Читать книгу Seduced By The Single Dad - Yvonne Lindsay, Christine Rimmer - Страница 13

Chapter Four

“No!” Chloe shouted right out loud, not even caring that she sounded like some crazy person, yelling at thin air. “No, you do not get to do that. You do not.” She tore the note in half and then in half again and she dropped it on the floor and stomped on it for good measure. They were divorced, for God’s sake. He had a new wife. And all she wanted from him for now and forever was never to see or hear from him again.

Her heart racing with a sick kind of fury that he’d dared to encroach on her new life where he had no business being, Chloe whipped the beautiful flowers from the vase. Dripping water across the counter and onto the floor, too, she dropped them in the trash compactor, shoved it shut and turned the motor on. The compactor rumbled. She felt way too much satisfaction as the machine crushed the bright blooms to a pulp.

Once the flowers were toast, she poured the water from the vase into the sink, whipped the compactor open again and dropped the vase on top of the mashed flowers. She ran the motor a second time, grinning like a madwoman when she heard that loud, scary pop that meant the vase was nothing but shards of broken glass. After that, she picked up the little bits of card, every one, threw them in with the shattered vase and the pulped flowers, took the plastic bag out of the compactor, lugged it out to the trash bin and threw it in.

Good riddance to bad trash.

She spent a while stewing, considering calling Ted and giving him a large piece of her mind.

But no. She wanted nothing to do with him and she certainly didn’t want to make contact with him again. That might just encourage him.

She wondered if the flowers and the creepy note could be considered the act of a stalker.

But then she reminded herself that Ted and his bride, Larissa, lived more than a thousand miles away in San Diego. It was one thing for Ted to have his assistant send her flowers just to freak her out, but something else again for him to show up on her doorstep in person.

Wasn’t going to happen. He was just being a jerk, an activity at which he excelled.

God. She had married him. How could she have been such an utter, complete fool?

Back in the house, she changed into jeans and a tank top. Then she took her time cooking an excellent dinner of fresh broiled trout with lemon butter, green beans and slivered almonds and her favorite salad of field greens, blueberries, Gorgonzola cheese and toasted walnuts, with a balsamic vinaigrette.

When it was ready, she set the table with her best dishes, lit a candle, poured herself a glass of really nice sauvignon blanc and sat down. She ate slowly, savoring every delicious bite.

A little later, she took a long scented bath and put on a comfy sleep shirt and shorts. Even after the bath, she was still buzzing with anger at the loser she’d once had the bad judgment to marry. Streaming a movie or reading a book was not going to settle her down. She needed a serious distraction.

So she went to the cozy room on the lower floor that she used as a home office and lost herself in the plans for Quinn’s house. Within a few minutes of sitting down at her desk, the only thing on her mind was the rooms taking shape in her imagination—and on her sketch pad. And the numbers coming together for each room, for the project as a whole. She worked for hours and hardly noticed the time passing.

When she finally went back upstairs to the main floor, it was almost midnight. Time for bed.

But she didn’t go to bed. It was cool out that evening. So she put on a big sweater over her sleep shirt, pulled on a pair of fluffy pink booties and went out onto her deck. It was something she had not done after dark since the night Quinn spent in her bed.

But she was doing it tonight.

She padded to the deck railing and stared down at Quinn’s house.

Was she actually expecting him to be watching, waiting for the moment when she wandered out under the stars?

Not really. It just felt...reassuring somehow. To gaze down at his house, to know that she would see him again, would share dinner with him on Friday night.

When the French doors opened and he emerged, she let out a laugh of pure delight and waved to signal him up.

He didn’t even hesitate, just went on down the steps at the side of his deck and forged up the hill. She went to meet him at the top of her stairs, feeling breathless and wonderful.

Tonight, he wore ripped old jeans, a white T-shirt that seemed to glow in the dark and the same moccasins he’d been wearing that other night. He said, “Love those furry boots.” When she laughed, he added, “I was getting worried you might never come outside.”

“And I was absolutely certain there was no way you might be glancing up to see if I was looking down for you.” She held out her hand. He took it. His skin was warm, his palm callous. Just his touch made her body sing. “Come sit with me?”

