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He glances up and smiles tightly. He’s closing off. I sense he’s good at that. “Fine.”
“Oh, okay.”
We go on quietly, but then he sighs and lays his fork aside. His expression is so tight like he’s trying to hold a lot back. Or maybe he’s trying to break through his own walls.
“We can talk,” I tell him. “Maybe I’m going nuts, but it sort of seems like you want to.”
His smirk changes my mood right away. That’s how I know there’s something special here. The moment his lips curve upward, it’s like sunlight bursting through the bleak gray clouds. “You can read me just as easily as I can read you, eh, my perfect painter?”
The nickname lights me up. Maybe my social skills aren’t as terrible as I thought, at least regarding my man. “I think I’m getting the knack of it.”
“Go on, then.” He leans forward, giving me all his attention. It feels like a gift. I warn myself not to get too carried away, smitten, or hypnotized, but it’s difficult. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“I…”
“Don’t hesitate,” he growls. “Just say it, the first thing that comes into your head. I promise you won’t offend me.”
I swallow, weirdly remembering the date with James. All evening, I tried to work up the courage to say what was on my mind, but I couldn’t get over the block inside me. With his dad, though, it feels so much easier. Noteasy, but not impossible either.
“When you mentioned women having kids to trap people, I thought you were talking about yourself and your late wife—”
“We were never married,” he cuts in. “I’ve never been married. If I ever do, it will be the first time.”
Just like it will be for me… Is that why he said that? To hint that we’ll be sharing that particular first together?
“Okay, your late partner, then,” I say. “That’s what leaped to mind, but I could be wrong.”
I see him trying to close off again. It’s in his eyes and the tightening of his mouth, but then I also see him actively push away the instinct. I could spend so long just watching him, the light dancing in the silver of his hair, shimmering in the blue of his eyes. He’s a piece of living, breathing art.
“We had a one-night stand,” he replies. “It was the only one-night stand I ever had. I was drunk. I was young. Anyway, after, I went back to work. Three months later, I get a call. It’s Margot. She tells me she’s pregnant. She can’t do it alone. It’s either I help her or…” He swallows, clenching his fist around his steak knife. “Maybe I haven’t been the best father, but I couldn’t stand the idea of losing my baby, even before I knew him. A father’s duty is to protect his children. So I did what I thought—hoped—was the right thing. I stood by her. I got her a place. I gave her the chance to be a stay-at-home mom. I think she did her best, but she was too soft with James. She made him too damn entitled.”
He cuts off suddenly, as though he’s shocked by how much he’s shared.
Now, it’s my turn to reach across the table and touch his hand. I feel the heat burning through him. He clutches onto me tightly. “You did your best,” I murmur. “You were off saving the world.”
“Saving the world,” he repeats bitterly. “I did my part. I saved some people. I lost others.”
“Did you and Margot talk about how to raise James?”
“Yeah. I told her how I felt. She said I should quit my job if I cared that much.”
“That’s messed up,” I snap.
He leans back slightly, head tilted. Is it wrong that I love when he looks at me like this, as if I’m some sort of curiosity? I love fascinating him, intriguing him, challenging him. “You think so?” he asks. “Most people tended to agree with her.”
“Did she know what your job was when you… you know?”
“She did,” he says, grinning. “You can saysex, Samantha.”
Mysex tingles at that. My memories return to the table, his manhood between my legs pressing against my virgin entrance. I wanted it so badly. I was pissed at my body for not cooperating with my desire. Next time, what if it happens again? What if I can’t ever give him what he wants, whatIwant?
“Did she know?” I press.
He nods. “But it’s not like we planned the pregnancy.”
“Even so, she should’ve done her best to raise him in a way that made you both happy. Anyway, raising a spoiled kid is crazy to me. When I’m a mom, I’ll do my best to make them grateful and humble. I’m going to do my best to make them into good people. Or maybe help them become the good people they already are.”
“I couldn’t have put it better myself,” he says passionately. “I meant what I said before. You’re going to make anincrediblemother.” He pulls his hand away, frowning. “Sorry about this.”
