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“Don’t swear in front of the baby.”
Simon inhaled sharply and shot her a glare he usually reserved for employees he wanted to terrify into improving their work skills, fully expecting her to have the sense to back off. Naturally, she paid no attention to him.
“If you can’t be nice and at least pretend to smile, you’ll just have to go away,” she said. Then she spoke to the baby. “Don’t you worry, sweetie, Tula won’t let the mean man get you.”
“I’m not a mean—oh, for God’s sake.” Simon had had enough of this. He wasn’t going to be chastised by anybody, least of all the short, curvy woman giving him a disgusted look.
He stalked across the small kitchen, plucked the baby from her grasp and held Nathan up to eye level. The baby’s pout disappeared as if it had never been and the two of them simply stared at each other.
The baby was a solid, warm weight in his hands. Little legs pumped, arms waved and a thin line of drool dripped from his mouth when he gave his father a toothless grin. His chest tight, Simon felt the baby’s heartbeat racing beneath his hands and there was a…connection that he’d never felt before. It was basic. Complete. Staggering.
In that instant—that heart-stopping, mind-numbing second—Simon was lost.
He knew it even as he stood there, beneath Tula Barrons’s less than approving stare, that this was his son and he would do whatever he had to to keep him.
If this woman stood in his way, he’d roll right over her without a moment’s pause. Something in his gaze must have given away his thoughts because the small blonde lifted her chin, met his eyes in a bold stare and told him silently that she wouldn’t give an inch.
Fine.
She’d learn soon enough that when Simon Bradley entered a contest—he never lost.
Three (#u160c6387-0456-5bec-b899-43cfb3328bb3)
“You’re holding him like he’s a hand grenade about to explode,” the woman said, ending their silent battle.
Despite that swift, sure connection he felt to the child in his arms, Simon wasn’t certain at all that the baby wouldn’t explode. Or cry. Or expel some gross fluid. “I’m being careful.”
“Okay,” she said and pulled out a chair to sit down.
He glanced at her, then looked back to the baby. Carefully, Simon eased down onto the other chair pulled up to the postage-stamp-sized table. It looked so narrow and fragile, he almost expected it to shatter under his weight, but it held. He felt clumsy and oversize. As if he were the only grown-up at a little girl’s tea party. He had to wonder if the woman had arranged for him to feel out of place. If she was subtly trying to sabotage this first meeting.
Gently, he balanced the baby on his knee and kept one hand on the small boy’s back to hold him in place. Only then did he look up at the woman sitting opposite him.
Her big eyes were fixed on him and a half smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, causing that one dimple to flash at him. She’d gone from looking at him as if he were the devil himself to an expression of amused benevolence that he didn’t like any better.
“Enjoying yourself?” he asked tightly.
“Actually,” she admitted, “I am.”
“So happy to entertain you.”
“Oh, you’re really not happy,” she said, her smile quickening briefly again. “But that’s okay. You had me worried, I can tell you.”
“Worried about what?”
“Well, how you were going to be with Nathan,” she told him, leaning against the ladder back of the chair. She crossed her arms over her chest, unconsciously lifting her nicely rounded breasts. “When you first saw him, you looked…”
“Yes?” Simon glanced down when Nathan slapped both chubby fists onto the tabletop.
“…terrified,” she finished.
Well, that was humiliating. And untrue, he assured himself. “I wasn’t scared.”
“Sure you were.” She shrugged and apparently was dialing back her mistrust. “And who could blame you? You should have seen me the first time I picked him up. I was so worried about dropping him I had him in a stranglehold.”
Nothing in Simon’s life had terrified him like that first moment holding a son he didn’t know he had. But he wasn’t about to admit to that. Not to Tula Barrons at any rate.
He shifted around uncomfortably on the narrow chair. How did an adult sit on one of these things?
“Plus,” she added, “you don’t look like you want to bite through a brick or something anymore.”
Simon sighed. “Are you always so brutally honest?”
