Текст книги "Busted"

Автор книги: Shiloh Walker

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Текущая страница: 20 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

“Well.” Sebastian frowned and then nodded. “I guess that makes sense.” Then he held out his hand.

Ressa found herself charmed by him, the way he waited until Neeci slid her hand nervously into his, and apparently she wasn’t the only one, because a slow, shy smile bloomed across her cousin’s face in the next moment. “You’re in movies.”

Sebastian shrugged. “Yeah, well, I can’t write books like Clayton’s dad. Seemed to make sense.”

Since Neeci was relaxing, Ressa straightened. Her heart lurched up in her throat as she found herself staring straight into Trey’s eyes. He’d moved closer, without her realizing it. So close she could reach out and touched him, if she just took a step or two.

And she did.

But not to touch him.

Heart slamming, she watched him. Watched him watching her, but instead of the heat or the humor or the hunger she was so used to seeing, there was . . . nothing. A curious blankness like he was trying to hide everything he felt.

“Can we talk sometime? Sometime soon?” she blurted out. Her voice hitched. She couldn’t do this anymore. Her aunt was right. If they could make it work, then damn it, she wanted it to work. “I . . . I messed up. I just . . .”

Her words trailed off as she felt a number of gazes swing her way.

And then, Trey’s hand closed around hers and she was being pulled away from the front yard. “I have to leave,” she said, resenting the fact that she did have to go. “My cousin—”

“I get that. Two minutes,” Trey said, letting go of her wrist as soon as they rounded the corner of his house, mostly hidden from the front, thanks to the landscaping.

The scent of honeysuckle mixed with roses flooded her head as she sucked in a breath.

Two minutes.

She met his eyes. “I miss you,” she said and the words came out easier than she would have thought possible. “And I can’t do this. I messed up. Please . . . can we talk?”

His lashes swept down and for a moment that stretched into eternity, she felt her world crash to a halt. “Trey, please . . .” She moved closer, reaching for him, not caring in that moment if she sounded desperate—she was.

He caught her wrist.

She sucked in a breath.

Was it too—

And then she couldn’t breathe.

His mouth took hers in a kiss that all but stopped her heart. His free hand came up, touched her cheek. It was a gentle touch, so at odds with the way his mouth devoured hers, his tongue pushing inside in a bold, demanding claim.

Her knees shook. Her heart rolled over. And she was about ready to wrap herself around him and beg the world to go away—for thirty minutes, or even ten—all from that one deep, devastating kiss.

They barely touched, save for that hot, hungry kiss—his hand on her cheek, the other gripping her wrist.

A growl sounded in his chest when she caught his tongue and sucked on him and then he tore away. Now, he caught her close, one hand coming up to cup the back of her neck. “I missed you doesn’t cover what I felt,” he whispered against her neck.

Then he moved away and she swallowed, her blood humming, her heart racing.

And damn him, his voice was just as cool as could be when he spoke again. “When did you have in mind?”

“I . . .” She had to clear her throat. She should also change her damn panties, she thought wryly, but that wasn’t an option right now. “I don’t know.”

She blew out a breath and looked away. “I don’t know where my head will be tonight. I don’t know if I’ll be pissed . . . or what . . . after I talk to Kiara.”

“Why do you think you’re going to be pissed off?”

“Because I know my cousin.” She shrugged. “I love her, but manipulation is just what she does.”

A warm hand touched her cheek and she looked up. “Are you okay?”

“I can handle it.” She covered his hand with hers. “I’m used to this. Whatever happens, though . . . I need to talk with you. I can’t handle what’s going on with us . . . well, that’s bullshit.”

A line appeared between his brows and she turned her face into his hand, kissed him. “I can . . . I just don’t want to. Being without you makes me miserable, Trey.”

Something moved through his eyes, dark, fleeting, gone so fast. Then he cupped her face in both hands and brushed a quick, soft kiss against her lips, both eyes, her brow. “We’ll talk. We have what matters, Ressa . . . everything else is just smoke.”