He looked at her as though she were the only other person in the world. “Whatever you want, Chloe.”

She tugged him over to the two chairs they’d sat in that other night and pulled him down beside her.

Silence.

But it was a good silence. They just sat there, staring out at the clear night and the distant mountains. A slight wind came up, rustling the nearby pines. And an owl hooted off in the shadows somewhere between his house and hers.

Finally, she said, “I met with Manny. I think it went well.”

“He says so, too.”

“And I’m in love with your daughter.”

He chuckled, a rough and tempting sound. “She has that effect on people. Manny’s tough, but Annabelle still manages to wrap him around her little finger. Truth is she rules the house. We just try to keep up with her.”

She looked over at him. “Has she asked you about her mother again?”

“Not yet.” He met her eyes through the shadows. “I know, I know. Wait until she asks. And then don’t load her up with more information than she’s ready for.”

“That’s the way.” She thought of the flowers she’d crushed in the compactor—and then pushed them out of her mind. Why ruin a lovely moment by bringing Ted into it?

Instead, she asked him how he had met Manny. He explained that the old ex-fighter had been his first professional trainer. “I met him at the first gym I walked into after leaving home. Downtown Gym, it was called, in Albuquerque. Manny ran the place and worked with the fighters who trained there. We got along. When I moved on, he went with me. I had a lot of trainers. And over time, Manny became more like my manager, I guess you could say. And kind of a cross between a best friend and a dad.” He shot her a warning look. “But don’t tell him I said that.”

She grinned. “Why not?”

“He already thinks he knows what’s best for me. If he ever heard I said I thought of him as a father, he’d never shut up with the advice and instructions.”

She softly advised, “But I’ll bet it would mean the world to him to know how you really feel.”

“He knows. Hearing it out loud would only make him more impossible to live with.” Quinn faked a dangerous scowl. “So keep your mouth shut.”

She laughed and held up both hands. “I swear I’ll never say a word.”

“Good.”

“So, how did he end up back here in Justice Creek with you and Annabelle?”

“I don’t think either of us really considered a different option. He moved in with me when Annabelle was a baby, to help out.”

When Annabelle was a baby...

So the little girl had been with her dad from the first? What had happened to the mother, the one Quinn said Annabelle would most likely never meet?

So many questions.

But Chloe had such a good feeling about the man beside her. She trusted him to tell her everything in his own good time.

He said, “When I decided to retire from the Octagon last year, Manny was already taking care of Annabelle full-time.” Chloe knew what the Octagon was: the eight-sided ring in which Ultimate Fighting Championship mixed-martial-arts fighters competed. During the rough years when she was still married to Ted, she’d watched more than one of Quinn’s televised UFC fights. It had lifted her spirits to see how far the wild, angry boy from her hometown had come. He continued, “I asked Manny to stick with me when I moved back home. He agreed right off, said he supposed it was about time he settled down. Annabelle’s a handful, but so far he’s managing.”

“From what I’ve seen, he’s great with her. He’s patient, encourages her to express herself and make some of her own decisions—but he stays in charge, too.”

“Yeah. He’s a champ with her, all right...” Quinn’s voice kind of trailed off and there was another silence, one somehow not as comfortable as the first.

She glanced over at him again and found him watching her. “Whatever it is, you might as well just say it.”

“I got a question, but I don’t want to freak you out.”

An unpleasant shiver traveled down the backs of her arms and she thought of Ted again. Because if her freaking out could be involved, it probably had to do with Ted.

Then again, how would Quinn know that? She’d mentioned her ex once, on the night that Quinn came to her bed. What she’d told him had been far from flattering to Ted, but she’d said nothing about how thinking of him made her want to crush flowers and break expensive vases.

“Ask me,” she said. “I can take it.” The words came out sounding so confident. She was proud of them.

“All right, then. Does your mama know you’re going out to dinner with me?”

Her mother. Of course. “No.”

“It’s Justice Creek, Chloe.”

“Meaning she will know?”

“I’d say the odds are better than fifty-fifty, wouldn’t you?”

Chloe kept her gaze steady on his. It was no hardship. Looking at him made her think of hot sex. And safety. And that combination really worked for her. “That girl—the mama’s girl I was in high school?”

“Yeah?”

