Page 67 of Beautiful Rush
Killian climbed into his Range Rover and shut the door. I thought he would leave, but he called to me from his open window.
I planted my hands on my hips. “What now?”
He rubbed the back of his neck, something he always did when he was uncomfortable or about to bring up an awkward conversation. “If youhad a boyfriend, you’d feel comfortable enough tointroduce him to us, right?”
“That depends. Would you glare at him and threaten to beat him up?” I teased.
“If he messed with you, damn straight I would. But if he was a good guy and treated you right, I’d be in his corner.”
“When I find a good guy who treats me right, I’ll invite him to a family dinner.”Hopefully, that would happen soon.
Twoweeks and I hadn’t heard a word from Deacon. No late-night visits. No messages.No calls.Nothing. Even though he told me he needed to make himself scarce, I was worried about him. And I missed him. A lot.
Killian nodded, satisfied with my answer.I smiled athim. “And hey,just for the record,you’re going to be a great dad. The best.”
He squinted into the distance, his blue eyes translucent in the sunlight. Sometimes it caught me off guard when I looked at my brothers. It was those eyes, so like my mother’s. Even their hair was the same shade of dark brown. It was weird. I looked more like my father,but the resemblance wasn’t as noticeable.Killian’sgaze settled on my faceand I caught a rare glimpse ofhisvulnerability. “I never thought a guy like me would ever have it this good. A wife. A baby on the way. A family.I don’t know what I did to deserve it but I sure as hell won’t take it for granted.”
Tears pricked my eyes. His words slayed me. Ireached into the car and wrapped my arms around him. He gave me an awkward pat on the backthatmade me laugh.
“Get back to work,” he growled. “I’ve got shit to do.”
I chuckled to myself ashedroveaway, the ladder bungee corded to his roof. Then I texted Eden.
Keira:Mission accomplished
Eden:I knew he’d come around
Keira: I’ll be over there soon, and I’ll hold the ladder for you, k?
Eden: Better yet, bring tacos
* * *
I had just gottenhome from the rec center when a knock came on my door. I practically flew across the living room. Deacon was here. His assignment was over. My stomach was all fluttery with excitement and without even bothering to check the peephole, I flung the door open and I froze.
The man standing outside my door was not Deacon.
Raising shaky hands to my mouth, I stared, not quite believing that he was standing right in front of me. In Brooklyn. Outside my apartment door. I took it all in. Dark hair cropped short. Tanned skin. A hint of a smile on his full lips. He wore a crisp white dress shirt with no tie, the top two buttons undone under a dark suit jacket tailored to fit his broad shoulders. My eyes met his dark ones and I threw myself into his arms.
“Anthony,” I whispered. The familiar scent of his cologne—Tom Ford Black Orchid—filled my nostrils and I breathed deeply. It was him. It was really him. He was alive, and he was here.
“Hey Babygirl.”
Babygirl. I laughed at the stupid nickname and released him, stepping aside to let him in. He was carrying a bag and I followed him into the kitchen, still marveling that he was here. He set the bag on the counter and reached into my cupboard for two glasses as if he knew exactly which cupboard I kept my glasses in.
I eyed the bottle of whiskey he pulled out of the bag. The Macallan 18. My father’s favorite whiskey. Anthony poured the amber liquid into two Ikea tumblers and handed one to me.
“What’s the occasion?”
“Celebrating your belated twenty-first birthday.” He smiled and it softened his hard features. “It was the first one I missed in nine years.”
I clinked my glass against his and took a sip of whiskey, wondering why Anthony had chosen it to celebrate. It seemed like an odd choice. Maybe I was reading too much into it. I pushed it to the back of my mind.
We carried our drinks and the bottle into the living room, and he glanced around my apartment, taking in every detail. He studied the photos of Eden and Killian’s wedding and the painting of my brothers above the sofa before he took a seat, eying the bowl of sea glass on my coffee table. I sat on the other end of the sofa, leaving a seat cushion between us, my body angled toward him.
His gaze lingered on my face. A flush crept up my neck and heated my cheeks. He’d never looked at me like this before. Like he was seeing me for the first time. Like I was a woman and not just my father’s daughter. I took another sip of whiskey to hide my discomfort and tried to shake off the weird vibes I was getting.
“Tell me about your life. What have you been doing since you left Miami?” he asked.
