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“Neither am I, but ready or not, quicker than the blink of an eye, life happens. Make sure you have a support system. I mostly raised her alone. It’s hard.”
“Her father…”
“Wasn’t in the picture until she was seven.” I swallow. “We were both addicts when we met. I cleaned up the minute I found out I was pregnant. It took him another eight years to do the same.”
He nods. “Good for you for doing what was necessary for your daughter. You’re obviously a good mom.”
“I’ve had my good and bad moments as a parent, but I’m trying to be good for her now. Better than I’ve been in the past.”
“What does that mean?”
I’m silent for a moment. I’m not sure what it is about this guy that I’m considering confessing to him something Ihaven’t admitted to another soul, not even my best friends. Maybe it’s because we’re both unavailable. Maybe it’s because we’re both vulnerable.
“Let’s just say that I didn’t set a very good example for her with the type of men I dated throughout the years. They consisted of a long string of losers. I recently got married for the first time to the only truly decent man she’s ever seen me date. If I’m being honest, that’s the problem. He’s too decent. There’s nothing exciting about him. I think she’s a little messed up when it comes to relationships because of me. I wanted to show her stability, but I think I made a mistake. I love him, but I’m notin lovewith him. Does that make sense?”
He's silent for a moment. I appreciate that he doesn’t immediately try to make me feel better. “It does. I struggled in relationships for a long time. I didn’t get married until I was in my forties. I’m sorry for what you’re experiencing.”
“Me too, Beckett. Me too.”
He looks down at our hands, which I’m realizing are still linked. Neither of us seems to be in a rush to unlink them.
He turns my hand over, examining it more closely. “Do you paint?” He undoubtedly noticed the colorful array of paints in and around my nails that I couldn’t manage to scrub off in the shower tonight.
“I do. I’m an artist.”
His whole face lights up. “Really? I’m a collector. What’s your last name, Amanda? Maybe I know your work.”
“I doubt it. I’m not very successful. My last name is Tremaine, though I don’t paint under my real name. I use a pseudonym.”
“Tremaine? Did you know that was Cinderella’s last name?”
I smile. “I do, but most people don’t know that. I’ve always thought that’s why I believe in fairytales. My daughter likes to make fun of me for it. She’s a realist. I’m a dreamer.” I look down and mumble to myself, “Though I don’t think I ever found my Prince Charming.”
He touches my chin and lifts it so our eyes meet. “Do you know my last name, Amanda Tremaine?” He raises one eyebrow like he assumes I know it.
“No, why would I?”
He smirks at me as though me not knowing his name is amusing. “Windsor.”
“Like the royal family?”
He continues smirking. “Yes.Lotsof princes in that family.”
I look at his cocky smile. “Are you flirting with me, Beckett Windsor?”
He scoffs. “I wouldn’t even know what that looks like anymore. I haven’t dated since my wife, nor am I anywhere near ready to date again. But if I were, it wouldn’t be with a married woman, happily or not.” He brings my hand to his lips and kisses it. “Though if and when the time comes, I hope she looks just like you. You’re stunning.”
I’m honestly still not sure if he’s flirting with me or not, but it doesn’t matter. I am, in fact, a married woman. I hate myself for being attracted to him. Maybe it’s because I can’t have him.Or maybe it’s because he’s ridiculously handsome and kind.
Knowing that I might be treading in dangerous territory, I quickly finish the rest of my drink and stand. “I think it’s time for me to go,Beckett Windsor.”
He nods as he stands too. “It was truly a pleasure tomeet you,Amanda Tremaine.”
He leans over to kiss my cheek and lingers afterward, his face close to mine. My heart begins to beat faster. I hear his breathing pick up. I can smell the scotch on his breath and his intoxicating, expensive cologne. It’s a sexy combination.
Neither of us moves. We simply stand there, taking each other in. I need to step back, but I can’t seem to find the will. I place my hand on his hard, muscular chest. His heart is beating as fast as mine.
He eventually plants a soft kiss on the spot where my shoulder meets my neck. My body immediately ignites. His kiss on my neck does more for me than anything I’ve done with my husband. Ever. We’ve only been married a few weeks, but we’ve been together for years. Never have I reacted to his touch as I am to Beckett’s right now. I can feel the desire pooling between my legs.
