Page 176 of Lethal Legacy

That gets a reluctant laugh. Finally.

“That movie issoold.” Mickey rolls his eyes.

“It’s seriously uncool,” adds Ofelia.

“Hey.” I point a remonstrative finger at them both. “Don’t you ever go knockingDirty Dancing.It’s my religion. And if you think that’s old, wait until I make you watchGone with the Wind.”

“Gone with what?” Ofelia shakes her head. “No, don’t tell me, I don’t want to know. It’s bad enough watching Baby carry a watermelon for the fiftieth time.”

“It’s a classic.” I hit play. “Sit back and be educated, children.”

“You’re tragic.” Ofelia snuggles into my side.

“I can’t believe I’m watching this.Again.” Mickey settles himself on the floor, his long legs outstretched in front of him. After a moment, his head comes down to rest quietly on my leg. I touch it gently, like approaching a baby deer in the forest. He reaches up and covers my hand with his own, holding it there.

The movie starts rolling.

Too late, I remember the whole damnDirty Dancingstoryline revolves around an illicit pregnancy.

54

ROMAN

“So given the demands of my new contract, I can’t possibly take the children until July.” Inger rubs her lips together in the odd manner women do when they’ve pumped their mouths full of collagen. I’ve always wondered if they do it because their lips feel like an alien body on their face. For a procedure designed to increase a woman’s sensuality, plumped lips have always struck me as mildly repulsive. Inger’s might be a more subtle job, but I once had those lips wrapped around my cock, so I know exactly what they looked like in their prime.

They bored me back then.

Now they revolt me.

“And have you told the children that you won’t be taking them back to the States with you?” I sip my water, eyeing her over the glass. I haven’t touched the wine. Given the nightmarish day I’ve had, drinking is not a wise idea, particularly when I can’t look at Inger without fantasizing about putting a bullet between her pretty little eyes.

Not a joke, unfortunately.

If she were a man she’d already be fucking dead, after the way she treated the children and Lucia today.

Lucia.

My fingers clench the glass convulsively. Given the way she tried to slip her security detail earlier, I’m not entirely sure I don’t want to kill her, too. When it comes to Lucia—Darya Petrovsky—the line between love and dangeris so blurred it’s goddamn nonexistent.

Given that Bryce’s news about Lucia’s outing to the marina came on top of an early morning call from Pavel saying there’s been another trojan attack on Mercura, I’m in absolutely no mood to deal with Inger.

“No, I haven’t told the children they won’t be joining me in the States. Not yet.” She pushes the food around her plate without taking a bite. “I’ll wait until after the ball. But that’s enough about the children.” She rests her chin on one hand and fixes me with what I’m sure she thinks is a seductive gaze. “Tell me aboutyou,Romie. How is Hale Property going? What are you working on?”

I suppress a sardonic laugh with an effort. We’ve spoken for all of two minutes about the kids, which was ostensibly the reason for this dinner in the first place. I don’t know why I should be surprised. Inger’s never shown more than a superficial interest in any of her offspring.

“Hale’s doing fine. We’ve just signed a multimillion deal to restore one of the white villages in the mountains outside Malaga.” I’d normally never talk about this kind of bullshit outside of the office. But when it comes to Inger, mentioning large sums of money is the equivalent of giving a cocaine addict a little bump to get the party started.

“Oh, how fascinating!” She flutters her eyelashes. I’m willing to bet her mental calculator is busy deducing how many of those millions she might be able to persuade me to part with.

I don’t have time for this shit.

“Inger.” I keep my tone measured with no small effort. “You asked me here to speak about the children, so let’s do that. To start with, I don’t think bringing all three children to the ball tomorrow night is a good idea.”

Her eyes flash with annoyance. “I haven’t seen my babies for months, Romie, and now you want me to give up a night with them?” She rubs those damned lips together again. “Aren’t you always telling me I should spend more time with them?”

“Attending that ball isn’t spending quality time with the kids, Inger.”

It’s using them for a pap walk, and you know it.

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