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Those blue eyes drifted to his and then bounced away. “New Year’s Day. She showed up on my patio at dawn, and yes, she’s the reason you woke up alone that morning. I got dressed, and got her gone before she could do any damage.”
He wrapped his free arm around her waist, and pulled her closer. “What kind of damage would she do?”
“Make a scene.” She sighed and sagged against him. “Embarrass me. Embarrass you…”
“I’m not easily embarrassed, Jailbait. You shouldn’t be either. She may embarrass herself, but it’s got nothing to do with you.”
“Says the man standing in the shelter of a respectable family tree.”
“Those limbs cast a shadow—not one I’m ashamed of, most of the time—but I’ve worked hard to establish my own reputation, and be judged by my own accomplishments. I extend the same courtesy. Nothing your mother says or does impacts my view of you. I draw conclusions about people based on who they are, not the names listed on their birth certificate.” He let the words sink in for a moment, then asked, “What did your mother want?”
“Same thing she always wants. Money.” A hard laugh punctuated the statement. Two angry slashes of red stained her cheeks. “I hadn’t seen her in a year and a half, and she showed up on New Year’s Day to shake me down.”
“How much did you give her?”
She replied after the barest of pauses. “Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
She stared at a point over his shoulder. “I gave her a ride to the train station. Of course she lifted the forty bucks I had in my wallet somewhere along the way, but really, that’s on me. I should have seen it coming.”
He could see she was holding something back. He knew the signs—guarded tone of voice, rigid spine, pulse fluttering at the base of her throat. But he didn’t press. Maybe it had been more than forty dollars, or her mom had helped herself to a credit card, too. Whatever it was, it was done. His heart broke for her. She’d gotten a raw deal in the family department. “Idiot,” he said, knowing she’d recognize sarcasm when she heard it.
“Yeah. I’m a fucking idiot.” She blew out a breath and gave him a tired smile. “That’s what she loves about me.”
He tightened his arm and drew her against him. There was much to love about her, and the fact that her mother has always been too wrapped up in her own selfish dramas to realize it made Denise Peterson the fucking idiot. “The only idiotic thing you do is think you need to deal with her on your own.”
She didn’t. Not as long as he had anything to say about it.
“Booker, she’s my mom, which makes her my problem.”
“That’s not true. If she shows up at your home or business and causes a scene, she’s disturbing the peace and that makes her my problem. If she refuses to leave, she’s trespassing. Again, my problem. Likewise if she steals from you. You’re not responsible for her, and you’re not the right person to deal with her. The next time she contacts you, let me know, okay?”
She blinked up at him, clearly taken aback by the request. “I—all right.”
“Good. When it comes to family, nobody should have to go it alone. Including me. Are you free tomorrow night?”
“Yes.” Belatedly, she shot him a cautious look. “Why?”
“Date number two.”
“Have you lost your mind? Booker, I don’t think this dating thing is going to—”
“Fine. Don’t think of it as a date.”
She tipped her head. “What should I think of it as?”
“A chance to meet my mother wearing something other than handcuffs and a bathrobe.”
Chapter Eleven
Laurie cracked the passenger-side window of Booker’s car and lifted her face to the cool air, trying not to let the winding cobblestone driveway and claustrophobic canopy of bougainvillea turn her nervous flutters into a case of carsickness. Just then the driveway widened, and flattened, and the red-tiled, multi-tiered roofline of a massive Mediterranean-style villa rose into view. The bottom dropped out of her stomach.
“Jesus, your parents are rich.”
Booker stared ahead, concentrating on the drive, but incl
ined his head. The crisp, white collar of his dress shirt skimmed his neck, setting off his sun-bronzed skin and the dark blue of his suit jacket. “They manage.” He steered along the circling path to the front of the mansion and parked behind a line of vehicles that might just as easily have been showcased at some luxury car dealership. “Big or small, it’s still just a house.” He turned off the engine, and got out of the car.
