Page 10 of Back in the Texan's Bed
For a moment he studied her, flint in his eyes and the sculpted length of his jaw still tight. “Last night, Billy asked you about joining the advisory board for the festival. It was awkward as hell for him to put you on the spot like that, and I understand if you decide against it. But I wanted to see if you’d made a decision.”
“You couldn’t have called and asked me this?”
“I don’t have your number.”
“No,” she shot back. “But somehow you found out where I lived, so unearthing my phone number probably wouldn’t have been that much of a leap.”
“Touché,” he murmured, his lips quirking in that maddening—and damn sexy—half smile that had never failed to tempt her into stroking her fingers across his mouth. Three years ago, she could, and did, submit to that urge. Now she curled her fingers into her palms, convincing herself that the itch tingling in her fingertips and palms had zero to do with that old impulse. “You’ve been away from Royal three years, but surely you haven’t forgotten how not much remains secret around here. It didn’t take but asking the right question of the right person to find out where you’d moved to. Just making that clear so you don’t think I took up a second career as a stalker in your absence.”
She snorted, crossing her arms over her chest. He spoke the truth. And she hadn’t missed the “everybody knows your name and your business” mentality of this small Texas town.
Of course, she and Ross had achieved the miraculous. Their affair had been one of the best-kept secrets in Royal.
Until she’d outed them to Rusty, that is.
“Right. About that.” She shook her head, loosening her arms to hold her palms up. “I’m sure your friend meant well, but given our...past, it’s probably not a good idea for me to be on your advisory board.”
“Last night, I agreed with you. But I’ve been thinking...” His gaze narrowed on her, and she resisted falling into that storm of ice and heat.
“Thinking what?” she prodded.
“That the success of this festival, Soiree on the Bay, is important to a lot of people. With that in mind, I’m willing to put aside ourpast—” his lips twisted as he mimicked her word “—to achieve that goal. And this advisory board is part of that. We need the best creative and forward-thinking minds in this group. And whatever happened between us, I remember you were a brilliant, innovative chef. You can bring that originality, imagination as well as your business sense to the board. It can only benefit all of us.”
What had that silent but deafening pause been about? What was henotsaying? She gave her head a hard, mental shake. None of her business. She couldn’t afford to get bogged down in anything Ross. In anything Edmond.
Been there, done that. Had the stretch marks to prove it.
“I’ll consider what you’re saying, Ross.” She absolutely wouldnot. “But I can’t make any pro—”
“Mama.”
A light patter of rapid footsteps followed the plaintive, soft and utterly sweet voice calling out to her. Chubby arms wrapped around her lower calf, and in spite of the dread pumping through her veins like a freight train and flooding her mouth with the metallic taste of fear, she knelt to the floor and pulled her son into her arms. His arms wound around her neck, and he burrowed close. Her heart hammered against her ribs, threatening to break each of them, but she still placed a gentle kiss on top of Ben’s thick, light brown curls, breathing in his precious scent. She squeezed her eyes against the sting of tears that suddenly pricked her eyes. Not just because one day he would lose that sweet baby smell.
The abrupt rush of overwhelming sadness and dismay was due to the silent man who loomed several feet away from them. The man whose gaze seared her like a flaming hot brand.
The Sword of Damocles that had hung over her life—over Ben’s life—had suddenly fallen.
And there was nothing she could do to sweep them out from under its crashing, lethal weight.
“How’re you feeling, baby boy?” she asked, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead and then to his cheek. Relief was a soothing balm inside her at the coolness of his skin. No fever. Thank God. No mother ever felt as helpless as when her child was sick.
“Good,” he mumbled, crowding closer to her, his arms tightening as he notched his head under her chin and tried to crawl up her torso. In spite of the bile churning in her belly and burning an acidic path toward her throat, she smiled. Ben was a friendly, bubbly child with seemingly endless energy—except when he fell ill. Then he clung to her, not wanting to let her out of his sight. Not that she minded. Holding him, having his small, sturdy body pressed close, and listening to him breathe were just small things to reassure her that her baby was okay. “Eat,” he demanded. “Hungry.” Even though the order sounded more like “hungwy,” she fully understood it.
“You want banana pancakes?” she asked, suggesting his favorite breakfast. Okay, so sue her. She was spoiling him this morning.
He nodded, his tawny curls brushing her chin. “’Nana ’cakes. Juice.”
“You got it.” She pressed another kiss to the top of his head. “Can you go play with your trucks for a minute while I finish talking to this nice man?” She fought to maintain her soft, even tone, but with her heart lodged in her throat, it was becoming more of a struggle.
For the first time, Ben turned his head and looked at Ross. Shy with strangers, he didn’t say anything, but the panic crackling inside her, dancing over her skin like a live wire, ratcheted to a higher, dissonant level. Her son stared at his father for the first time, although he didn’t know it. It was a surreal moment. Father and son studying one another... Especially Ross, with that narrowed, enigmatic scrutiny...
Part of her wanted to thrust Ben behind her, shield him from Ross. Protect him and yell that she wouldn’t allow him to hurt her son.
But the other half... That proud, almost smug half yearned to stand Ben before him, let Ross get a good, long look and brag that this was the precious, brilliant and perfect boy that he’d wanted her to get rid of. That he’d wanted nothing to do with.
That vindictive, ugly part of her wanted him to soak, fuckingdrownin regret.
Did that make her a bitch? Probably. Still, the primal need to protect Ben superseded any petty desires.
