Page 25 of Nico
He relented and went to sit next to her. "I apologize," he told her wearily. "I'm being a jerk, but that does not mean I should take it out on you." He reached for her hand and lifted it to his lips.
Her smile came, expression softening. "I know, darling." She rubbed his hand. "But we need to think of that little girl. We'll never make up for her losing her mother, but we can embrace her as a family. Oh darling, I'm already in love with her." She shook her head. "Listen to me." She laughed a little breathlessly.
"You have been yearning for a grandchild."
"Oh, I have been." She patted his hand and turned to face him. "It's going to be all right, darling, you'll see."
*****
He hesitated just inside the doorway of her bedroom. It was one of the smallest suites in the manor and he had to admit, one of the loveliest. His mother had chosen well. The bed was a white antique four poster, which was much too big for the tiny child. He suspected his mother would order something more appropriate for her age and frame. The carpet hushed his footsteps as he approached the bed.
He had no intention of waking her. He just wanted to have a closer look. Sitting gingerly on the edge of the bed, he waited with bated breath to see if she was disturbed. But she continued to sleep. He stared and felt a jolt at the child's uncanny resemblance to his sister at that age.
It was the same peaches and cream skin, the tumble of blonde curls. Her lashes were long and made shadows on her plump cheeks. She slept on her left side, with her tiny hands folded under her cheek. Small rosebud mouth was pursed, and her breathing was soft and quiet. She was a stunningly beautiful child, he thought achingly. There was no doubt that she was his. He had made her, he thought in wonder. It might have been out of an attraction he never remembered having, one that had sizzled and then died, but she was a person. He had made a whole person. And here she was. He had missed her being born and could resent that now, but here she was.
He had no idea how to feel or what to do. He did not know the first thing about being a father. All he knew was his work.
Reaching out a hand, he touched one fat curl and pushed it away from her forehead.
He was so intent on his study of her that when his sister came and stood beside him, he realized she was there.
"I thought you'd left."
"I had to make some phone calls," she whispered. "I'm taking the rest of the day off. Mother and I want to be here when she wakes up. She's going to want her mother."
He nodded. "She looks so much like you."
Placing a hand on his shoulder, she squeezed. "I thought so too. She's utterly adorable."
"I'm going to have to figure out what to do with her."
"That's easy."
Turning his head, he looked at her. "It's not. I'm a single guy with a history of forgetting to put socks on." He rose, forcing her to drop her hand. "But I suppose I'll have to figure it out."
Sliding her hand through his arm, she stood with him as they both stared at the little girl.
"Mother and I will be ordering a bed for her in the morning."
"I thought you would. Let's go before we wake her."
Chapter 7
For the first time since seeing her, he was dreading the meeting. It took him almost two days to get in touch with her as he contemplated what to say to her. How to explain that his life had changed drastically.
And to tell her that he could not be in a relationship right now. He was going to have to pause and concentrate on a daughter who had just suddenly appeared in his life.
"Are you all right?" she asked when she brought him a glass of wine. He had suggested meeting her at her place instead of his and was sitting in his car inside her driveway when she arrived.
"How was work?" He forced a smile to his lips and wondered how much a man is expected to endure. Her scent surrounded him. She had worn a snug cranberry colored sweater dress and teamed it with a chic navy-blue jacket. And knee-high boots. She had ditched the boots and jacket and loosened the pins in her hair, allowing the thick dark brown strands to tumble free around her face and down her shoulders.
And he wanted to jump her. Wanted it so badly that he could actually taste it.
"Work was work. Your marble bust was tagged by a very wealthy widow with too much money and not enough brain cells."
His thick brows arched as she came to sit next to him. "Are you saying it would only take a silly person to purchase the piece?"
"Mrs. Winthrop is known for her knack of spending an exorbitant amount of money on frivolities. She dresses like a drag queen."