She slanted him a teasing glance. “You’re not even going to argue that I was never a mama’s girl?”

“Hey. You called it, not me.”

And she made a low, rueful noise in her throat. “Yes, I did. And I was. But I’m not anymore. I tried living my life my mother’s way. It didn’t work for me. I’m all grown up now and my mother doesn’t get to tell me what to do or whom to spend my time with.”

One side of his beautiful mouth curved up then. It was a smirk, heavy on the irony, more like the old, dangerous, edgy Quinn from back in high school than the one she’d been getting to know lately. “Whom. Always so ladylike.”

“Don’t tease me. I’m serious.”

His smirk vanished. “So you’re admitting that your mother’s not gonna like it, you and me spending time together?”

“What I’m telling you is that she doesn’t have a say, so it doesn’t matter whether she likes it or not.”

He reached out his hand between their chairs. She put hers in it, and he lifted it to that wonderful mouth of his. Hot shivers cascaded down her arm and straight to the core of her, just at the feel of his soft lips against her skin. Then he rubbed his chin where his lips had been, teasing her with the rough brush of beard stubble, reminding her of their one night together, making her long to jump up and drag him inside.

But she didn’t.

A moment later, he let go of her hand. He started talking again—about his plans for Prime Sports. She told him how much she appreciated the chance to rework the interiors at his house and then she shared with him some of the ideas she and Manny had discussed for upgrading the kitchen and opening up the living-room space.

A couple of hours passed as they sat there talking quietly under the waning moon. She even told him a little about her failed marriage—no, not about the flowers, and not about the times Ted had struck her. This thing with Quinn was so new and sweet and heady. Sharing ugly stories about her ex would definitely dim the romantic glow. Instead, she tried to explain how disappointed she was in the way things had turned out.

“It hurts so much,” she confessed, “when something that should have been so right somehow goes all wrong. And I feel... I don’t know, less, I guess. Shamed, that I didn’t make better choices.”

He regarded her for several seconds in that steady way he had. “You said the other night that the guy was abusive...”

She held his gaze as she shook her head.

He frowned. “I’ll need more than a head shake to get what you’re trying to tell me.”

She let out a hard sigh. “Oh, Quinn. It’s a beautiful night. And you’re here beside me. It’s good, you and me, talking like this.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“I probably shouldn’t even have brought up my divorce.”

“Yeah, you should. Whatever you want to tell me, that’s what I want to hear.”

“That’s just it. I really don’t want to go into any of that old garbage right now.”

He gave her another of those long, thoughtful looks. And then, “All right.”

And just like that, he let it go.

How amazing. He let it go. She’d grown up with a mother who never let anything go. And Ted? He would hound a person to hell and back to find out something he wanted to know.

But not Quinn. She said she didn’t want to talk about it—and he just let it go. He said, “Whatever that story is, whatever happened in the past, you’re going to be fine.”

She made a low, rueful sound. “You’re sure about that, huh?”

And he nodded. “You’re brave and beautiful, Chloe—and not only on the outside. You’re beautiful in your heart, where it matters. I admire the hell out of you.”

Tears burned in her eyes at such praise. She blinked them away and whispered a soft, sincere “Thank you...”

By then, she really wanted to take him inside and spend a few more thrilling hours in his arms. But she felt somehow shyer now than that other night—shy and tentative.

And other than kissing her hand that one time, he’d made no move on her.

It was two in the morning when he said good-night. She stood at the railing watching him jog down the hill to his house, and felt disappointed in herself that she’d let him go without so much as a single shared kiss.

But then, he had asked her out. She would see him again on Friday night...

* * *

Friday evening, Quinn arrived five minutes early. “Better grab a scarf,” he warned.

She ran and got one, then followed him out across the breezeway and around the garage to the side parking space, where a gorgeous old convertible Buick coupe waited—top down, of course. With sidewalls so white they were blinding even in the shade.

“Wow.” She couldn’t resist gliding her palm over the glossy maroon paint. “It looks brand-new.” The bright chrome gleamed in the fading early-evening light. It had round vents on the front fenders and an enormous, toothy grille.