Then he moved back. “You need to go.” He took her elbow and escorted her around the house. Both of the kids had cornered Sebastian—and Travis, it appeared—on the porch, jabbering a mile a minute. Neeci had relaxed pretty fast.

Trey let go but before he moved away, he stroked a hand down her back. “I hope today goes okay.”

A lump lodged itself in her throat. “Thanks.”

She lingered only long enough to give Neeci a quick hug and then she left.

None of this was going to be any easier by taking her time.

Chapter Twenty-six

“I’m getting out soon.”

Ressa studied Kiara’s face across the table.

So far, the visit had gone pretty much the way they normally did.

Why didn’t you bring Neeci?

Does she still remember me?

What have you told her about me?

Can you bring her next week?

That had taken up a good thirty minutes.

Now they were moving on to why Kiara wanted them there.

Ressa managed, almost, not to react. She glanced over at her aunt and then said, “I know you’re up for parole. How come you’re so certain you’ll get out this time?”

“I’ve served four years. I was sentenced to seven. I know how this works.” She leaned in, elbows braced on the table. A dark blue cloth wrapped around her braids, holding them back from her face. She’d slimmed down, almost too much, and her slim arms were roped with muscle. “I haven’t caused any trouble and I’ve been taking college courses since I got in. They aren’t going to keep trying to hold me in here—they’re all but looking for reasons to let people out right now.”

She shrugged, flicking her fingers like it was a done deal.

It might well be. Overcrowded prisons was nothing new. “Okay. Assuming you’re right, what do you plan to do?”

“I’m taking Neeci back.”

“No.” Ressa folded her arms over her chest and met her cousin’s dark, flat gaze dead on. “You signed away parental rights almost five years ago. She barely knows you. You can’t provide for her the way I can. You can’t give her a stable life.”

Ressa didn’t want to think about the shape Kiara had been in by the time everything imploded in her cousin’s life. It hadn’t been pretty. Ressa had been the one to focus, calm down, and get a grip on life, while Kiara lived for the next big deal, the next big score . . . the next big anything.

It was the next big anything that had landed her here.

“You already had one chance to prove you could straighten up,” she said softly. “You couldn’t do it. That’s why you’re here now. You can’t take care of her. I can.”

“I am her mother,” Kiara said, her voice harsh.

“Only by blood.” Ressa felt her chest constrict. Panic tried to take over. She wasn’t giving Neeci up—it wasn’t just love that drove her now, although that was a huge part of it. She looked at her cousin and saw a pit of chaos. Worse, she saw herself—she saw Neeci growing up the way she had, never having any stability or normalcy or even a parent who just loved.

How often had Neeci cried herself to sleep just after visiting her mother? Those short visits had done more harm than good and not because of the environment, but because Kiara couldn’t stop playing head games, not even with her child.

No.

“I am the one who raised her,” she said, keeping her voice calm. “I am the one who held her through every nightmare, nursed her through every cold. I’m the one who has answered all the hard questions and listened to all the crying. I am her mother in every way that counts, Kiara. You getting out of here doesn’t mean you’re entitled to jerk her around the same way you’ve done with everybody else.”

“You selfish bitch,” Kiara whispered. For a moment, it almost seemed that tears glittered, but then Kiara blinked and her eyes were just hard and cold once more. “She’s my baby and I have a right to raise her.”

“And how are you going to do that?” Ressa demanded. “You have never held a stable job in your life. You have no training. You don’t even like to work—your idea of working is blackmailing lonely old men out of money or swiping credit cards from some of your johns!”

“Ressa,” Angeline said, her voice firm.

“No.” Ressa shot her aunt a look. “I’m not listening to this. I’m—”

“Mama.” Kiara started to sob, laying her head on the table. “How can you let her talk to me like this? Talk to her. Please. Ress will listen to you. She always did. Tell her how much I need my baby. I can’t face life outside this place without her . . .”

