Читать книгу Her Little White Lie - Maisey Yates - Страница 9

PAIGE’S house was very like her. Bright, disordered and a bit manic. The living area was packed with things. Canvases, mannequins, bolts of fabric. There was a large bookshelf at the back wall filled with bins. Bins of beads, sequins and other things that sparkled. Her office had simply been the tip of the iceberg.

This was the glittery underbelly.

“Sorry about the mess,” she said. “You can just dump my stuff on the couch.” She set the baby’s car seat gently on the coffee table and bent, unbuckling the little girl from her seat, drawing her to her chest.

He looked away from the scene. Watching her with the baby reminded him of things. He wasn’t even sure what things exactly, because every time a piece of memory tried to push into his mind, he pushed it out.

He focused instead on trying to find a hook of some kind, something to hang her bag on at least.

“Just dump it,” she said, shifting Ana in her arms.

“I don’t … dump things,” he said tightly.

She rolled her eyes. “Then hold Ana while I do it.”

He drew back, discomfort tightening his throat. “I don’t hold babies.”

She rolled her eyes. “Pick one,” she said.

He set her purse on her kitchen counter and then went farther into the living room, depositing her fabric on another pile of fabric, and placing her sketchbook next to a bin that had paints and pencils in it.

That had some reason to it, at least.

She laughed. “You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t just dump it.”

“There’s nothing wrong with caring for what you have.”

“I do care for it.”

“How do you find everything in here?”

She cocked her head to the side and he caught sight of the flash of pink buried in her hair again. “Easily.” She put her hand on Ana’s back and patted her absently, pacing across the living room.

There was no denying that she looked at ease in her surroundings, even if he couldn’t fathom it. He needed order. A space for everything. A clear and obvious space for himself. He prized it, above almost everything else.

He cleared his throat. “What size ring do you wear?”

“Six,” she said, frowning. “Why?”

“You need one.”

“Well, I have rings. I can just wear one of those,” she said, waving her hand in dismissal.

“You do not have the sort of ring I would buy the woman I intended to marry.”

She paused her pacing. “Well, maybe you wouldn’t buy the sort of ring I would want.”

“We’ll come to a compromise, but your engagement ring must be up to my standards.”

She groaned and sank onto the couch, baby Ana still resting against her chest. “This is bizarre.”

“You’re the one who said we were engaged.”

“Yes. I know. And I knew the minute I said it I was in over my head but it just … popped out.”

For some reason, he didn’t doubt her. Probably because he was the least logical option to choose. If she’d been thinking, she would have chosen a different man. One who liked children and puppies and had some semblance of compassion.

He was not that man, and he knew it as well as everyone around him.

“I can’t lose her,” she said, her focus on the baby in her arms. “I can’t let one stupid mistake ruin her life. And mine.”

He looked at Paige, at the baby nestled against her, ignoring the piece of his brain that demanded he look away from the scene of maternal love. Ana took a deep breath, almost a sigh, that lifted her tiny shoulders and shook her whole little frame. She was content, at rest, against the woman she knew as her mother.

Unexpectedly, genuine concern wrenched his gut. It was foreign. Emotion, in general, was foreign to him. But this kind even more so.

“I understand,” he said. And he found that he did. “But that means this can’t just look real, it has to be real.”

It occurred to him, just as he spoke the words. The engagement wouldn’t be enough. It would have to be more. It would have to be marriage.

“You want to keep Ana.”

“More than anything,” she said.

“Then we have to be sure that the adoption is final before we go our separate ways. We need to get married, not just get engaged.”

She blinked twice. “Like … really get married?”

“I think a government office would be especially concerned with the legality of our union so we can’t very well jump over a broom on the beach.”

“But … but a real marriage?”

“Of course.”

Her blue eyes widened. “What do you mean by that?”

He almost laughed at the abject horror evident in her expression. Most women didn’t look horrified if it was implied they might sleep together; on the contrary, he was used to women being eager to accept the invitation or eager to seek him out.

Though he turned his share down. Far too many were out to reform the bad boy. To make the man with the heart of stone care, to reach him, save him, perhaps. Something that simply wasn’t possible.

He wasn’t a sadist and he had no interest in hurting people. He could easily take advantage of wide-eyed innocents with a desire to reform him. But he didn’t. He wouldn’t.

Still, he found Paige’s clear aversion to it interesting.

“I don’t mean in that way,” he said.

Her blue eyes widened further. “What way?” As if she had to prove her thoughts hadn’t even gotten near the bedroom door. She was a very cute, unconvincing liar.

“I don’t intend to sleep with you.” Even as he said it, he wondered if the underwear she had on beneath her clothes was a bright as the rest of her. Bright pink, showing hints of pale skin beneath delicate lace? He could imagine laying her down on white sheets, the filmy garments electric against the pristine backdrop.

Color flooded her cheeks and she looked down at the top of Ana’s head. “I … of course not. I mean … I never thought you did.”

He shouldn’t. He shouldn’t be toying with fantasies of it, either. He had to stay focused. He tightened down on the vein that seemed to bleed a never-ending flow of erotic, Paige-themed imagery through his brain.