“It’s one of Carter’s rebuilds. A ’49 Buick Roadmaster.” Carter, Quinn’s oldest brother, designed and built custom cars. “I saw it at his shop a couple of weeks ago. Don’t know what came over me, but I wanted it. So I bought it.” He opened the door for her. She slid in onto the snow-white, tuck-and-roll bench seat. “Had him put seat belts in it, along with a decent sound system and power windows.” He was leaning on the open door, bending close to her, his gray suit jacket already off and slung over his shoulder, hanging by a finger.

She got a hint of his aftershave, which was manly and fresh. He looked so good, in a white shirt and gray slacks, with a dark blue tie. She thought about kissing him, and turned away to run her hand over the leather seat in an effort to distract herself from a sudden, vivid memory of how pliant and hot his lips felt pressed to hers. “It’s gorgeous,” she said, altogether too breathlessly.

“Yeah.” The single word seemed to dance along her nerve endings. She looked back up at him, and he grinned at her. And she just knew that he knew what she’d been thinking. “You look beautiful,” he said, his gaze taking in her little black dress and her double strand of pearls that her dad had given her when she graduated from high school. “So smooth.”

“Um, what?”

“You, Chloe. You’re smooth.”

“That’s good, I hope?”

“That is excellent. Buckle up now.” He shut the door as she tied her scarf over her hair.

He took her to the Sylvan Inn, which was a few miles southeast of town nestled in among the pines. The inn had a quiet atmosphere and great food.

“We used to come here when I was little,” she said, once they were settled with their tall goblets of ice water, hot bread and giant menus in the traditional Sylvan Inn blue leather cover with the fancy gold lettering on the front. “For special occasions. My dad loves their hammer steaks. So do I, as a matter of fact.”

“Good memories, then?”

“Very good.” She glanced up at him—and spotted a familiar face across the dining room. Chloe smiled. The tall, thin blonde smiled right back. She gave Chloe a jaunty wave and disappeared behind a potted plant.

“What’s up?” Quinn asked.

Chloe brushed a hand over the crisp white cuff of Quinn’s shirt. “Don’t look now, but we’ve been spotted by Monique Hightower. Did you know she works here?” They’d gone to school with Monique. The woman never met a secret she wouldn’t share with the whole town.

“Uh-oh.” He pretended to look worried. “Like I said the other night, it’s Justice Creek. You go out with me, everyone in town is bound to know.”

Now she brushed the back of his hand, which was warm and tan and dusted lightly with brown hair. It felt so good to touch him. She had to watch herself or she’d be all over the poor guy. “I hope you don’t mind that the gossip mill will be churning.”

“Me?” He gave a low chuckle. “I think I can deal with it.”

“Such a brave man...”

They shared one of those looks. Long. Intimate. Wonderful. Finally, he said, “Read your menu, Chloe.”

She closed the blue folder. “I did.”

“You know what you want?”

“Oh, yes, I do.” She said it slowly, with a lazy smile.

He warned low, “Keep looking at me like that and we won’t make it through the appetizer.”

But they did. They had it all. Appetizers, a nice bottle of cabernet, salad, hammer steaks with cheesy potatoes and a decadent chocolate dessert. And they took their sweet time about it.

Monique dropped by their table around nine, just after they’d been served their coffee and dessert. “Chloe. Quinn. What a surprise.”

Quinn asked, “So, how’s life treating you, Monique?”

“I’m getting by.” Monique tossed her topknot of curly blond hair and stuck her hands in the pockets of her black service apron. “When did you two start spending time together?”

Chloe sipped her coffee. “This is our first date. I’m having a fabulous time.”

Quinn said, “Chloe always had a thing for me, since way back in high school.”

Monique blinked three times in rapid succession. “Really?”

Chloe stifled a silly giggle and said with great seriousness. “I finally got up the nerve to tell him.” And to show him, as a matter of fact. “And then he asked me out. The rest could be history. I mean, if I play my cards right.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “But, Monique...”

Monique leaned a little closer. “What?”

“Don’t say a word to anyone.”

“Oh. Never. I would never tell a soul...” Translation: she couldn’t wait to tell the world. Monique asked about Prime Sports, and Quinn gave her a card good for a free visit and one class of her choice. And then she turned to Chloe again, her dark eyes sharply gleaming. “I was so surprised when you moved back to town. I mean, we all knew you were headed for great things. No one ever would have guessed you’d end up running back home to Justice Creek. I’m just so sorry that things didn’t work out for you.”