“What about what Neeci needs!” The words ripped out of her and Ressa didn’t realize how loud she’d been until an odd silence rippled through the room, other inmates and their visitors going quiet as they turned to look at Ressa.

Conversation resumed after a few seconds and Ressa had to force herself to take a deep breath before she spoke again. “What about what Neeci needs, Kiara? A mother who will be there for her? They let you out on parole and what did you do but go right back to the same old thing?”

“I had a child to feed!” Kiara glared at her.

“The money Bruce gave you every year was more than I made in two.” Ressa fisted her hands, staring at her cousin with so much rage, so much confusion. “You got a ridiculous amount of money every single year—”

“I should have had it all!” Kiara shouted.

The venom on her cousin’s face, in her voice left Ressa shaken. Still, she shook her head. “But that’s not the point. That was plenty of money to take care of a baby, Kiara. And you blew it on drugs . . . while your baby went hungry.”

Kiara flinched. Then she sagged. “You . . . guys, you don’t understand. I miss her. I love my little girl. I need her, okay? Mama, Ress, please . . .”

If Kiara had been looking at Angeline, then she might have realized she’d messed up.

As it was, it took several moments of awkward silence before she turned her head to look at the mostly silent Angeline.

When she finally did, Angeline just shook her head.

“Mama.” She swallowed. “Please. Y’all don’t understand—”

“I’m afraid you don’t,” Angeline said, shaking her head before Kiara could get anything else out. “You sit there and you cry about how you need that child. But it’s not about you. It can’t be about you. It’s about her. It has to be about her and what she needs. She’s not even six years old. Do you even have a clue how to take care of that little girl?”

Kiara stared at Angeline and then turned her head, looked at Ressa. With cool calculation, she reached up and swiped at the tears. “I can figure it out. You just need to get ready. My parole meeting is coming up and I will get out. And soon. Once I do, I want my daughter. You really want to fight me over this? You want to be the one telling her that she can’t be with her mama?”

“Don’t push this,” Ressa said, rising from her chair. She looked at her aunt and Angeline rose. Shifting her gaze back to Kiara, she shook her head. “You signed your rights away. You might be getting out, but you aren’t capable of giving that child the life she deserves, the life she needs. You’re telling me not to push it, but you are the one who needs to be careful.”

Kiara opened her mouth to argue, anger brimming in her eyes.

“What are you going to do, Kiara? When she asks? And she will. What are you going to do when she asks you why you went to jail? And this is going to follow you for the rest of your life.”

She turned then, and headed to the door. “I’ll be calling my lawyer. I suggest you be ready. I can give Neeci a real life, Kiara. You need to think about that, too.”

“You just want her cuz she’s mine!” Kiara shouted.

“No.” At the door, she paused.

Mama Ang still lingered there, staring at her daughter.

“I’m sorry,” Angeline said softly.

“Then don’t let her do this,” Kiara said, her voice pleading.

“Oh, baby. That’s not what I’m apologizing for.” Her mother sighed and shook her head. “I tried. I tried so hard to be a good mother to you and I still didn’t do it right. I failed you somewhere. Neeci, though . . . I can still help her. If you can’t be the kind of parent she needs you to be, baby . . .”

Mama Ang shook her head and turned, walking to the door.

Kiara stared at them both.

“I love her,” Ressa said softly. “But if I thought you could actually take care of her and give her a happy life, I’d give her up. I love her that much. But you can’t, Kiara. You can’t even make yourself happy. You can’t even take care of yourself. How can you take care of a child? That’s why I won’t let this happen. It’s because I love her that I’ll fight.”

She cocked a brow. “Now here’s the real question. Do you really love her? Because I think you know which one of us can really give her a life . . . a chance.”

*   *   *

There was a time in his life when he had been around more noise, but Trey couldn’t say when.

It was almost seven o’clock, and when Sebastian managed to talk the two kids into a movie marathon, Trey could have hugged him.

