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The graze of their fingers as he handed her a glass of water detonated sparks all over her skin, making her hot and tingly everywhere. She took a healthy gulp, seeking to put out those small fires igniting in too many corners of her body.
‘I make the cakes for a fair few of the weddings that get held here, so I’m here often enough.’
‘You’ve clearly built a thriving business,’ Damon complimented her. ‘I thought your bakery was an impressive space.’
‘Thank you.’
Carrie knew what he was doing with his easy smiles and courteous conversation. He was trying to charm her into forgetting all about the previous day. But it wasn’t going to work. She wouldn’t fall for charm again—not after Nate—not even if being the focus of Damon’s clever mind and rich gaze was making her heart race. Making her remember all the reasons she’d wanted to go to bed with him in the first place.
Selecting a roll from the bread basket in the centre of the table, she began to spread a light layer of butter on it, needing to focus on something other than him and the heat sweeping across her skin as he continued to watch her.
‘I can’t help but be curious about that group of adolescents you had there when I arrived,’ he said, startling her with the unexpected query.
‘The kids? They’re from a children’s home down the coast. I host baking lessons for them every few weeks.’ She took another cooling sip of water. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Just curious.’ Damon stared at her, long and hard, as if she was a knot he couldn’t untangle. ‘It’s nice of you to do that.’
And because she was Sterling Randolph’s daughter he thought she’d be incapable of doing something nice?
‘It’s not that big a deal. I just show them the basics. I started it just to give them a few hours of fun, but some have really taken to baking. I actually ended up hiring one of the older girls for a few hours on weekends.’
‘I’m sure that to those kids, in the situation they’re in, it is a big deal. To have someone give them that time and attention, to show an interest in them and be willing to invest in them...it will mean a lot.’
Carrie tilted her head, now curious herself. ‘You say that like you have some experience of their situation?’
He lifted his shoulders in a nonchalant shrug. ‘An organisation I support focuses its efforts on young people in tough circumstances. Most of them, for various reasons, are alone in the world. A lot of what we try to do with is show them that the future doesn’t have to be hopeless, find them opportunities similar to what you’re offering. Something to give them practical skills or experience...something to interest or excite them.’
‘You said “we,”’ Carrie blurted, thinking aloud. ‘“A lot of whatwetry to do.” You’re involved personally with those kids?’
Damon nodded slowly. ‘I guess you’d call it big-brothering, or mentoring. Basically, I’m just someone to be there for them, to talk to them, give advice, offer support and ideas. You look surprised,’ he commented, his eyes raking over the expression she’d failed to keep neutral.
‘In my experience men of your status and success would much prefer to write a cheque with an extra zero on it than give anything of themselves.’
‘I can’t say that surprises me,’ he bit back, streaks of hot colour flaring in his eyes like a warning shot, because he knew exactly who she was referring to and did not like the comparison. ‘But I think you’ll find I bear very little resemblance to the men you’ve experienced in your life.’
Carrie had to clamp down on her tongue to keep from firing back that he’d resembled her father pretty spectacularly yesterday. Because it would only antagonise him. And she wasn’t there to fight, but to find some clarity. Either to confirm or dismiss her concern that he was woven from the same cloth as her father.
And learning that he didn’t just support charities financially but actually participated in their work made him as different from her father as it was possible to be. More than that, he cared about those kids he mentored—Carrie had heard it in his voice. And didn’t that say something about the type of man he was? The kind of father he would be?
It was certainly encouraging, but she needed more solid proof than that. She needed to know without a shadow of a doubt that she could rely on him and his word. That their child would be able to rely on him in a way she had never been able to depend on Sterling Randolph. And that was exactly what she was trying to discern as she matched his unflinching regard—almost as if, if she looked hard enough, she’d be able to see through to his heart.
A knock at the door signalling the arrival of their food pierced the terse silence, and without a word Damon rose to let the servers in. A few moments later they were gone again, and a feast of steaming dishes was spread across the table.
‘How have you been feeling?’ Damon asked as they began to eat. ‘With the pregnancy? I should have asked that sooner. I apologise for not doing so.’
Touched by the apology, and the query after her wellbeing, she felt the stiff line of her spine soften.
‘Not too bad. A little more tired than usual, and the morning sickness is disruptive. I’m not sure why it’s called morning sickness when it lasts all day, but I’m getting through it.’
‘You’re okay to be working?’
‘Of course. Besides, it’smybusiness. I need to be there to run it.’
‘Being on your feet all day is not a problem?’
‘Not at this stage of pregnancy, no.’
‘I only ask as you said you’re more tired than normal.’