“Usually,” she said. “Saves a lot of time later, don’t you think? Besides, if you lie, then you have to remember what lie you told to who and that just sounds exhausting.”
Intriguing woman, he thought while his body was noticing other things about her. Like the way her dark green sweater clung to her breasts. Or how tight her faded jeans were. And the fact that she was barefoot, her toenails were a deep, sexy red and she was wearing a silver toe ring that was somehow incredibly sexy. She was nothing like the kind of woman Simon was used to. The kind Simon preferred, he told himself sternly. Yet, there was something magnetic about her. Something—
“Are you just going to stare at me all night or were you going to speak?”
—Irritating.
“Yes, I’m going to speak,” he said, annoyed to have been caught watching her so intently. “As a matter of fact, I have a lot to say.”
“Good, me too!” She stood up, took the baby from him before he could even begin to protest—not that he would have—and set the small boy back in his high chair. Once she had the safety straps fastened, she shot Simon a quick smile.
“I thought we could talk while we have dinner. I made chicken and I’m a good cook.”
“Another truth?”
“Try it for yourself and see.”
“All right. Thank you.”
“See, we’re getting along great already.” She moved around the kitchen with an economy of motions. Not surprising, Simon thought, since there wasn’t much floor space to maneuver around.
“Tell me about yourself, Simon,” she said and reached over to place some sliced bananas on the baby’s food tray. Instantly, Nathan chortled, grabbed one of the pieces of fruit and squished it in his fist.
“He’s not eating that,” Simon pointed out while she walked over to take the roast chicken out of the oven.
“He likes playing with it.”
Simon took a whiff of the tantalizing, scented steam wafting from the oven and had to force himself to say, “He shouldn’t play with his food though.”
She swiveled her head to look at him. “He’s a baby.”
“Yes, but—”
“Well, all of my cloth napkins are in the laundry and they don’t make tuxedos in size six-to-nine months.”
He frowned at her. She’d deliberately misinterpreted what he was saying.
“Relax, Simon. He’s fine. I promise you he won’t smoosh his bananas when he’s in college.”
She was right, of course, which he didn’t really enjoy admitting. But he wasn’t used to people arguing with him, either. He was more accustomed to people rushing to please him. To anticipate his every need. He was not used to being corrected and he didn’t much like it.
As that thought raced through his head, he winced. God, he sounded like an arrogant prig even in his own mind.
“So, you were saying…”
“Hmm?” he asked. “What?”
“You were telling me about yourself,” she prodded as she got down plates, wineglasses and then delved into a drawer for silverware. She had the table set before he gathered his thoughts again.
“What is it you want to know?”
“Well, for instance, how did you meet Nathan’s mother? I mean, Sherry was my cousin and I’ve got to say, you’re not her usual type.”
“Really?” He turned on the spindly seat and looked at her. “Just what type am I then?”
“Geez, touchy,” she said, her smile flashing briefly. “I only meant that you don’t look like an accountant or a computer genius.”
“Thanks, I think.”
“Oh, I’m sure there are attractive accountants and computer wizards, but Sherry never found any.” She carried a platter to the counter and began to slice the roast chicken, laying thick wedges of still-steaming meat on the flowered china. “So how did you meet?”
Simon bristled and distracted himself by pulling bits of banana out of the baby’s hair. “Does it matter?”
“No,” she said. “I was just curious.”
“I’d rather not talk about it.” He’d made a mistake that hadn’t been repeated and it wasn’t something he felt like sharing. Especially with this woman. No doubt she’d laugh or give him that sad, sympathy-filled smile again and he wasn’t in the mood.
“Okay,” she said, drawing that one word out into three or four syllables. “Then how long were the two of you together?”
Irritation was still fresh enough to make his tone sharper than he’d planned. “Are you writing a book?”
She blinked at him in surprise. “No, but Sherry was my cousin, Nathan’s my nephew and you’re my…well, there’s a relationship in there somewhere. I’m just trying to pin it down.”