Six months ago, Chloe would have been shamed and infuriated by Monique’s barbed words and pretended concern. Or at the very least, embarrassed. At the moment, though, all she felt was amused. “Thanks, Monique. You’re all heart.”

Monique sighed heavily. Across the room, the manager who’d greeted them when they arrived had his eye on her. “Well, good to see you two. Gotta go.” She scuttled off.

Chloe took a bite of her delicious dessert. “Everything we told her will be all over town. Twenty-four hours—thirty-six, max.”

Quinn leaned closer and spoke low. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said that you had a thing for me in high school.”

She met his eyes directly and she couldn’t keep from grinning. “Are you kidding? I loved it. Not to mention it was the truth. If Monique Hightower’s going to be spreading rumors about us, they might as well be true.”

* * *

After their slow, wonderful meal, they returned to Chloe’s house.

Quinn eased the gorgeous old car into the space beside the garage and turned off the engine. “Are you up for a walk around the block?”

“Sure.” It was a nice night. “A walk would be great. We’ll work off some of that amazing dessert.”

He followed her inside and waited while she changed into flats. Then off they went, down the front steps and out to the street, where they strolled beneath the silver crescent of the moon.

Their development, Haltersham Heights, had no sidewalks. The houses were set back from the street, among the trees. Quinn stopped at a lot three doors down and across the street from Chloe’s. It had a For Sale sign at the curb with a big SOLD plate stuck on it. The large contemporary log and natural stone house could be seen, windows gleaming, through the trees.

“The sold sign went up a few weeks ago,” she said. “About time. This one’s been on the market for months.”

“I know. I bought it. Got a great price, too.”

She laughed—and then she realized he wasn’t kidding. “Wait a minute. You’re serious?”

“I am.” He put his hand over her fingers, where they curled around his arm. She’d barely had time to enjoy the flare of pleasure at how good his touch felt, when he said, “I bought it before I knew you would be fixing up my house. But it should work out great. We’re closing on this one Monday, so we can move in here next week. We’ll stay here while you renovate the other one—and not to get ahead of myself or anything, but once we move back to our house, you can start on this one. It’s the same story as the other one. Solid construction, but it’s begging to be brought into the twenty-first century. When you’re finished, I’ll sell it.”

She only stared.

“Chloe, your mouth’s hanging open.”

“And why wouldn’t it be? You’re too much.”

“Too much of what, exactly?”

“Well, let’s see. Quinn Bravo, world-champion cage fighter, fitness empire builder, real estate mogul...”

“That all sounds pretty good to me.”

“You must have made a fortune as a fighter, huh?”

“I did all right. The payout for winning a championship fight is a hefty one. And I landed some big-time endorsements, too.”

“I think I’m speechless, Quinn.”

He gave her his high school bad-boy smirk. “You’ll get over it. And the truth is, Prime Sports will never make much money unless my franchise plan pays off. The housing market’s rebounding nicely, though. I can make money in real estate.”

She admitted softly, “Start-ups aren’t easy, and I say that from experience. If you hire me for both of your houses, it will make a big difference for me. I really do need the business.”

“So you’ve got it. Everybody wins.”

She made a low, disbelieving sound. “As simple as that?”

His eyebrows drew together. “Why not?”

“I don’t know. I wouldn’t want to take advantage of you just because you, um, like me...”

He framed her face in his big, calloused hands. “Look at me.”

“Oh, I am.” She stared straight up into those soft aquamarine eyes and never wanted to look away. “I really am.”

“Are you telling me you can’t do the job?”

She stiffened and answered with heat, “Of course I can do the job.”

He chuckled then. “See? We got no problem here.”

Standing there in the darkness of her quiet street with his warm, rough hands cradling her cheeks, she decided he was right. “No, I guess we don’t.”

He lowered his head, until his sexy, plump lips were a hairbreadth from hers. He had lips like a girl’s, but the rest of him was all man. “I got a request, though.”