He doubted there would be much of a marathon, but still, as silence fell over the house, he retreated to the front porch and collapsed on one of the rockers. He thought he may have felt this tired before.

Once.

At some point in his life.

He just didn’t know when.

When Travis came out and sat down next to him, putting down a bottle of beer, he ignored it for the first ten minutes. Finally, he reached over and took it.

“I don’t really want this,” he said as he twisted off the cap.

“Then don’t drink it.” Travis shrugged.

He put the bottle to his lips, caught a hint of the smell, and took a sip anyway.

“I hate to say this, but those two kids have kicked my ass,” he said.

“You did better than I did. I hid in my room half the day.”

“I noticed.” Trey curled his lip. “Chickenshit.”

“Absolutely.” Travis drained half his beer and then sighed in satisfaction. “So. How much longer . . .”

The words trailed off as the sound of a throaty engine came rolling down the street. It had them both looking up. The fatigue drained out of Trey and he almost lurched up out of his seat, had to fight the urge to leap over the railing.

Ressa, and that sexy Mustang of hers.

“Trey, you practically have a hook in your mouth—I can almost see you flopping around,” Travis said, his voice wry. “It’s a good look for you, man.”

“Fuck off,” he muttered. Ressa parked the car. A moment later, she climbed out and her aunt slid out a moment later.

It was the appearance of her aunt that kept him from rushing her.

That was it.

He couldn’t care less that his brother was standing there, snickering over his beer.

But the slender, smaller woman had him freezing on the steps.

The resemblance was there. They had the same eyes, Ressa and this small, diminutive woman.

As she approached, her gaze held his and there was an appraising study there. He wasn’t entirely sure how he held up, and he realized his hands were sweating.

Ressa came up the steps and stopped next to him.

“Hey.”

He glanced away from her aunt. “Ah . . . hey. Hi.”

She frowned and then glanced over her shoulder to her aunt. “Mama Ang, stop.” She looked back at him. “She’s got that mom look down to an art.”

“I should.” Her aunt smiled now. “So . . . you’re the boy who has my girl all flustered.”

Trey opened his mouth, closed it, then glanced at Ressa. He wasn’t at all certain how to answer that. Finally, he said, “Well, she’s had the same effect on me, so I figure it’s only fair.”

Amusement flashed through the older woman’s eyes. Then she held out her hand. “I’m Angeline MacAllister. I’m also a huge fan of yours, Mr. Barnes, although I can’t say I ever expected to meet you . . . and especially not like this.”

“A pleasure.” He shook her hand. He wasn’t sure what else he could say.

She looked away from him and focused on Travis. Her gaze narrowed slightly and then she shook her head. “I bet you boys kept your mother busy.”

“No, ma’am,” Travis said, straight-faced. “We were too busy focusing on school.”

Angeline snorted. “I just bet you were. Now . . . I think I’d like to take my grandbaby out for ice cream. Ressa, I imagine you can find your way home . . . can’t you?”

*   *   *

Way to throw me under the bus, Mama Ang.

Nearly thirty minutes later, she stood on the porch, watching as Neeci climbed into the car with her grandmother. She’d gone somewhat reluctantly, but then as Mama Ang swept her down the steps, she’d said the magic words . . . ice cream and Neeci had all but dragged her granny to the car.

Now, while Clayton clung despondently to his uncle, Ressa rested her hands on the railing and stared off at the car as it backed out of the drive.

“I wish Neeci could stay here,” Clayton said, his voice sullen. “Forever and ever. Nobody is as much as fun as she is.”

Ressa bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing while both Sebastian and Travis gave the boy affronted looks. Sebastian took his hat off and put it on Clayton’s head, tugging it down until the bill completely covered Clayton’s face. “I’ll tell you what, boy . . . I’m every bit as fun as a girl,” he said, turning back toward the house.

“But you’re old, Uncle ’Bastian.”

