“Suppose you spend a little time on that, too.”
She liked his grin, although she wasn’t quite sure what it meant. “Go now. Teddy is waiting for you to read to him.”
“Right. That isn’t a thing I’m in a habit of forgetting.” The heat of his lips singed her mouth. “I’ll be here for you tomorrow evening at seven. Good night.”
Chapter 3
O ne block from Felicia’s apartment, Ashton hailed a taxi, gave the driver his address and sank into the back seat. In the forty years of his life, he wouldn’t have dreamed of living such a day. He released a long, deep breath. All he’d wanted from Felicia Parker was the promise that she wouldn’t publish in her column an account of his evening as her paid escort. He had that promise now, but that wasn’t all he got in the course of his day with her. Somehow or other, one or both of them had fanned the flames of their initial attraction to the point of combustion. Knowing himself, he accepted that unless she sent him some negative and unattractive signal—and he doubted that possibility—she couldn’t count on his walking away from the prospect of the loving he suspected she would give him.
Life without a warm, loving woman hadn’t been in his plans for himself, but neither had single parenthood, and unless he found a woman who loved Teddy as much as he did, he didn’t plan to change his marital status or even to involve himself deeply in an affair. He rubbed his forehead. “That woman gets to me. In that smokehouse this afternoon, I’d have tasted her if it had meant getting a blow from a sledgehammer.” He wouldn’t let himself think what could have happened in her apartment a few minutes earlier if she hadn’t called a halt to it.
“She’s right,” he said to himself. “I’d better work on slowing this thing down, too. Something tells me that if I ever make love with her feeling as I do now, she’ll own me. No woman has been able to claim that.”
He paid the driver and had his door key in his hand when he stepped out of the taxi. As soon as he put the key in the door, he heard Teddy scream, “Daddy. Daddy.” He stepped inside his house, opened his arms and Teddy bounded into them.
“What did you do in Zandria today, Daddy? Did you see Uncle Damon? Miss Eartha said you went to see Uncle Damon.”
“Alexandria. Yes, I saw Uncle Damon, and he sent you a big hug.”
“Did you see Uncle Cade and Granddaddy, too?”
“I’ll tell you all about my trip, but first let me wash my face and hands.”
“Okay, but don’t take too long, Daddy. We have to read my book tonight.”
After changing his clothes, he carried Teddy to his room and sat in the overstuffed chair he’d put there for the purpose of reading to his son while the child sat in his lap. With chamber music playing softly, he began the most precious time of his day.
Teddy loved the stories of Pinocchio, Jack and the Beanstalk, Puss ’n Boots and, especially Isra the Butterfly, but he seemed to enjoy anything that his father read to him. Ashton recalled writing Young-Robinson a note thanking her for his son’s delight in her story of the little butterfly.
Teddy got down to say his prayers but, as usual, he knelt at his father’s knee rather than at the edge of his bed. He repeated the prayer correctly and added, “I was very good today, Lord.” He got up and leaned against Ashton. “When is Sunday, Daddy? You promised me to play the piano Sunday.”
He put Teddy in bed and covered him. “Sunday is five days away. If I get home early enough and have time, I’ll play for you before Sunday.”
“Okay,” Teddy said, “but I can count on Sunday. Right?”
“Right. You can count on Sunday. Do you have anything to tell me?”
“No, sir. I didn’t do anything bad today. I was good, Daddy. I tried hard. Real hard, and Miss Eartha gave me ice cream for supper.”
“Hmm. Did you tell her you’d be good if she gave you ice cream?”
“No, sir. Honest.”
“Did she
She liked his grin, although she wasn’t quite sure what it meant. “Go now. Teddy is waiting for you to read to him.”
“Right. That isn’t a thing I’m in a habit of forgetting.” The heat of his lips singed her mouth. “I’ll be here for you tomorrow evening at seven. Good night.”
Chapter 3
O ne block from Felicia’s apartment, Ashton hailed a taxi, gave the driver his address and sank into the back seat. In the forty years of his life, he wouldn’t have dreamed of living such a day. He released a long, deep breath. All he’d wanted from Felicia Parker was the promise that she wouldn’t publish in her column an account of his evening as her paid escort. He had that promise now, but that wasn’t all he got in the course of his day with her. Somehow or other, one or both of them had fanned the flames of their initial attraction to the point of combustion. Knowing himself, he accepted that unless she sent him some negative and unattractive signal—and he doubted that possibility—she couldn’t count on his walking away from the prospect of the loving he suspected she would give him.
Life without a warm, loving woman hadn’t been in his plans for himself, but neither had single parenthood, and unless he found a woman who loved Teddy as much as he did, he didn’t plan to change his marital status or even to involve himself deeply in an affair. He rubbed his forehead. “That woman gets to me. In that smokehouse this afternoon, I’d have tasted her if it had meant getting a blow from a sledgehammer.” He wouldn’t let himself think what could have happened in her apartment a few minutes earlier if she hadn’t called a halt to it.
“She’s right,” he said to himself. “I’d better work on slowing this thing down, too. Something tells me that if I ever make love with her feeling as I do now, she’ll own me. No woman has been able to claim that.”
He paid the driver and had his door key in his hand when he stepped out of the taxi. As soon as he put the key in the door, he heard Teddy scream, “Daddy. Daddy.” He stepped inside his house, opened his arms and Teddy bounded into them.
“What did you do in Zandria today, Daddy? Did you see Uncle Damon? Miss Eartha said you went to see Uncle Damon.”
“Alexandria. Yes, I saw Uncle Damon, and he sent you a big hug.”
“Did you see Uncle Cade and Granddaddy, too?”
“I’ll tell you all about my trip, but first let me wash my face and hands.”
“Okay, but don’t take too long, Daddy. We have to read my book tonight.”
After changing his clothes, he carried Teddy to his room and sat in the overstuffed chair he’d put there for the purpose of reading to his son while the child sat in his lap. With chamber music playing softly, he began the most precious time of his day.
Teddy loved the stories of Pinocchio, Jack and the Beanstalk, Puss ’n Boots and, especially Isra the Butterfly, but he seemed to enjoy anything that his father read to him. Ashton recalled writing Young-Robinson a note thanking her for his son’s delight in her story of the little butterfly.
Teddy got down to say his prayers but, as usual, he knelt at his father’s knee rather than at the edge of his bed. He repeated the prayer correctly and added, “I was very good today, Lord.” He got up and leaned against Ashton. “When is Sunday, Daddy? You promised me to play the piano Sunday.”
He put Teddy in bed and covered him. “Sunday is five days away. If I get home early enough and have time, I’ll play for you before Sunday.”
“Okay,” Teddy said, “but I can count on Sunday. Right?”
“Right. You can count on Sunday. Do you have anything to tell me?”
“No, sir. I didn’t do anything bad today. I was good, Daddy. I tried hard. Real hard, and Miss Eartha gave me ice cream for supper.”
“Hmm. Did you tell her you’d be good if she gave you ice cream?”
“No, sir. Honest.”
“Did she
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