Page 35 of Damned
But now that Karma had brought him full circle, Kruze recalled how Bree had all but danced on the way back to her hotel. How she’d laughed and coaxed him to dance with her, another very un-Kruze-like response to an enchanting woman. How she’d sparkled beneath the soft glow of all those Parisian street lamps. That’s what was missing now. Her love and excitement for life. Bree hadn’t laughed once in Turkey. Or tonight.
Kruze wondered how to make her happy again. But his mouth was as dry as the mountain air in Eastern Anatolia, and he was sure he was having heart palpitations. Over a child. His child! There his heart went again, galloping like a herd of wild Arabian horses set free in the Egyptian desert.
Slinging his jacket over his shoulder, Kruze took Bree’s hand, and together they walked through the already open four-car garage to the inside door. He opened it for her, and they entered her parents’ house through a tidy mudroom, complete with a slate-gray tiled shower, washer, and dryer. The spacious room’s frosted casement window opened to the street.
From there, Bree took over, leading him through a cozy kitchen decorated with roosters, the walls done in brick-reds and mellow golds. It made the house a home, and he liked it. The small light left on under the rangehood reminded him of San Diego. His mom had always left the rangehood light on when he and his brothers came home late. Thoughtful. Motherly.
The angst that had been climbing Kruze’s spine settled down. He could do this. Right now he was no one special, just a friend. Bree might even introduce him as a boyfriend. He had nothing to worry about. Still holding his free hand, she ushered Kruze into a large family room, where a gas fire-log burned brightly in a stone fireplace that took up the entire opposite wall.
He stopped cold. Bree was talking, introducing him to her parents. Or something. He heard her voice. He heard their voices. But they sounded vague and indistinguishable. Distant.
His jacket slipped off his shoulder. Kruze knew he should be polite and respond to whatever her father was saying, but he couldn’t help himself. His hearing had failed along with his heart. He couldn’t breathe. He walked straight to the oil painting on the wall at his right.
My God. There she is. She looks just like me.Shiny, short, curly, black hair. Bright white teeth. Rosy cheeks and full pink lips. Cocky, crooked smile. But those mischievous green eyes…
They were his.Shewas his. Robin lookedjustlike him. There was no denying it. Not that he ever would. Robin might as well be his clone. HisMini-Me. In that instant, the charming little girl in the portrait became his heart and soul and every day of the rest of his life. She looked… Just. Like. Him. He was her father. She looked the same as he had in all those old baby pictures his mom saved. Where were they now? Suddenly, Kruze wanted to know.
The conversation in the large room behind him stilled, as, for the first time in his life, Kruze touched his perfect baby’s face. He couldn’t help it. The portrait was suddenly as blurry as hell. He had to blink just to trace the curve of Robin’s cheek with his index finger. Damn it, he couldn’t make that finger stop shaking.
It took a full minute or two before he felt Bree’s warm body snuggle into his side. He hadn’t expected the comfort her touch brought, but he was grateful she’d reached out to him. When at last he could tear his bleary eyes off Robin, Kruze looked down into the stunning pale-blues of the woman he’d made love with four years ago.Four years.He choked at all he’d missed because of his stupid male pride. Those nine months of anticipation. The joy of Robin’s birth. Her first steps. Her first tooth. This. All this…
“Ahem,” some guy growled behind him.
Easing away from Bree, Kruze spun on his heel, embarrassed, overwhelmed, and damned close to falling apart and making a fool of himself. Who was he kidding? He’d already done that. Wiping a swift hand over his face, as if he could hide his leaking emotions, Kruze extended his dry hand to the man who should be kicking his ass.
“Sir,” he said clearly, going for broke. He had a beat-down coming, and by hell, for Bree and Robin, he’d take it. “It’s a privilege to meet—”
Kruze didn’t get to finish. Bree’s father jerked him into his chest and hugged the hell out of him, squeezing him and slapping his back, as if he didn’t know what a bastard Kruze was. Which Bree’s father should’ve known. A woman didn’t keep that kind of secret from her parents, not if she was living with them. And there was no mistaking that Robin looked just like him. What the hell?
