Sarah Anderson – The Beaumont Children: His Son, Her Secret (страница 18)

“I’m sorry,” Byron said as Percy sputtered and coughed. He let out a disgruntled cry but stopped when Leona nudged the boat back in front of him.

“It’s okay,” she said softly and Byron was surprised to see she was smiling. “It’ll get easier.”

“If you say so,” he said, scrubbing Percy’s legs as fast as he could.

The argument—well, it wasn’t quite an argument, but it’d certainly been more than a discussion—hung in the air between them. As they finished Percy’s bath and got him ready for bed, Byron thought about what Leona had said. That she hadn’t told him who her family was because she didn’t want to be a Harper.

Did he believe her?

For the past year, he’d been operating under the assumption that she’d misled him on purpose, that she’d intentionally withheld the information so she could use her family name against him at the right time. And hadn’t the right time been that awful night?

But maybe...maybe that’s not what had happened.

He ran through his memories again—of Rory calling him out and, when Byron mouthed off, firing him. Of taking a swing at Rory because, damn it, he’d put up with enough of that man’s crap over the year and a half he’d worked there and that was not how it was supposed to end.

And then Bruce—the pastry chef Byron had counted as a friend—had grabbed him from behind and physically hauled him out of the restaurant and thrown him down on the sidewalk, just in time to see Leona getting into Leon Harper’s chauffeured vehicle.

Except...had she? Or had Leon shoved his daughter into the car? It’d been dark and rainy and Byron had thought...

Had it been part of the lie? Or was she now telling the truth? Was she being truthful about the lies she’d already told? Was that even a thing?

This was what she did to him. She spun his head around and around until he didn’t know which way was up anymore.

While Leona nursed Percy, Byron furiously washed and dried the dishes, trying to remember exactly what Leon Harper had done in the minute before he’d gotten up into Byron’s stunned face and taunted him.

That’s when Leona came back into the kitchen.

“He go down okay?” Byron asked, because it seemed like the thing a parent would ask about.

“I gave him something for his ears. Hopefully he’ll sleep for at least a couple of hours.”

“Hopefully?” A couple of hours did not seem like enough.

Leona gave him a tired smile. “That’s why we were looking at tubes.”

“Yeah, I guess.” He dried another dish. “How many ear infections has he had?”

“I’ve lost count. May gets up with him sometimes, but he usually just wants to nurse.”

Byron’s gaze dropped to her chest. She wasn’t wearing a bra and he could see the outline of her nipples poking through the thin fabric of her shirt. Lust hit him hard and low as his mind chose exactly that moment to remember the kiss from earlier this evening and the one from last night.

“A-hem,” she said, crossing her arms.

“Sorry,” he replied, focusing all his attention back on the pots and pans.

Leona sighed. “Are you sure we should live together?”

He tensed. Damn it, this was going from bad to worse. “As opposed to what?”

“As opposed to a regular custody agreement where we each have Percy for a week or two and then trade, with child support and the like.” She paused. “It might be better that way.”

“Better for who? Not better for Percy—not when your father can take him. No way.”

She grabbed a towel and one of the few remaining pots. “Byron, I don’t want this to be hard.”

“Hard?” He snorted. “I hate to burst your bubble, but nothing about this is easy.”

“Fine,” she snapped. “All I’m saying is that you’re obviously still mad at me and I don’t want Percy to grow up in a household where his parents are constantly sniping at each other. That doesn’t make me the bad guy here.”

“I didn’t say you were the bad guy. And I’m not mad at you.” He was, however, getting pretty pissed at himself. He couldn’t be doing a worse job fighting for what he wanted if he tried. His father was probably rolling over in his grave.

If Hardwick Beaumont were still here, he’d slap Byron on the shoulder and say, “Stop screwing around. She’s just a woman, for God’s sake. You’re a Beaumont. Act like one.”

Except Byron didn’t want to be a Beaumont if it meant bending Leona and Percy to his will just because he could. He didn’t want to rule by force and fear.