She longed for his kiss. Her heart was beating slow and deep. Sparks flared across her skin. And low in her belly, she seemed to be melting. “Oh, God. Anything.”

“Work with my brother’s company, Bravo Construction?”

She made herself focus on what he’d just asked of her—and it wasn’t easy, with those lips of his so close.

Use his brother’s company...

She’d left that possibility open-ended when she talked to Manny. But really, why not? Bravo Construction had a great reputation. She felt confident she could develop a solid working relationship with them. It could be good for everyone. “All right.”

His warm breath touched her lips. The guy was driving her crazy. “I already talked to my sister Nell—just paving the way. Nell says she’ll fit the project in the schedule and they can start work a week from Monday.”

“That’s quick.”

“Yeah. And I like to keep it in the family if I can.”

“I get that.” She tried really hard not to sound as breathless as she felt. “No problem. Bravo Construction it is.”

“Good, then.”

“Quinn...”

“Hmm?” A teasing light shone in his eyes. She realized he knew exactly what he was doing to her.

And she knew that she couldn’t take it anymore. She only had to lift herself up a fraction higher to get what she wanted. So she did. And it worked.

At last, he was kissing her.

* * *

“Chloe...” Quinn whispered her name right into her pretty mouth.

And then he let go of her arms—in order to pull her up nice and close. She tasted so good. Hot and wet.

And all of her, every graceful, sweetly scented inch of her, was so, so smooth.

Worth the endless, twelve-day wait since the last time he’d had his mouth on hers.

He lifted his head an inch. She let out a tiny moan, as though she couldn’t bear not to have their mouths fused together. He slanted his head the other way and drank that moan right off her sweet, sweet lips.

Those slender arms glided up his chest and then her soft hands were stroking his collar, caressing his neck, her slim fingers threading up into the close-trimmed hair at the nape of his neck. He scraped his tongue along the smooth edges of her teeth, pushing deeper, into all that wet sweetness.

Coffee. Wine. Chocolate.

Chloe.

There had been women in his life, maybe too many. Especially when he was first making his name in the Octagon. Women liked fighters. And they particularly liked fighters who won. For a while there he’d gotten carried away with all the attention. Beautiful women everywhere he turned, his for the taking.

But even an endless chain of gorgeous women got old after a while. He started to see that to most of them, he was just a cheap thrill. And he wanted to be more than that to someone.

He found he wanted heart in a woman. He wanted someone he could talk to. He wanted real, gut-deep integrity. He wanted truth. He wanted a powerful connection.

Oh, and yeah. Brains and a sense of humor, too.

It wasn’t that there weren’t women out there with all that. It was just that most of them had no interest in a guy who still couldn’t read past about fourth-grade level, a guy who got bloodied and battered for a living. Plus, when he was fighting, it ate up his life. He didn’t have time to go looking for the one for him.

And then along came Annabelle. Her life, her happiness, her chance to grow up and take on the world—suddenly that was what mattered to him. To raise his little girl up right was more than enough. He didn’t need that special woman, after all.

Or so he’d believed until twelve nights ago.

Until Chloe led him into her house and straight to her bed.

Chloe.

She had it all—everything he’d already accepted he wasn’t going to find. And no one had ever tasted so good.

Reluctantly, he broke the kiss.

She stared up at him, eyes full of stars. “Come back to my house? Be with me tonight?”

“Damn, Chloe. I was afraid you’d never ask.”

* * *

Her belly all aflutter with anticipation, her pulse a rushing sound in her ears and her cheeks feeling way hotter than they should, Chloe ushered Quinn in her front door and then turned to engage the lock and reset the alarm. “You can hang your jacket there.” She gestured at the coatrack. He hung up his jacket, and she grabbed his hand. “This way...”

But he held back, tugging her close, into the hard, hot circle of his arms. He kissed her, a slow one that had her knees going weak and a meltdown happening in her core.

However, when he lifted his head that time, his eyes were way too serious.

She frowned, suddenly struck with concern for whatever might be bothering him. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

He pulled her close again. And he whispered in her ear, “I want to take all your clothes off and see you naked. I want to kiss every inch of you.”

She sighed. “We are definitely on the same page about that.”

“But...”

She pushed him away enough that she could see his eyes. “Oh, no. There is something. What?”