And he was overreacting. It had been a long time since Simon had felt off balance. But since the moment Tula had stepped into his office, nothing in his world had steadied. He watched her as she moved to the stove, scooped mashed potatoes into a bowl and then filled a smaller dish with dark green broccoli. She carried everything to the table and asked him to pour the wine.
He did, pleased at the label on the chardonnay. When they each had full glasses, he tipped his toward her. “I’m not trying to make things harder, but this has been a hell—” he caught himself and glanced at the baby “—heck of a surprise. And I don’t much like surprises.”
“I’m getting that,” she said, reaching out to grab the jar of baby food she’d opened and left on the table. As she spooned what looked like horrific mush into Nathan’s open mouth, she asked again, “So how long were you and Sherry together?”
He took a sip of wine. “Not giving up on this, are you?”
“Nope.”
He had to admire her persistence, if nothing else.
“Two weeks,” he admitted. “She was a nice woman but she—we—didn’t work out.”
Sighing, Tula nodded. “Sounds like Sherry. She never did stay with any one guy for long.” Her voice softened in memory. “She was scared. Scared of making a mistake, picking the wrong man, but scared of being alone, too. She was scared—well, of pretty much everything.”
That he remembered very well, too, Simon thought. Images of the woman he’d known in the past were hazy, but recollections of what he’d felt at the time were fairly clear. He remembered feeling trapped by the woman’s clinginess, by her need for more than he could offer. By the damp anxiety always shining in her eyes.
Now, he felt…not guilt, precisely, but maybe regret. He’d cut her out of his life neatly, never looking back while she had gone on to carry his child and give birth. It occurred to him that he’d done the same thing with any number of women in his past. Once their time together was at an end, he presented them with a small piece of jewelry as a token and then he moved on. This was the first time that his routine had come back to bite him in the ass.
“I didn’t know her well,” he said when the silence became too heavy. “And I had no idea she was pregnant.”
“I know that,” Tula told him with a shake of her head. “Not telling you was Sherry’s choice and for what it’s worth, I think she was wrong.”
“On that, we can agree.” He took another sip of the dry white wine.
“Please,” she said, motioning to the food on the table, “eat. I will, too, in between feeding the baby these carrots.”
“Is that what that is?” The baby seemed to like the stuff, but as far as Simon was concerned, the practically neon orange baby food looked hideous. Didn’t smell much better.
She laughed a little at the face he was making. “Yeah, I know. Looks gross, doesn’t it? Once I get into the swing of having him around, though, I’m going to go for more organic stuff. Make my own baby food. Get a nice blender and then he won’t have to eat this stuff anymore.”
“You’ll make your own?”
“Why not? I like to cook and then I can fix him fresh vegetables and meat—pretty much whatever I’m having, only mushy.” She shrugged as if the extra effort she was talking about meant nothing. “Besides, have you ever read a list of ingredients on baby food jars?”
“Not recently,” he said wryly.
“Well, I have. There’s too much sodium for one thing. And some of the words I can’t even pronounce. That can’t be good for tiny babies.”
All right, Simon thought, he admired that as well. She had already adapted to the baby being in her life. Something that he was going to have to work at. But he would do it. He’d never failed yet when he went after something he wanted.
He took a bite of chicken and nearly sighed aloud. So she was not only sexy and good with kids, she could cook, too.
“Good?”
Simon looked at her. “Amazing.”
“Thanks!” She beamed at him, gave Nathan a few more pieces of banana and then helped herself to her own dinner. After a moment or two of companionable quiet, she asked, “So, what are we going to do about our new ‘situation’?”
“I took the will to my lawyer,” Simon said.
“Of course you did.”
He nodded. “You’re temporarily in charge…”
“Which you don’t like,” she added.
Simon ignored her interruption, preferring to get everything out in the open under his own terms. “Until you decide when and if I’m ready to take over care of Nathan.”
“That’s the bottom line, yes.” She angled her head to look at him. “I told you this earlier today.”
