Chapter Seven #3
He rose and walked around the desk. Her foolish heart fluttered slightly.
He’d always been too damn good-looking, she thought, wishing it didn’t matter.
Her lips tingled as if the closer proximity brought to life the remembered sensations of their kiss.
Did he think about it, too? Did he lie awake at night and remember their lovemaking, all those years ago?
Did he think about how different it would be now that she was grown and willing to take him on her own terms?
“Charlene said that she’d like to invite you and Billie to dinner on Sunday,” he said without meeting her eyes. “Four o’clock. Can you make it?”
The invitation surprised her, but not the way he distanced himself from it. “I…” She wasn’t sure she’d be ready to face Adam so soon after today. But she didn’t have a choice. She had Billie to consider. “We’d love to.”
Maybe another meeting with him would give her the courage to tell him the truth.
* * *
He nicked himself shaving. Adam stared in disbelief at his reflection in the mirror.
Sure enough, a drop of blood formed just to the left of his chin.
As he watched, it trickled down and dripped onto the bathroom counter.
He hadn’t done that in years. Muttering a curse, he tore off a piece of tissue and stuck it on his cut, then finished shaving.
He should have gotten out while he had the chance.
An old friend had called to invite him to a play in Atlanta.
The old friend—a woman—had included dinner and breakfast in her invitation.
He’d been tempted for less than a second.
Jane wasn’t the reason he’d said no, he told himself for the hundredth time as he pulled on twill trousers and a polo shirt.
He didn’t give a damn if she was coming over for dinner.
It was Charlene’s invitation, not his. Just because his aunt entertained all her friends—except for the truckers—in his house didn’t change anything.
Hell, he didn’t even have to show up. He could work in his study, or watch the game on TV.
That’s what he’d do, he decided, as he brushed his hair, then straightened the collar on his shirt. He would watch the game. After slipping on his shoes, he started down the stairs. There was a knock.
“I’ll get it,” he called to Charlene who was already hard at work in the kitchen.
Just as he reached the front door, he remembered to brush the piece of tissue from his face.
“We’re here,” Billie said, walking in slowly, a pie balanced precariously in her hands. “Mom made fresh blueberry pie. Yum. I could smell it all morning, but she wouldn’t let me have none.”
“Any.” Jane came in behind her daughter and offered him a shy smile.
“Any,” Billie repeated. “Or none. It’s the same.” She thrust the pie at Adam. “Where’s Charlene? I want to say hello. Then can we watch the game?”
“Billie! I told you this was a visit. No sports.”
“But the Braves are playing San Francisco. That’s my team. I’ll die if I don’t watch.”
He took the pie. “In the kitchen,” he said, jerking his head in that direction. “Then go on into the study. The TV is already on the right channel.”
“Cool.” She dashed away.
He stared after her. “No softball, and she’s wearing a dress. I’m impressed.”
“Don’t be. She’s wearing shorts under the dress and is convinced you have a hardball somewhere she can play with.” Hazel eyes met and held his. “If you do, please don’t let her get her hands on it. I can’t make any promises about breakables.”
“I’ll keep it hidden. Please, come in.”
She stepped past him, into the foyer. Her perfume followed like a soft floral breeze, teasing his senses and making him wonder what the anger had been all about. Again she offered a tentative smile. This time he returned it.
“You look beautiful.” He spoke without thinking.
She blushed, but didn’t look away. “Thank you.”
A green-and-white dress hugged her curves from shoulder to hips, then flared out around her thighs.
The off-the-shoulder sleeves left her neck bare.
But it was her hair that captured his attention.
For once, she’d left it long. Soft curls cascaded down her back.
A small spray of tiny white flowers had been pinned over her right ear.
Light makeup made her hazel eyes darken to green and her lips look full and kissable.
The kiss. He couldn’t forget it, wouldn’t repeat it.
His gaze centered on her mouth. She’d tasted sweet, willing.
Not the shy timid girl he’d remembered. He would have thought he’d miss that, when he’d kissed her.
