Page 9 of Back in the Texan's Bed
Not that she could ever forget the arrogant slashes of his cheekbones or the patrician slope of his nose or the strong, bold facial structure. Every day she looked into her son’s features, she saw Ross. Was reminded of the man who’d fathered her beautiful little boy and rejected them both.
She couldn’t escape him.
Couldn’t forgive him.
The reminder of his unpardonable offense—not wanting her or the baby they’d created together—wrenched her from the dazzling tapestry he’d always been capable of weaving around her. He might have the appearance of an archangel, but he possessed the morals and heart of one of the fallen brethren.
“Ross,” she greeted flatly, closing the door with a soft, definitive click. “This is a surprise.”What are you doing here? How did you know where I lived? When are you leaving?She slid a surreptitious glance down the hall toward Ben’s room. He needed to go before her son woke from his nap. “What can I do for you?”
He didn’t immediately answer but surveyed the postage-stamp-sized foyer with its generic paintings and cherry wood mantel that had come with the home. The living room opened up off to the left, with the large bay windows, small gas fireplace, overstuffed couch and love seat, and the glass coffee table visible. From his vantage point, he couldn’t glimpse the connecting dining room with its long, cedar table and chairs that seated eight people, or the pretty chandelier that hung from the tall ceiling.
Her home couldn’t compare to the palatial Elegance Ranch where his family lived and where she’d once ruled the dream of a kitchen that could compete with any restaurant’s commercial space. But this single-level, two-bedroom, two-bath house was comfortable, cozy and more than enough for her and Ben.
“You have a nice place,” he finally said, his glacial gaze resting on her once more.
“Thank you,” she replied, refusing to shiver under that stare. “That’s not why you’re here, though, is it?”
A corner of his mouth lifted in a just-short-of-humorous half smile. “Still direct, I see,” he murmured.
No, she’d never been that direct with him. Not that honest, either.
If she had been honest—if she’d trusted him enough to be—she would’ve confessed how she hadn’t felt safe at Elegance Ranch in those last couple of months she worked there. How his father had been steadily hitting on her. Rusty Edmond hadn’t touched her, but the flirting, the sly compliments and innuendos...those, in a way, had been more insidious. Because if she confided in others, they could wave it off as harmless, warning her she didn’t have concrete evidence to complain. And complain to whom? Her boss? The very man who made her feel uncomfortable and threatened?
Threatened, because if she dared called Rusty on his actions, he would’ve fired her. And he probably wouldn’t have just stopped here. With his power and privilege, he could’ve destroyed her career as easily as he ordered a rare T-bone steak for dinner. She’d felt trapped, cornered. Defenseless. And the only way out that she’d seen was leaving.
She’d could’ve told Ross about the situation with his father; she’d been tempted to confess all. But every time she gathered the courage, something held her back. No, not something.Fear.
Fear that he wouldn’t believe her.
Fear that he would believe her and still side with his father over her.
He was an Edmond first. And his family took precedence over everything—and everyone.
“I have things to take care of before I leave for the restaurant, so...” She trailed off, letting her not-so-subtle hint to get on with it linger in the air between them. The most important subject she hadn’t been direct or honest with him about lay sleeping down the hall. She needed Ross out of the house. Five minutes ago.
He nodded, sliding his hands into the front pockets of his pants, the motion opening his suit jacket. And she tried to convince herself that she didn’t remember how wide and strong his chest had been. How that divot in the middle of his pecs had been perfect for resting her cheek. How hard and muscled that delicious ladder of abs had been between her thighs when she straddled him.
Tried and failed.
“Two reasons. First, I wanted to check on your baby. How is he feeling this morning?” he murmured.
“He’s fine. Better,” she amended, hesitant.
Why would he care? No hint of anger threaded through his voice... Oh, God, wait. He’d saidbaby. How old did he think Ben was? Did he assume she’d had a child with another man? Relief trickled through her. But underneath, winding through like a silver thread, lurked an irrational fury. He hadn’t wanted their baby, so how dare he show concern over another man’s.
Fucking great. Now she was getting all fired up over an imaginary partner who’d supposedly fathered her child.
This was what being around Ross Edmond for five minutes did to her.
“The father,” he hedged, his voice slightly deepening even as his words confirmed her suspicion. “Where is he?” Once more he scanned her home. “Did he move back with you?”
She barely smothered her snort. “His father isn’t in the picture.” Not a lie. “It’s just us,” she added, skirting him and heading into the living room.
Not because she relished the idea of him having more access to her house, her private sanctuary. She would be a fool not to guard her life, her secret against him. But she also needed to be free of that tiny space where his scent filled her nostrils, sat on her tongue, clung to her clothes, her skin. She just craved a breath that didn’t carryhim.
Ross stared at her, his crystalline gaze unreadable before he glanced away, a muscle ticking along his jaw. “Charlotte, I—” he ground out, thrusting a hand through the longer strands of dirty blond hair that waved away from his face.
“What else, Ross?” she interrupted him, not bothering to prevent the edge from creeping into her voice. She tried not to glance down at her watch, but the minutes steadily ticking by before Ben woke drummed against her skin like impatient fingertips. “You said there were two reasons you stopped by.”
