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“My mother is unusual.”
So was she. Unusual and unique in a way he’d never allowed himself to notice before. Never allowed himself to appreciate before.
Now that he wasn’t looking at her with his preconceived notion that all psychics were frauds, he could see an individual person with feelings and emotions and a life he would have never imagined. And he was shocked to realize all the feelings swirling around in his head and heart right now had nothing to do with wanting her so bad he was still semi-hard.
Desire still simmered on the back burner—it always had with her—but now he was finally getting a glimpse of the woman his brother and family loved so much, and he genuinely liked her. The more time he spent with her, the more he wanted to spend with her so he could learn as much as possible.
“How did your mother help you start your shop?” he asked.
“She didn’t directly help—that would involve being in my life. No, her help came in the form of encouraging me to open myself up again. Stop suppressing who I am, listen to my spirit guides, and channel the energy that flows around me, and through me. Reconnecting with my abilities led me here.”
A couple of weeks ago, those words would’ve sounded so hokey. They still sounded odd, but he no longer felt the need to cut her off at the knees because of his self-righteous anger over her belief.
“Is your mother a psychic, too?”
She set her fork down and wiped her mouth before setting her napkin on her empty plate while pushing it aside. “Honestly, I don’t know for sure. She’s one of the few people I can’t read.”
The last time she’d said that had been about him. He’d assumed it was an excuse because she was afraid he’d be able to spot her scam, or that maybe she wasn’t talking straight because she was drunk. But now he recalled her saying the same about her mother that night, too.
So, did that make him special, or not special enough?
Whichever it was, being in the same category as the thieving mother she despised turned his stomach. Until a couple weeks ago, he’d put himself in that group. Now he wanted out.
Done with his meal, Loyal took his plate and hers and rose to toss them in the garbage. “Have you ever asked her?”
He caught her shrug when he turned back to the table.
“Well, she acts like she is, so I’ve always assumed so.”
“Acts?”
As if realizing how that had sounded, she grimaced. “Like I said, I can’t really read her. But, she has to be, otherwise where else would I have gotten it from?”
“Is being psychic hereditary?”
“It can be. Anyways, it wouldn’t matter if I asked her or not, because I wouldn’t believe a word that came out of her mouth.”
He had a gut feeling the woman was just really good at being an evil bitch who took advantage of her daughter who only wanted someone in her family to love and accept her. No wonder she’d fallen for his. Oddly enough, Merit flashed in his mind, and how just once, he wanted their dad to ask him for something—anything it had sounded like.
But then Roxanna stood up and leaned over the table to put covers on the leftovers. The second his gaze traced the curve of her hips, his younger brother was instantly forgotten.
She stacked the four containers on top of one another then set them back in the bag. “You’re going to be eating Italian for a week.”
Normally, he didn’t eat leftovers. He never ordered so much that he had leftovers. “You got a fridge in the back?”
“Yes.”
“Then we’ll have lunch tomorrow.”
She swiveled around on her boot heel. “We?”
“I’m a genius when it comes to numbers, Rox, but something tells me I’m going to need more than one night to straighten out your books.”
The moment the words were out of his mouth, his mind went straight to his warning—or promise?—in the hall outside the ballroom the night before. Judging by the fiery blush on her cheeks, her mind went to the same exact place.
You’re going to beg me to do it again and again.
Lord help him, he might be the one who ended up begging—even knowing full well how much he could hurt her.