He’d been wrong. There was something to be said for experience, and a woman who wasn’t afraid of what she wanted.
“Adam!” Billie called from the back of the house. “The game’s already started. And my team just scored a run.”
“I’d better go help Charlene,” Jane said, reaching out and taking the pie from his hands. Their fingers brushed.
Funny thing about the past, he thought, resisting the urge to touch her face. What they had shared years before made it so easy to forget the distance they’d traveled. He’d thought he’d have to fight hating her. Perhaps he still did. But he’d never imagined he’d have to fight wanting her.
“And I should check on your daughter before she destroys something valuable.”
Her tongue swept across her lower lip. His body vibrated with need.
“Charlene is waiting,” she said, swaying toward him.
“Adam!” came the call.
“So is Billie.”
“I guess I’ll see you later.”
“Yeah, later.”
He stood in the foyer until she walked away, then moved toward the family room.
“Have you broken anything?” he asked as he turned into the room. Large pieces of furniture filled the L-shaped space. One end contained a pool table and wet bar. The other, a huge sectional sofa, large-screen TV and enough audio-visual equipment to stock a small store.
Billie sipped on a can of soda and shook her head. “Not yet. Pretty good, huh?”
“The best.” He sat next to her on the long sofa and pulled on the bill of her cap. “That hat doesn’t go with the dress.”
“I’m wearing shorts.” Billie pulled up her skirt to show him. “Mom can be tough about clothes, especially on Sunday. This is our compress.”
Compress? “Do you mean compromise?”
“Whatever.” She pointed at the screen. “Bottom of the second. Atlanta’s up, but the Giants have already scored.”
“There’s still several innings, peanut. Don’t get your hopes up.”
She stuck out her tongue. He grinned. When the next batter popped a fly into left field, providing the third out, Billie crowed her pleasure.
“Told you, told you.”
With that, she scooted over until she was next to him, then snuggled close to his chest. Adam sat there stiffly, not sure what to do with his arm.
Finally he rested it against her slight back.
She smiled up at him and sighed with contentment.
Such a powerhouse, he thought with amazement, yet still a little girl.
Her body felt warm against him. Small and in need of protection, although he could never tell her or her mother that.
“Am I going to talk funny?” Billie asked.
“Funny?”
“You know. ‘I declare, chile, you are simply too charmin’,’” she said in a fair imitation of a Southern drawl.
He chuckled, then stretched out his legs and rested his feet on the coffee table. “Probably.”
“Why?”
“This is Orchard, Billie. You’re going to hear people speak with accents all the time. You can’t help imitating.”
“My mom doesn’t talk too funny, and neither do you.”
“Your mother has been away for nine years. It’ll come back to her. And I’ve never had much of an accent.”
“I’m not going to, either.”
“It’s too late, peanut.” He shook his head when she offered him a drink out of her can of soda. “Accept the fact that you’ll soon be a Southern belle.”
“Well, I’m not going to charm school.”
He didn’t answer. She snuggled closer and they watched the game. At the next commercial break, she pulled away and tucked her feet under her. “Adam?”
She looked serious. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Do you remember at the bank, we talked about maiden names and dads?”
He nodded, sure he wasn’t going to like what was coming.
She stared down at her drink, then up at him.
Tears pooled in her dark brown eyes. She was close enough that he could hear her shallow breathing and count the freckles across her nose.
The pattern reminded him of something but before he could figure out what, she sniffed.
“Billie?” He rested one hand on her shoulder. “It’s all right, peanut.”
“I made my mom cry.”
“How?”
“I asked about my dad. I knew I shouldn’t. It always makes her cry. But sometimes, I just want to know. Where is he? Doesn’t he love us anymore?”
As he pulled Billie into his arms, a soft sound came from the hallway. He looked up and saw Jane standing in the doorway. The expression on her face—pure pain—stabbed at him. Before he could say anything, she turned and fled.
He continued to hold her daughter, murmuring words of comfort, but his mind raced. Obviously Jane had heard what Billie said. Obviously her ex-husband had hurt her very deeply. Obviously she still cared for the man.