“Your son doesn’t lack for drama,” Ressa said as they trailed behind.

Trey nudged the door closed and she paused to look at him.

He just stared at her.

Her heart jumped, caught, racing inside her chest. She wished she could reach up. Touch him. Five minutes alone . . .

You two really do need to finish that talk.

Preferably this time without her flying off and losing her mind.

“Ah . . . so, maybe we should . . .”

“Have you eaten?”

They both stopped, staring at each other. Then Ressa lifted a hand, laughing. “You first.”

He reached out and caught her hand. “You look like you need to sit down, relax. Have you eaten?”

“I’ve been sitting on my ass in a car for half the day,” she murmured.

“That’s not the same as relaxing.” His thumb stroked across the back of her hand. “Have you had anything to eat?”

She wrinkled her nose. “A burger from some fast-food joint around noon.”

“Then you need to eat.”

*   *   *

The smell of something rather delectable filled the house, and despite the fact that she wasn’t hungry—or hadn’t been—she could feel her belly rumbling. Maybe she could use some food, although until the past few minutes, nothing had sounded appealing.

As she roamed the house, she sipped at the wine he’d poured, wine she hadn’t really wanted, but it gave her something to do, so she’d taken it.

Absently, she pushed open a door even as a voice in her mind murmured, Don’t be nosy.

The rest of her was saying, Nosy is better than brooding.

Standing in the doorway, she found herself looking at a room that was clearly Clayton’s.

It was easy enough to figure that out thanks to the Star Wars motif and toys scattered everywhere. It was a large room, bright with color. Everything a child could want for a bedroom. She moved around, picking up toys out of habit and putting them into bins or on shelves if she could see where they went.

“Hey.”

She looked up and saw Trey in the door.

“Hey.” She looked around. “I’m meddling. I . . . Sorry.” Grimacing, she stared at the Dinobot she held and then shook her head. “I’m trying to keep my mind distracted. Today was . . . rough.”

“No need to apologize.” He came inside, stopped a few feet away. Rocking back on his heels, he looked around. “I haven’t ever really given you the grand tour, have I? This is Clay’s room.”

“Aw, man . . . and here I was thinking I found a guy who shared my obsession with Grimlock.” She lifted the toy in her hand and grinned at him.

“Who says you haven’t?” He took the Dinobot and easily switched it from dinosaur to robot, eying her through his lashes. “You know the best thing about buying these toys? Clayton never realizes I do it so I can play with them, too.”

“Be still, my heart.” She took the robot he offered and moved around him, picking up her wine as she moved past the bookshelf. “Every room in this place has a bookshelf.”

“Nah. I didn’t put them in the bathrooms.”

She was able to laugh, she realized. Sliding him a look over her shoulder, she nodded. “Probably not a problem . . . most of us take a book in there anyway.”

He grinned.

Putting the Dinobot on the bookshelf nearest the door, she headed out of the bedroom and paused in front of the next open door.

He gestured. “Just a guestroom.” He reached around and flicked on a switch. “Travis is using it right now.”

Ressa looked inside, saw absolutely nothing out of place and no hint of the personality of the man who was currently residing there. She doubted even Mama Ang could make a bed that neat.

“Did that man spend some time in the military or something? There’s not a single thing out of place.” She turned away, without noticing the way Trey’s jaw hardened, or the tension in his shoulders as she continued her way down the hall. The next door was mostly closed but she pushed it open, glancing behind to see if he was coming.

“Hey, wa—” A guilty look flashed across his face.

It was that expression that made her look—it was instinct. She couldn’t stop herself, or maybe she didn’t try hard enough.

She thought of the ring he’d worn and some small part of her couldn’t help but wonder. Did he have pictures of his wife in there? There was next to no sign of her anywhere. Was there something here?

But, no. Ressa frowned as she found herself staring into a room full of books. Not bookshelves . . . books.

