night.”
“You’re home early,” she said. “Boring party?”
“You have no idea.”
His tone irritated her. Like she had no clue what a black-tie party for the super-rich would be like. He was right, of course, but the jerk didn’t need to rub it in.
“You don’t think I should have gone out,” he stated.
“None of my business,” she said.
“Believe me, I didn’t want to go. I hated to leave Jason.”
“So why did you?”
“I’d committed months ago. Tickets were sold based on my appearance.”
“Your son getting kidnapped seems a good enough excuse.”
“Yeah, you’d think so,” Wentworth murmured. “The old man disagreed.”
He looked away, gazing over the pool. Who the hell was the old man? Probably his father.
Wentworth’s expression was so mournful she almost felt sorry for him. Almost. At least he had a father to be mad at. She never even knew who hers was.
“Jase was asleep when I checked. Did he wake up while I was gone?” Wentworth asked.
“No,” Kelly said. “I checked on him a couple of times and he was snoozing away.”
Wentworth returned his focus to her. “Thank you.”
“Of course.”
This was her opportunity to leave. But she had questions, lots of them. And Wentworth seemed to be talkative for the first time, probably because of the booze. So she sat on the lounge chair next to his.
“How long ago did Jason’s mother die?”
“Six months. Car crash. She died instantly.”
Kelly sucked in a breath at his blunt reply. “I’m sorry. I know it’s rough when death comes unexpectedly.”
Wentworth gazed over the pool again. “Jason was in the car with her. He survived even though she didn’t bother to strap him into his car seat.”
Kelly’s sympathy for the dead mother dwindled at that bit of news. How the hell do you respond to such negligence?
“She was drunk,” he said. “Never felt a thing.”
Kelly smothered the curse that rose to her lips. This was Wentworth’s beloved dead wife, after all, mother of his child. Better tread carefully. “Was Jason badly hurt?”
“Head trauma.” Wentworth gazed at her again. “Which could partly explain his confusion about you. We’d been divorced for over a year and shared custody.”
“I’m sorry.” Uncomfortable with his frank revelations, Kelly wanted to get out of here. This was definitely none of her business. “I don’t mean to be intrusive. It’s just—”
“The whole messy story was all over the tabloids,” Wentworth said. “I’m surprised you don’t know the sordid details.”
“I’m not much of a tabloid fan,” she said.
He nodded and took another sip of booze. She could smell the strong fumes. Time to get out of here. History had taught her being around men that were too drunk could lead to big trouble.