“The look on your face said otherwise.”

“It was just an honest question. And anyway, you’re taking this a step deeper, and I’m entitled to ask some questions, and I just need to know what ‘real’ would mean to you. Other than the license, I guess.”

“What I mean by it being real, has to do with our activities outside the bedroom. You will need to accompany me to any events I might need to attend. We will have to get married, and you will have to move into my home. It has to look real.”

Dante didn’t like the idea of it. Not in the least. Of bringing this little rainbow whirlwind into his personal space. And not just Paige, but the baby, as well.

He gritted his teeth. His house was big. It would be fine. And it would be temporary. He didn’t question the decisions he made. He simply made them.

She nodded slowly. “I know. But I mean … it seems crazy and extreme.”

“It’s hardly extreme. Understand this, Paige, you’ve gotten us both into a bit of a dangerous game. There could be very real consequences if we’re caught in the lie. Very real for you, especially.”

She looked away, pulling her lush bottom lip between her teeth. “You’re right.”

He pulled his focus away from her mouth. “Of course I am. Do you have anything to drink?”

“Uh … there’s a box of wine in the fridge.”

Dante didn’t bother to keep the disapproval from showing on his face. “A box?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Sorry if that doesn’t meet with your standards. Maybe you can choose me some wine and a ring?”

“I’m not opposed to it. However, when you move into my home, there will be a wine selection waiting for you. And none of it will be boxed.”

“Well, la-dee-da,” she said, standing. “I’m going to put Ana in her crib. Do you think you can stand here for a minute and keep the internal judgment to a minimum?”

“I’ll do my best,” he said drily.

He watched her walk out of the room, his eyes drawn to the sway of her hips and the rounded curve of her butt. He was only human, and she was beautiful. Not his type in the least, and yet, it wasn’t the first time he’d noticed her.

He liked women who were cool. Contained. In both looks and manner. And Paige was none of those things, which made her both a fascination and impossible to ignore.

Paige returned a moment later, hands free, a wet spot on her shirt near her shoulder. “You have something on your shirt,” he said.

She looked down. “Oh. Yeah. She’s really drooly right now. No teeth to hold it back.”

He let out a long breath and sat down on the couch. “I think I will take some wine.”

The idea of having this woman and her explosion of belongings and a baby who was, by Paige’s description, drooly, in his home was enough to send a kick of anxiety through him.

Paige shrugged and headed to the kitchen, reaching up into a high cabinet and taking down two mismatched pieces of stemware. A green champagne flute and a clear wine goblet. Then she opened up the fridge and bent down, dispensing wine from the plastic tap that was jammed into the cardboard box, into the cups.

She kicked her shoes off and pushed them to the side as she walked to the couch, wineglasses in her hands. “I haven’t had anyone over in a long time. You know, other than the social worker.” She handed him the clear glass and moved to a chair that was positioned next to the couch. She sat down on her knees, her feet tucked up under her.

“In how long?”

Paige looked down into her wine. “Since Shyla died.”

“That must have been difficult.” It was hard for him to find the words you were supposed to say when people were grieving. Hard to know what they wanted to hear. He had experience dealing with death, and yet, he couldn’t remember what people had said to him. If they had said anything.

Paige took a sip of her wine and nodded. “Yes. She was my best friend. She and I moved to San Diego from Oregon together shortly after we graduated.”

“Why here?”

She shrugged. “It’s sunny? I don’t know. A chance to start over, I guess. Be new people. She met her boyfriend really soon after we got here, and she ended up moving in with him. Then she got pregnant and he freaked out. And I had her move in with me. It was crowded but great. And then … and then Ana was born and it was so fun to have her here. So amazing.” Paige looked down into her glass, tears sparkling on her lashes like shattered crystal. “We were making it work. The three of us.”

“How old are you, Paige?” he asked. She looked young. Beneath all the makeup, he was sure she looked like a girl who could still be in school. Her skin was smooth and pale, her blue eyes round, fringed with long, dark lashes. Her lips were full and pink, turned down at the corners, giving the illusion of a slight pout.

“Twenty-two.”

“You’re only twenty-two?” Ten years younger than he was. And yet she was willing to take on raising a child by herself. “Then why do you want to raise a child right now? You have so many years ahead of you. And don’t you want to get married?”

She shrugged. “Not really. And anyway, I guess … no this isn’t the ideal time for me to have a baby. And if you had asked me a few months ago if I was ready to have a baby, I would have told you no. But that would be a hypothetical baby. And Ana isn’t hypothetical. She’s here. And she doesn’t have anyone. Her birth mother is dead, my friend, my best friend is dead. The line on the birth certificate that should have a father’s name on it is blank. She needs me.”

“She needs anyone who will care for her. It doesn’t have to be you.” She flinched when he said the words.

“It does,” she said, her voice thin.

“Why?”

“I don’t know for sure if anyone else will love her like I do. And I … I knew Shyla. I knew her better than anyone, and she knew me. I’ll be able to tell her about her mother.” Paige’s throat convulsed. “And Shyla asked me to. She asked me to take care of her.”

