Page 22 of Back in the Texan's Bed
God, he lived for that day.
Butterflies. He’d never experienced butterflies in his stomach before. The closest had been the tightening and twisting of his gut when he’d known he would be with Charlotte. But that had been about anticipation, desire. Not nerves. No, these were honest-to-God nerves. And not over a woman, but for a boy. A toddler who had the power to squeeze his heart so hard that the ache throbbed in his chest.
Climbing the shallow steps to the front door, he dragged in a breath, then knocked. Within seconds, the door opened as if the person on the other side had just been waiting on him.
Charlotte stood in the entryway, her dark hair hanging in a long braid over her shoulder. A long-sleeved, emerald dress clung to her full breasts before the soft material fell to the floor. She looked casual, even comfortable. But there was nothing comfortable about how his cock thumped against his zipper, stretching, hardening. Dammit. The woman could make a nun’s habit sexy as fuck.
“Hi, Ross,” she greeted, stepping back, granting him room to enter. “Come on in.”
“Thanks.” Instead of studying the elegant slant of her cheekbone or the sensual curve of her mouth or—hell—the lush rise of her breasts, he surveyed her home. As if it were his first time there. As if he hadn’t memorized every square footage of the place that he’d seen. Anything was better than staring at her like a starved animal.
Hell, he shouldn’t find her sexy. Shouldn’t want her. Shouldn’t fuckingfeelaround her.
He accepted she hadn’t lied to him or kept his son away from him out of spite or malice, but he still didn’t trust her. Didn’t trust her not to disappear—she’d done it once before. He also didn’t trust her not to renege on allowing him access to Ben.
But while he might be angry—anunderstatement—with his father, Rusty Edmond had still raised him. And one thing he’d taught Ross was to understand what your opponent needed and find a way to supply it. It might seem inherently wrong that he viewed Charlotte as his adversary, but right now he wanted her and Ben to live with him, and she was opposed to the idea. So he’d found her weakness and was prepared to lean on it until she surrendered. She’d shown him that he wasn’t enough for her to stick around for. Maybe his incentivewouldbe.
Fighting fair? No. Was he being his father’s son at the moment? Probably.
Did he care? Not even a little bit.
“Where’s Ben?” he asked, glancing toward the living room.
“My parents have him. I usually run later than usual on Friday nights, and they offered to keep him until this morning. They’re bringing him home shortly.”
Disappointment coalesced inside his chest, tight and hot.
“I texted you last night to let you know, just in case you wanted to drop by later this morning,” she said, her tone apologetic.
“Yeah, I didn’t see it.” In his haste to confront his father as soon as he got back, he’d forgotten his phone in the car, and hadn’t checked it for messages yet when he’d retrieved it today. “Maybe this works out better. We can talk over some things before he gets here.”
She stared at him, then slowly dipped her head. “Fine.” Without waiting for him, she strode toward the living room, and he followed. She didn’t sit on the couch or love seat but turned and faced him. The resolute jut of her chin and the thrust of her hip relayed that he didn’t have an easy battle ahead of him.
He hadn’t expected it to be.
“I spoke with Billy while I was in Dallas,” he said, starting with a more innocuous subject. “He told me you agreed to serve on the festival advisory board.”
“Yes. I brought it to Jeremy, Sheen’s owner, and Faith Grisham, the manager, and they both agreed it would be in the restaurant’s best interest to host a tent and for the head chef to be on the board. Billy assured me the meetings wouldn’t interfere with my work schedule. And as long as they don’t take up too much of my time with Ben, I’m willing to do it.”
“We appreciate it. Whatever input and ideas you can add will be valuable. Thank you for doing this, Charlotte.”
She shrugged a shoulder and unfolded her arms. Skimming a hand over her braid, she huffed out a breath. “We’ll see how it works out,” she said, and then added, “Rip the Band-Aid off, Ross. You want my answer about moving in with you, and it’s still the same as it was before. No, I can’t.”
“Hear me out first, Charlotte,” he requested, shifting closer to her, and after a second, slid his hands in his suit pockets. That was becoming a habit when around her. Occupying or trapping his hands so they didn’t rebel and do something heinous like run the backs of his fingers over the delicate but stubborn line of her jaw. Trail his fingertips over the lush curve of her bottom lip. Grab that braid, fist it and tug her head back...
Fuck.
Refocusing, he gazed into her brown eyes and proposed the arrangement that he’d been formulating over the last three days.
“I understand your reservations about moving in with me. Especially given our...past. But I have a counteroffer.” The rough thudding of his heart belied the calm of his voice. Heneededher to agree. But pride kept him from letting her know that. In his experience, voicing what you wanted,begging for it, had zero effect. The one time he had, his mother had walked away and left him and Gina anyway. It’d been the best and the cruelest lesson he’d learned. “Commit to one year of you and Ben living with me. Just one so I can get to know my son, and we can work out how to co-parent. Then if, at the end of the year, you decide it’s not working, you can leave.”
When she didn’t say anything, he risked moving closer, and that sharp and sweet scent teased him with a heavier, spicier fragrance. One that had to do less with figs and sugar and was more raw, pure woman.
Fuck if he didn’t hunger to lap it off her smooth hickory skin.
“Also, at the end of the year,” he continued, centering his attention once more on the conversation and not how delicious she used to taste, “I’ll gift you with five hundred thousand dollars to go toward anything you desire—like maybe opening your own restaurant. I remember that was your dream.”
He’d anticipated surprise or even a token resistance before quick capitulation. But he hadn’t predicted the indignation simmering in her dark eyes.