“Don’t look so worried.” With his big thumb, he smoothed the scrunched place between her eyebrows. “It’s nothing bad. I just have some things I want to say first.”

Would she rather be kissing him? Absolutely. But then again, whatever he wanted to say, she wanted to hear. “So...coffee or something?”

“Sure.”

She led him into the kitchen and whipped him up a quick cup, pouring cream in a little pitcher because she’d watched him at dinner and knew he took cream.

“Aren’t you having any?” he asked.

Her tummy was all fluttery, what with wondering what kind of thing he just had to say to her. Coffee would only make it worse. “Maybe later. How about the living area? It’s more comfortable there.”

“Good enough.” He poured in the cream, picked up his cup and followed her to the sofa.

They sat down together, and he set his cup on the coffee table. She folded her hands tightly in her lap. He’d said it was nothing awful, but he seemed so intense suddenly...

Was there going to be drama? Oh, she hoped not. She’d had enough drama to last her a lifetime, and then some.

He said, “There are things about me I want you to know.”

Uh-oh. She gulped down the giant lump in her throat and gave him a nod to continue.

“First, about Annabelle’s mother.”

Chloe realized she’d been holding her breath. She let it out slowly. Annabelle’s mother. Actually, she really wanted to know about Annabelle’s mother...

“Her name is Sandrine Cox. She’s an actress and model. We went out a few times. She got pregnant. She came to me, told me she was fairly certain it was my baby and she felt I had a right to know.”

Chloe studied his wonderful face. He seemed...relaxed when he talked about his little girl’s mother. Relaxed and accepting. “You believed her.”

“Yeah. Sandrine was always straight ahead about things. I believed that she believed the baby was mine. Then later, right after Annabelle was born, a paternity test proved Sandrine was right. Annabelle’s mine. And I knew from the moment Sandrine told me she was pregnant that I wanted the baby. Sandrine didn’t. She didn’t want to be a mom. She liked her single life and she had a lot of ambition, a heavy focus on her career. I made her an offer. I would pay her a large lump sum to have the baby and then she would sign over all rights to me.”

“And that’s what happened?”

He nodded. “She kept her end of the bargain. I kept mine.”

“You haven’t heard from her since Annabelle was born?”

“No. I doubt I ever will.”

“But with something as important as a child, Quinn, you never know. Someday Annabelle’s mother might regret her choice, change her mind.”

“Anything’s possible.”

“And if she did come to you, if she wanted to meet Annabelle?”

“Can’t say for certain. If she was as honest and up-front as before, we would work something out so that she could know Annabelle and Annabelle could know her.”

Chloe liked his answer. It could be difficult for him to make room for his daughter’s mother in their lives. But it was the right thing. “That sounds good. For Annabelle, most of all. It’s very likely, as she grows to adulthood, that she’s going to want to know about her birth mother and meet her, if possible.”

“Maybe. But it’s like you told me that first night. I’m not going to borrow trouble. I’ll answer Annabelle’s questions and pay attention to the signals she gives me. And then take it from there.” He loosened his tie. “I didn’t want you to wonder anymore about how I ended up with sole custody of my little girl and no mother in sight.”

Tenderness washed through her—for him, for the kind of man he was. A good man. Honest. True-hearted. A man who would do what was right even if it wasn’t the best or easiest thing for him, personally.

She reached out and brushed his hand. “Let me...”

He sat so still, so watchful, as she undid the tie completely. It made a soft, slithering sound as she slipped it from around his neck. She laid it carefully over the arm of the sofa. Then she turned to him again and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his snowy dress shirt, smoothing the collar open, revealing the powerful column of his neck and the sharp black point of one of those intricate tattoos that covered his shoulder and twined halfway down his arm.

“Better?” she asked.

They shared a smile as he nodded. He said, “There’s more.”

She took his right hand and turned it over, revealing his cuff buttons. One by one, she undid them. “Tell me.”

“I’m dyslexic,” he said, his voice rougher than usual, freighted with something wary, something wounded. “You know what dyslexia is?”

“I think I do. I think I remember reading that it’s when a person has difficulty in learning to read or interpret words, letters and other symbols?”

“That’s pretty close to the generally accepted definition.”

