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He lifted a brow. “I was a really poor imitation of a good parent. I had no idea how to be a father figure to her at nineteen. Now I’m at an age where I could do a pretty decent job at it, and she’s too old to need me.”
“She’ll always need you. And she loves you so much. I could tell that just by looking at the two of you.”
He looked down, tracing his finger in the sand. “I just wish I hadn’t made so many mistakes.”
“Me too. The day I finally got to take Isla home I was so scared I thought about taking her back again. This tiny scrunched up thing was staring up at me like I should know what I was doing, and when she realized I didn’t she cried without stopping for hours. I cried, too, because I thought she hated me.”
His expression softened. “She was probably just hungry.”
Meghan laughed. “Yeah, I figured that out eventually. More than that, she wanted comfort. She’d had weeks in the NICU and that’s the only life she knew. She just needed to feel safe with me. To know that I had this, even if I was scared to death.”
His eyes flickered up. “You have got this. You’re a natural.” His pupils were dilated, despite the setting sun, making his gaze look dark and pointed. She felt herself flush at his gaze. Feeling the thrum of her pulse in her neck, and the tingling of her skin beneath her sweater.
“Meghan, I—” he began.
“Mommy! Look at this one.” Isla slid to a stop beside the blanket, holding out her hand. The lustrous white shell was huge – covering her hand completely. The inside of it was a pale pink, and it curled in spirals to a point. “Isn’t it pretty, Rich?”
He nodded. “It’s a milk conch. A snail once lived inside there.”
“It did? Where is it now?”
His eyes caught Meghan’s. “It probably found a new home somewhere else.”
She tried not to smile, because he was so sweet with Isla. They both knew it had died, but he wasn’t going to spoil her fun.
“Can I keep it?” she asked Meghan. “Or should I leave it, in case the snail comes back.”
“You can keep it.” Meghan told her. “It’ll be fine.”
Rich was looking at her again. She could tell from the warmth on her skin. If she was braver, she’d look back.
“Come on,” she said, getting to her knees. “Let’s start packing up before it gets dark.”
And before she did something she might come to regret later.
“Guess what?” Belle sounded excited. Rich leaned back on his sofa, running his hand through his hair. It was almost midnight, but he hadn’t bothered going to bed yet, knowing he wouldn’t sleep if he did.
He’d blame his evening swim in the Pacific if he didn’t know the real reason why he was so restless. It was getting harder to get Meghan out of his mind, and tonight’s talk on the beach didn’t help.
Whenever they were together he had the strangest feeling. It felt like he was home again, which was weird, because he’d been here all along.
It was just attraction. That was all. The fact was, since the clusterfuck with Carlyn he’d been put off dating. Meghan happened to be beautiful and funny and living next door. What warm blooded man wouldn’t be attracted to her.
“What?” he asked Belle, pulling his thoughts aside from the woman next door.
“Carlyn called and said it had all been a mix up. My show can go ahead as we planned.” Belle let out a long breath. “Isn’t that great? I can’t tell you how relieved I am.” She gave a little laugh. “I hope Carlyn doesn’t find out how much I’ve been cursing he
r.”
“That’s wonderful.” He tried to show some enthusiasm. This was what he’d wanted, after all. For his sister to have the show she’d dreamed of. That’s why his lawyer had sent Carlyn a letter this week, a letter that no doubt had led to her contacting Belle.
Whatever. It was done. The show would go on and then he could avoid Carlyn for the rest of his life.
And take Meghan to the show.
The thought of that made his skin tingle. So much more than it should. But he was a grown man, and he knew the difference between fantasy and reality. And Meghan was a fantasy, that was all. Somebody that warmed his blood at night, when nobody else could see him.
He could handle that.