A lot of them, and they were all his, spilling out of boxes, stacked haphazardly, and judging by the title on one of the nearest, she suspected a number of them were foreign editions. She thought that one was German.

Grimacing, she looked back at him. “Your twin has a handle on the organization thing better than you, I take it.”

“Ah, yeah. Um . . .” He looked past her, a quick, almost furtive look.

“Hey, I’ve seen messy rooms before. And it’s not exactly messy so much as disorganized.” She shrugged and looked back inside.

He edged into the doorway, all but crowding her out, and his gaze once more darted to an area off to the side.

“I guess this is where you keep all your . . .” She turned, absently following his gaze. Her eyes bounced off them twice without really tracking what she was seeing. The third time, she shoved past his larger form and moved deeper into the room.

Head cocked, she stared at one shelf, jammed with books that had been carelessly double stacked. They stood out, like a spring flower among autumn leaves and winter-bare trees—that bright and sassy green, although if he hadn’t kept glancing over there, she doubted she would have looked.

But yeah, now that she’d seen them, she couldn’t look away.

Those books didn’t belong in here.

L. Forrester stamped the spines of those thirty-some-odd books, and piled right next to them was a stack of what might have been one of Trey’s titles in French.

The title, in bright pink font, stood out, and she reached out, traced her finger down the spine

Exposing the Geek Billionaire.

Slowly, she turned her head to look at him, confused. An odd little suspicion began to form in the back of her already chaotic mind. A question hovered on the tip of her tongue, but one look at him had the question fading, while that suspicion exploded into full-on understanding.

His face was red.

The blush crept all the way down his neck and he wouldn’t look at her, either.

Was it because her mind needed the release? The escape? She didn’t know, but absurdly, she started to laugh. He stood there, brilliant red, half a snarl on his too beautiful face and she laughed.

“You . . .” she managed to gasp out between giggles that were edging too close to hysterical.

“What?” he demanded, hands jammed deep into his pockets, shoulders hunched.

“You are . . .” She snickered and then moved toward him, throwing her arms around him. “You are L. Forrester.”

The red in his cheeks deepened—he blushed so hard, he looked like he’d been scalded.

“Trey, you dirty devil.” Ressa laughed harder, completely delighted. The book he’d signed to her. The way he’d acted in the bookstore at Chillers. She pressed a smacking kiss to his lips.

His hands came up and gripped her waist while she continued to laugh.

He still didn’t say anything and she finally managed to get that half-desperate laughter under control. Once she did, she lifted her face and met his gaze. Those blue eyes glittered and his hands flexed on her waist. “Glad you find this amusing,” he said gruffly.

“Oh, it’s not amusing,” she said, a smile still twisting at her lips. “I think it’s perfect . . . but you’re busted, pal. Sorry, but I got your number now.”

“Yeah?” He slid a hand up her back, tangled his fingers in her hair. “Well, there’s a problem with you knowing my secret. I have to keep you. Make sure it stays between us.”

She cocked an eyebrow at him and he leaned down, nipped her lower lip.

“I have to go check on the food,” he said, his voice still oddly strained.

“Oh, I’m not done talking to you about this.” Especially not now that she’d managed to find something else to think about, even if only for a few minutes.

She caught up with him in the hall and he shot her an exasperated look. “What’s to talk about? You do realize that a lot of authors write under a second name, right? Plenty of them try to keep it quiet when the material is that different.”

“Oh, hey.” She bit her inner cheek to keep from smiling. If she did that, she might tip back over into that laughter and the rest of her emotions were fighting to boil out of control, everything kiting back and forth, with her anger still at a keen edge. But now, just now, the brightness of this moment overshadowed everything. “Don’t go getting defensive on me. I think it’s fantastic that you’re so . . . flexible.”

*   *   *

That mischievous glint in her eyes had him torn. Okay, he was hugely embarrassed now, but there was something in her eyes.

Something dark.

Something dark and edgy. That he understood.