She took his left hand and unbuttoned that cuff, too.

He spoke again. “Most people think dyslexia is what you just said. A learning disorder, period. It’s more. It’s a challenge, a tough one. But it’s a gift, too.” She sat with his hand in her lap, the buttons undone, drinking in every word, as he explained, “You remember how I was as a kid. Trouble. Always getting in fights. Everyone thought I was stupid because I couldn’t get the hang of reading. I hated school, hated being the slow kid. I acted out constantly. Only later did I figure out that my problem was I couldn’t learn the way most kids learn. A traditional school environment did nothing for me. I don’t get phonics, don’t get learning things in rote sequence. It completely overloads me. So I would lash out.”

She did remember that troubled boy so well. “You always seemed so angry.”

“You bet I was. By the time I was eleven, my mother was at the end of her rope with me. As a last-ditch effort to find something I could do well, she enrolled me in a karate class—and everything changed for me. For once, I got something, really got it. Yeah, I have to work my ass off to try and get the meaning out of a line of letters across a page. But I’d always been damn good at fighting. The way my brain is wired makes me more capable than most people of visualizing the moves of my opponents in advance. I see the whole picture, I guess you could say. And that makes me more willing to follow my instincts. So I was good at karate, and finally being good at something was damn motivating. It got me going, gave me hope. I was driven to excel.” He took her hand then and wove his fingers with hers.

It felt so good, her hand in his. She held on tight. “Answer me a question...”

“Name it.”

“You seemed nervous about telling me this. Were you?”

He squeezed her fingers. “Yeah, I was.”

“But I can’t see why you would be, not after the way your life’s worked out.”

“There’s more. And you need to hear it.”

She needed to hear it? She almost asked him why, but then decided that the whys could wait. “All right...”

“Dyslexia is often genetic.”

She frowned. “So you’re telling me that Annabelle is dyslexic?”

“No. So far, Annabelle shows none of the signs. Already, she can recognize her alphabet and sound out simple words. But you should know that any child of mine could possibly be dyslexic.”

She should know? It was an odd way to phrase it.

And he still had more to say. “I plan to be proactive. If a kid of mine showed signs of dyslexia, I would be on it, arranging for early testing, providing alternative learning systems and support, working with the school so everyone’s on the same page about what needs to be done. If one of my kids was dyslexic, I would see to it that he didn’t have to go through the crap I went through. I would make sure any kid of mine never had to feel stupid and incompetent and lag way behind the learning curve.” He tipped his head then and asked with wry good humor, “You still with me, Chloe?”

“Absolutely. Yes. And I’m so sorry, Quinn. That you felt stupid and incompetent when you were little. No child should have to feel that way.”

“I got past it.”

“That doesn’t make it right.” At his chuckle, she chided, “It’s nothing to joke about, Quinn.”

He shrugged. “Tell me something.”

She had that odd feeling again; there was more going on here than she was picking up. “Of course.”

He let go of her hand, reached for his coffee—and said just what she’d been thinking. “Do you have any clue why I’m laying all this on you?”

She watched him take a sip. “Whatever your reasons, I have to say it’s really nice to have a guy just sit right down and talk to me about the toughest things. It’s rare.”

“Right.” He set the cup down again and rolled one of his unbuttoned cuffs to the elbow. “It’s what women love. A guy who won’t shut up...”

“I don’t know about ‘women.’ But I know what I like. And you telling me about what matters to you, about what made you who you are? I do like that. A lot.”

“Well, all right.” He rolled the other cuff. She watched him, admiring the hard shape of his arms, thick with muscle, roped with tendons, dusted with light brown hair, nicked here and there with small white ridges of scar tissue. He went on, “But I do have a reason for loading you up with way more info than you asked for.”

“And I keep trying to make you see that you don’t need a reason.”

He slanted her a teasing look. “Got that.”

A low laugh escaped her. “Well, okay, then. I get it. You’re trying to tell me the reason—so go ahead. I’m ready for it.”

“You sure?”

She groaned and executed a major eye roll. “Will you please stop teasing me?”

Now he looked at her so steadily, a look that made her warm all over, especially down in the center of her. “All right.” And then, just like that, he said, “I want to marry you, Chloe.”