glass.
“For one thing, you aren’t a kid in my eyes. You’re an adult. A
woman. A beautiful woman.”
My heart literally stopped. For at least a
second or two.
Was this guy…was he coming on to me? I opened
my mouth to respond, but no words would come out. What the hell was
I supposed to say? That he was supposed to be saying those words to
my mom because she was prettier than me, skinnier than me? Was I
supposed to point out that he was too old for me?
Maybe he wasn’t too old. Now that I’d gotten
a good, close look at him, I guessed he was younger than I had
originally thought. Maybe late twenties. Ten years. There might be
ten years between us.
Was that too many?
Watching me closely with those penetrating
eyes, he swallowed some of the water he had poured into a glass.
“Did I say something wrong?”
“No.”
“Good.” Sliding closer, he lifted his left
arm, draped it over the back of the seat, and twisted to face
me.
The hairs on my nape stood on end. My face
was getting hot. I could feel it. I couldn’t look him in the eye
anymore. Not when he was this close. So I stared down at his shoes.
They were nice shoes. Polished. They looked like they’d never
stepped outside of a shoe store. Mine, on the other hand, were worn
and scuffed.
What was this man doing with me? A guy like
this could have dinner with any woman he wanted. Right this minute
he could have been going out with a woman with perfect hair and a
perfect body. A woman like my mom…ten years ago.
“Allison.”
I lifted my head but I stared at his chest
instead of looking him in the eye. His crisp shirt was
wrinkle-free. Perfectly pressed.
He grasped my chin. “Allison,” he
repeated.
Damn it. He wasn’t going to let me keep
staring at his chest. I dragged my gaze up. It skimmed up his neck,
over a square jaw sprinkled with stubble, over a perfect mouth with
lips that looked extremely kissable, along the narrow blade of a
nose and finally stopped at those intense eyes of his. They
reminded me—he reminded me—of Christian Grey from my favorite book,
Fifty Shades of Grey.
“There you are. Are you afraid of me?” he
asked, his lips curling up at the corners.
“No, of course not.”
“Good. Then what’s wrong?”
“I just…it’s the compliment. I wasn’t
expecting it.”
“Why?” he asked, still holding my chin.
“Don’t you believe you’re beautiful?”
Without knowing it, he’d hit the target dead
in the center. Bulls eye. Did I believe I was beautiful? Absolutely
not. I was normal. Average. Acceptable. “I believe…my mother is
beautiful.”
“Ah.” His brows rose. Did any guy in the
world have more perfect eyebrows? “Yes, she is. She is a stunningly
beautiful woman. But…”
“But…?” My heart twisted. Had he decided he
wasn’t interested in her anymore? Why? Because she was in a
wheelchair? Did that make her less than a woman to him? Less than
perfect?
What about me? I wasn’t perfect either. I
wasn’t a living fashion doll, a size zero. I didn’t have money for
expensive pedicures and manicures or dye jobs. I came from the
wrong side of town. I didn’t go to a fancy private school for
girls. I didn’t know which fork to use if there was more than one.
“But she’s in a wheelchair?”
“No.”
“No?” I echoed, trying to understand what
this man was thinking. “Then why the, ‘but’?”
“She told me she can’t have children. I want
children.”
“Children?” I echoed, having a hard time
wrapping my head around what was happening. How had the topic of
children come up between my mom and her new employer? Had it been a
casual conversation? Or had they discussed it more directly, like a
couple considering dating or eventual marriage? “Exactly what is
the relationship between my mom and you?”
“I would say we’re friends.”
“Friends?” I echoed, not sure whether I
believed him. My mom had never said she was involved with this man.
She hadn’t gone on any dates that
“For one thing, you aren’t a kid in my eyes. You’re an adult. A
woman. A beautiful woman.”
My heart literally stopped. For at least a
second or two.
Was this guy…was he coming on to me? I opened
my mouth to respond, but no words would come out. What the hell was
I supposed to say? That he was supposed to be saying those words to
my mom because she was prettier than me, skinnier than me? Was I
supposed to point out that he was too old for me?
Maybe he wasn’t too old. Now that I’d gotten
a good, close look at him, I guessed he was younger than I had
originally thought. Maybe late twenties. Ten years. There might be
ten years between us.
Was that too many?
Watching me closely with those penetrating
eyes, he swallowed some of the water he had poured into a glass.
“Did I say something wrong?”
“No.”
“Good.” Sliding closer, he lifted his left
arm, draped it over the back of the seat, and twisted to face
me.
The hairs on my nape stood on end. My face
was getting hot. I could feel it. I couldn’t look him in the eye
anymore. Not when he was this close. So I stared down at his shoes.
They were nice shoes. Polished. They looked like they’d never
stepped outside of a shoe store. Mine, on the other hand, were worn
and scuffed.
What was this man doing with me? A guy like
this could have dinner with any woman he wanted. Right this minute
he could have been going out with a woman with perfect hair and a
perfect body. A woman like my mom…ten years ago.
“Allison.”
I lifted my head but I stared at his chest
instead of looking him in the eye. His crisp shirt was
wrinkle-free. Perfectly pressed.
He grasped my chin. “Allison,” he
repeated.
Damn it. He wasn’t going to let me keep
staring at his chest. I dragged my gaze up. It skimmed up his neck,
over a square jaw sprinkled with stubble, over a perfect mouth with
lips that looked extremely kissable, along the narrow blade of a
nose and finally stopped at those intense eyes of his. They
reminded me—he reminded me—of Christian Grey from my favorite book,
Fifty Shades of Grey.
“There you are. Are you afraid of me?” he
asked, his lips curling up at the corners.
“No, of course not.”
“Good. Then what’s wrong?”
“I just…it’s the compliment. I wasn’t
expecting it.”
“Why?” he asked, still holding my chin.
“Don’t you believe you’re beautiful?”
Without knowing it, he’d hit the target dead
in the center. Bulls eye. Did I believe I was beautiful? Absolutely
not. I was normal. Average. Acceptable. “I believe…my mother is
beautiful.”
“Ah.” His brows rose. Did any guy in the
world have more perfect eyebrows? “Yes, she is. She is a stunningly
beautiful woman. But…”
“But…?” My heart twisted. Had he decided he
wasn’t interested in her anymore? Why? Because she was in a
wheelchair? Did that make her less than a woman to him? Less than
perfect?
What about me? I wasn’t perfect either. I
wasn’t a living fashion doll, a size zero. I didn’t have money for
expensive pedicures and manicures or dye jobs. I came from the
wrong side of town. I didn’t go to a fancy private school for
girls. I didn’t know which fork to use if there was more than one.
“But she’s in a wheelchair?”
“No.”
“No?” I echoed, trying to understand what
this man was thinking. “Then why the, ‘but’?”
“She told me she can’t have children. I want
children.”
“Children?” I echoed, having a hard time
wrapping my head around what was happening. How had the topic of
children come up between my mom and her new employer? Had it been a
casual conversation? Or had they discussed it more directly, like a
couple considering dating or eventual marriage? “Exactly what is
the relationship between my mom and you?”
“I would say we’re friends.”
“Friends?” I echoed, not sure whether I
believed him. My mom had never said she was involved with this man.
She hadn’t gone on any dates that
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