She glared at him. “No, but you don’t have to say the words, Byron. Your actions speak quite loudly.”

“Oh, yeah? Then what does this say?” He grabbed her by the arms and hauled her to him. The kiss was not sweet or gentle—it was hard and unbending. He might not be able to get her to say yes to his proposal, but he was damned sure she wasn’t going to say no.

After a moment, she bent. Her head slanted sideways and she opened her mouth for him with a sigh. He deepened the kiss. Could he kiss her like this without getting lost in the soft sweetness of her body?

Because that’s what she was now, all soft and warm in his arms. His pulse beat out a faster rhythm. When she broke the kiss, he let her. “What are we going to do, Byron?”

“We’ll do a trial run. I’ll get us a place and you and Percy can come stay for a little while—say a week or two. You won’t have to pack up all your things here. And if it doesn’t work...” He paused and swallowed. He didn’t want to admit it might not work. He didn’t want to be wrong. But he had to give her something, a fallback to prove that he wouldn’t hold her hostage once he had her and Percy with him. “If it doesn’t work, then we’ll go to your plan.”

He could do that. He could trust her enough to bring her under his roof. And once he had her there, then he could figure out which part of her story was the truth—or if she was still lying to him.

For some reason that could only be described as self-destructive, he wanted to take her at her word.

She leaned back to look at him. “And if it does?”

Her eyes were wide—but not with fear. Instead, she looked hopeful. And hope looked good on her. He lifted his hand and stroked her cheek. “If it does, I’ll ask you to marry me again.”

She leaned into his touch and exhaled through slightly parted lips. He’d kissed her to end the argument and remind her that he was in control, but instead of it dampening his desire for her, it’d only ramped it up. He needed her—only her. No one, not even sensual European women, could satisfy him like this woman did.

“Two weeks?” she said softly, staring into his eyes.

He could get lost in her light brown eyes. As corny as the sentiment was, it was true. “Yeah,” he said, his head dipping to meet hers. “That sounds good.”

“Mmm,” was all she could say because by then, Byron was kissing her and she was kissing him back and there weren’t any more words, any more negotiations. There was just him and her, the way it had been. The way it should still be.

The kiss deepened when she touched his lips with her tongue. It was a hesitant touch, as though she wasn’t sure what would happen next.

Byron knew what he wanted to happen. He wanted to sweep her off her feet and carry her back to the bedroom and spend the rest of the night remembering what they’d once had. He didn’t want to think about betrayal and lies. He just wanted her.

He swept his tongue into her mouth and felt her body respond. Old memories—good ones of the first time he’d kissed her—came rushing back. She’d been hesitant then, too. Now he knew it was because he was a Beaumont but back then he’d thought it was because she was sweet and innocent and afraid he’d push her too far. So he’d just kissed her good-night against the side of her car before she drove home alone.

Which was what he should do now. He should kiss her long and hard and then remove himself from the apartment. He should go home and take care of business himself instead of burying his body into hers over and over again. He shouldn’t push his luck. Hell, he didn’t have much luck left to push.

But Leona ran her fingers through his hair and leaned back, exposing her neck as she moaned, “Oh, Byron,” and he was lost. He would always be lost to her.

He kissed her on the spot just under her ear and was rewarded with a shudder of pleasure. “Tell me what you want,” he whispered. “Do you want me?”

She didn’t answer right away, so he kissed her again. Their tongues tangled as heat built between them. Every moment he spent holding her made it that much harder to walk away and soon he would barely be able to walk at all. But he didn’t care. If she brought him to his knees, so be it.

“Tell me,” he demanded again. This time he took a step forward and pivoted, leaning her up against the counter. He slid his hands under her bottom and lifted her. Her body felt so good in his hands. “Tell me you want me.” As he said it, he tilted his knee forward and pushed her legs apart.

She hadn’t let go of him, hadn’t pushed him away. Instead, she trailed her lips over his jaw and down his neck.

He stepped into her and tilted his hips so his straining erection rubbed against her very center. Leona gasped at the contact. She jolted upright, her eyes even wider as she stared at him.