Kruze hugged back, sort of. Kind of not. Hugs were his brother Pagan’s thing, not his. But when Bree’s father whispered, “My God, you’re her father. She looks just like you,” instead of,“I am going to whip your ass and put your lousy head on the steel spike I’ve been saving for you, you bastard!”Kruze sucked it up and hugged Bree’s father with both hands. Chest to chest. He’d barely stepped out of the crushing hug with... Hell, he didn’t even know the man’s name.
“Brandon Banks, young man. You were a little busy looking at my one and only granddaughter when Bree introduced us. Of course, you didn’t hear her. Nice to finally meet you,” Bree’s father said, his voice as tight as Kruze’s. “She said she was bringing a special friend over and to be nice to him. Sure wasn’t expecting it’d be you.”
He sounded like he knew Kruze, but Kruze had never met Brandon Banks before. “Sir,” he replied unsteadily, shaking hands with the man who could still kill him. “The pleasure is mine.”
“Would you like to meetourgranddaughter?” a quiet voice asked. Bree’s mother stood at the hall doorway with a stern look on her face and a sleepy little girl in her arms. “If you’re who I think you are, it’s about time you showed up. This is Robin.” Bree’s mom’s eyes were the same pale-blue as Bree’s. “I’m Lark, by the way.”
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you, yes. I’d l-l-love to meet your granddaughter.” The sight of the little girl sitting upright in Lark’s arms, staring at Kruze, ripped his heart out. Robin was ready for bed, dressed in pink flannel shorts and a matching tank top with white ruffles along the armholes and hem. She was olive-skinned, just like him, not pale like Bree and her mom. Robin’s feet were bare. Dimples dotted her chubby knees and ankles, even her elbows. The backs of her fat little hands, too. She was perfect.
Kruze croaked at the generous welcome he was receiving. Him, the middle son and the most forgettable. The bastard who’d knocked up Brandon and Lark’s daughter, then deserted her when Bree had needed him most.
The moment Lark set Robin on the floor, Kruze’s heart fell at her feet. He had a little girl! A beautiful, perfect little girl! He crouched down to her level, his hands loose and relaxed between his knees, letting his daughter set the pace of this momentous meeting.
“Hey, Robin,” he offered softly. Tentatively. Not making any sudden moves, not wanting to do anything to frighten her.
He was so much taller and bigger than Brandon. Robin was already looking up at Kruze suspiciously, her head cocked, and biting her index finger. But she wasn’t sucking it, and she hadn’t once cowered back against her grandmother’s legs. She wasn’t shy. It was more as if she were thinking extra-hard and needed to chew on her finger to do it. Even her lips were pursed in a thoughtful pucker around that gooey digit. At last she asked, “Are you Mommy’s boyfriend? She never had one before. So? Are you?”
Kruze’s heart stuttered at that very adult question. Her diction was perfect. Not baby talk. But damn. Bree had no boyfriends? He looked up to Bree for that answer.
“Yes, Robin. This is Kruze Sinclair, my boyfriend. Kruze, this is my little girl, Robin.” There wasn’t a titch of tension in Bree’s motherly voice. She was good at this, smoothing things over. Making sure Robin wasn’t nervous.
If only it worked on Kruze. He was as twitchy as hell, dying to hold this little one, in his hands and under his chin. To smell her curly, black hair and breathe the scent of her skin into his soul. There was no question she was his child. Robin was a Sinclair, all right, and he wanted her with every jackhammering beat of his heart.
“I think I like Mister Kruze, Mommy. He’s a pretty good boyfriend.” Robin nodded while she mumbled without a hint of the maelstrom of emotions storming Kruze. “You look just like my picture. Did you see me?” She took that slippery finger out of her mouth and pointed at her portrait. “See? Look. You and me both have black hair, only mine’s longer. And we both got green eyes. We might be twins, Mister Kruze.”
He could’ve cried. She was so damned smart, and she recognized him at some level. She might not have connected all the dots yet, but it wouldn’t take her long.
“She’s a smart one,” Brandon murmured.