Distraction could prove vital for sanity. That was why he’d buried himself in stories, in books . . . wrapped himself in Clayton for so long after Aliesha had died.

“Why are you blushing?” she asked.

Mortified, he realized his face was still hot and probably burning red. Turning away, he checked the pasta and then turned off the water. “I’m not,” he lied.

“Okay. Then how did you suddenly become so sunburned?”

Sighing, he braced his hands on the counter. “You’re getting a kick out of this, aren’t you?”

“Why are you so worked up over it?”

Aggravated, he shrugged. “The hell if I know.”

“You know, I think it’s wonderful you can write like that.”

Grabbing a colander from the cabinet, he slanted a look at her. He opened his mouth, closed it, then finally just shook his head.

She drew closer, and the self-consciousness he felt now only added to his discomfort. When she settled her hips against the counter next to him, he couldn’t really keep avoiding her gaze, either.

“You’re weren’t this gun-shy talking about your other stuff.”

Shows what you know. He just hid it better—because he’d been prepared. But he kept those words behind his teeth. Jerking a shoulder in a shrug, he said, “That was . . . different.”

“Different how?” Her tone was tart. “Let me guess . . . you’re fine with pushing the dark and the dismal and the intellectual, but bring something fun and sexy to the table and that is a problem?”

“Hell, no.” Aggravated all over again, he shot her a look. “Have you seen my bookshelves downstairs? Those are my books, Ressa, and you know what kind of books I read. They are mine. There’s everything from The Story of O to Jules Verne to The Iliad to Grisham and J.D. Robb. If I can read about sex, then I can damn well write about it.”

“Then what’s your problem?” she asked, lifting a brow. “Why do you look like you got caught sneaking your dad’s Playboy magazine? Why do you look so embarrassed?”

He snorted. “First of all, assuming my dad had them, I never would have found them—and I doubt he had them. The only time I ever got my hands on them was when I found Zach’s old stash. Second of all . . .” His mind went blank. Once more, he found himself floundering for words, because he was absolutely incapable of figuring out how to put it into words. “It’s not about . . .”

Trey sighed and gave himself a minute as he mixed up some olive oil with garlic, red pepper, and salt. After his mind settled a little, he glanced at her. “It’s not about being embarrassed, okay? I write. It’s what I do. It’s what I’ve always done. It’s like . . . I’ve always breathed. I was able to learn how to walk well enough, too, although I don’t remember doing that. I’ve always been able to write. I’m good at it—I know that, and I work hard at it, but . . . I’ve always done . . .. It’s . . .” Lowering his hands, he scowled at her. “It’s weird having the woman I’m sleeping with making a big deal out of it. Especially with those books, because I saw that ARC I gave you in your bedroom. You’ve already practically read that L. Forrester book to pieces.”

*   *   *

Ressa had never realized how appealing it could be to see a man look that flustered. Although she realized she’d been off target—embarrassed wasn’t quite right.

Self-conscious was the term she needed.

He focused on the food he was putting together with a single-minded intensity, although considering how easily he had done everything, she suspected being in the kitchen came about as easily as everything—well, everything that didn’t involve anything public. “It’s done,” he said less than a minute later, while she was still pondering her next step. “They ate earlier. I ordered pizza, but I didn’t eat much and I’m starving now.”

She moved to block him.

“So . . . what? You think this is just a regular, old, everyday job and people shouldn’t be interested?” she asked, her eyes narrowed on his face.

“It is a job. It’s one I’m just suited for better than some others—like any one of my brothers.” A wide grin split his face as he said it, and then, as it faded, he turned toward the glossy blue refrigerator and opened it up. A line formed between his brows as he looked at her. “It’s a job. Some people are born to be soldiers, some are born to be cops. Zach was born to act—for a while, and then he lost touch with it. He found what made him happy. Others are good with kids and they go on to teach or be counselors or that kind of thing. I’ve got stories in my head. I didn’t ask for them to be there, although I won’t complain that I have them. It’s a job, Ressa.”