That answer hit him hard in the chest and the memories he’d been pushing away from the moment they’d picked Ana up at the nursery crowded in, too fast and forceful for him to hold back anymore. He’d been much older than Ana when he’d lost his mother, so he remembered a lot on his own. Memories that he often wished he didn’t have. Of soft lullabies, gentle hands … and blood. In the end … so much blood.

He blinked and shook off the memory, reclaiming control, lifting the glass of wine to his lips and grimacing when the chilled, acrid liquid hit his tongue. There was no buzz on earth worth that. He set it back down on the table.

“I understand that.”

“It’s not just for her. It’s for me, too. I love her. Like … like she really is my baby. I saw her come into the world. I cared for her from the start, did the midnight feedings and visits to the doctor. I can’t … I can’t just let her go. Let her go to someone else. Someone who might not love her like I do. How could anyone love her like I do? I love her so much that sometimes it overwhelms me.”

Paige spoke with conviction, so much it vibrated from her petite frame. Dante couldn’t imagine emotion like that. It was so far beyond where he was now.

In truth, he couldn’t imagine a good emotion that strong. Fear, grief, the type that had the power to reduce a man to a quivering, raw mass of anguish … that he knew. But nothing like it since. Nothing that even came close. He was numb to feeling.

But he could sense hers, could feel them radiating off her. She didn’t hide them, didn’t sublimate them to try to deal with them. He doubted she could. She was too honest.

Well, except for that one little lie. The one he was currently enmeshed in.

“You cannot keep the pink in your hair,” he said. He needed to tone her down, to make her less distracting.

“What?” she sifted her fingers through her dark hair, the movement unconsciously sexy.

“I would hardly become engaged to a woman with pink hair.”

“Um … but you did. You totally just did.”

“I didn’t know about the pink stripe until recently. When I found out I nearly broke it off with you, so you promised to go to the hairdresser.”

“You can’t even see it if I have my hair down.”

“I saw it when we were in bed.” Again, the images of her skin against his sheets hit him hard.

Her cheeks colored a deep rose. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d made a woman blush, discounting Paige, and he certainly couldn’t remember ever finding it so fascinating.

“Uh … and that was your predominant thought? My pink hair? We did something wrong, in that case.” She looked away from him and took another long drink of her vile wine.

“Just color over it,” he said.

“I have an appointment in a few weeks. It’ll keep.”

“You seem to forget that I’m doing you a favor.”

“I didn’t think that was your predominant motivation. And anyway, I’m doing you a favor, too.”

He shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t know what the reaction will be. I’m curious to find out.”

“So, this is just a social experiment to you?”

“It’s interesting, yes. Ultimately though, it’s with a mind to improving business.”

“And deceiving people doesn’t bother you?”

“Does it bother you?”

She frowned. “Usually. But not now. Not for … not for Ana. I would do anything for her.”

“So I gathered.”

“I’m far more bothered by the fact that we’re actually … that we’ll be getting married.” She looked down, giving him a view of long, dark lashes spread over pale skin, and lids that were lined in emerald green, a sprinkling of golden glitter adding sparkle.

“If you can think of another way …”

She raised her focus, her expression open, honest. “I can’t. Nothing this certain.”

“Then don’t trouble yourself over it.”

She frowned. “I won’t. So, now what do we do?”

“I’ll text your ring size to Trevor and send him to procure something suitable. You will have it on your desk by lunch. Then … then we have a charity event to go to.”

“I don’t have anyone to watch Ana.”

“I’ll pay Genevieve to do it. She’s good with Ana, isn’t she?”

“Well, yes, but … I’ll have been away from her all day.”

“Leave early,” he said. “I’ll come here and pick you up before the event.”

“Why do you keep having answers to all of my problems?” she asked, her tone petulant.

“I would think that would be a good thing, especially since you have so many problems at the moment.”

She let out an exasperated sigh. “Granted.”

He stood, taking his glass of nearly untouched wine off the coffee table. “Good night, then. I’ll be by to pick you and Ana up at seven-thirty tomorrow morning.”

“Wait … pick me up?”

“You’re my woman now, Paige, and that comes with a certain set of expectations.”

She blinked. “I didn’t … I didn’t agree to this.”

“You brought me into this. That means you aren’t making all the rules anymore.” He turned and walked into the kitchen, pausing at the sink and dumping the contents of his glass down the drain. “That wine is unforgivable. I will teach you to like good wine.”

“And you’ll teach me to like good jewelry, and the sort of hair you deem ‘good.’ Tell me, Dante, what else will you teach me to like?” She crossed her arms beneath her breasts—rather generous breasts—and a rush of heat assailed him. Intense. Impossible to ignore.

The desire to lean in and trace her lips with his fingertip, with his tongue, was nearly too strong for him to overcome. But he would. He would keep control, as he always did.

He took one last, lingering look, at her pink lips. “That’s a very dangerous question, Paige,” he said. “Very dangerous.”