That Thing Called Love. Susan Andersen
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Yeah, he was late to the party, but this was his opportunity to be the man he should have been. And the first order of business was to establish a relationship with his son.
Given Austin’s reaction, though, it clearly wasn’t going to be easy. Well, tough shit. He wasn’t afraid of hard work.
Still. It’s a damn shame the kid’s too old to buy a pony.
He cleared his head and turned his attention to Jenny. “I agree, he does need time to process. But let me make myself clear. I’ve spoken with my lawyer, and matters are well in the works to have my parental rights returned to me.”
“No.” She stared at him as if he’d told her he got his jollies mutilating puppies.
“Yes. My attorney is drafting the documents as we speak. I only need to sign them when I get back to Manhattan. Once they’ve been filed, Austin will be where he belongs. With me.” Okay, probably not smart to tell her that—she looked as though it might not be beyond her to stage an “accident” before that happened.
No. That wasn’t murder in her eyes; she looked...crushed. Bereft. Sick to her soul.
And because he knew exactly how that felt, he gentled his voice. “Look, I don’t intend to grab Austin and run.” Okay, so his initial reaction when he’d heard both the Pierces were gone had been exactly that—to get back here, command Austin to pack up, then drag the kid back to where Jake had built a life for himself, at least for the part of each year he was in-country.
But he wasn’t gonna be that guy. He wasn’t going to be his father. “I’m not here to yank the rug out from under him that way. I know he needs time to adjust, to get to know me.”
She sagged in patent relief, and it bugged him that he was so attuned to her, that he harbored an urge to relieve her mind. It would be better for all concerned if no one entertained any false hopes.
“Make no mistake,” he instructed in his coolest voice, “my life is in New York and we will be moving there. I’ll stay here to give my son time to get accustomed to the idea. While he does, I’ll find out what, if anything, needs to be done about Emmett’s estate.”
Suspicion entered her eyes and he narrowed his own in response. “Don’t even go there. I’m not after Austin’s money—I’ve got plenty of my own.”
“And I should believe you because...?”
God! Why did that look, that tone, make him want to loom over her, to step too close, crowd into her space and see how she dealt with it?
The urge startled him, because, really, where the hell had that come from? He’d never manhandled or acted threatening toward a woman in his life.
And looking into her fierce little face, he almost snorted. Mighty Mouse here would probably call the sheriff’s department if he even looked like he was about to make a misstep. And rightly so, considering she was a woman alone in her house with him—a stranger she didn’t know from Adam and mistrusted the little she thought she did know.
But wouldn’t that just be the cherry on his fucking cupcake if his half brother Max showed up to arrest him? It would probably make the bastard’s day to haul his ass to jail.
He drew a steadying breath. “I don’t require that you believe me, but in the interest of playing nice with others, I’ll give you a freebie.” He pulled his wallet from his hip pocket and fished out a card, which he handed to her. “This is my assistant. Call her with your fax number and I’ll have her send you my latest bank statement.” He gave her a level look. “We have real issues to get through. Me stealing from my kid isn’t one of them.”
She folded her arms beneath little breasts. “What do you want from me?”
The reasonableness of her tone released some of the tension from his shoulders. “Austin clearly cares about you. I want you to be the conduit between us.”
She laughed in his face. “Why on earth would you think I’d do that?”
“Because while I’m willing to stay here for the next two or whatever months to let him finish the school year, in the end we will move to Manhattan.” He thrust a hand through his hair. “I’m going to be taking him away from everything familiar, and I don’t fool myself it’ll be a popular decision. If you care about him, you’ll make the transition easier for him. Or you can keep your mad on going with me and make it hard. I guess it’s up to you.”
She looked at him a long time. “All right. I’ll think about it.” Her extravagant eyelashes lowered until her eyes were mere coffee-dark glints shining between them. “For Austin’s sake,” she stressed. “Whatever I decide, I won’t be doing it for you.”
“No shit,” he muttered, but thrust out his hand to shake on the deal. Her narrow fingers were warm as she slid them across his palm, her grip firm.
He was caught unprepared for the spark of electricity that shot through him at the contact. But he buried his response, countering it with his all-purpose wry smile.
“Trust me, I didn’t assume otherwise for a minute.”
CHAPTER TWO
AFTER JAKE BRADSHAW LEFT, Jenny paced from the couch to the fireplace to the picture window, no sooner reaching one destination than lighting out for the next. The already small living room felt like it was shrinking decrementally by the minute.
She had no idea how much time had passed before her restless circuit finally ended back at the window. She stared blindly beyond the resort grounds to the peekaboo glimpse of The Brothers, the prominent twin peaks in the Olympic mountain range that the inn was named after. “Oh, God.” Thrusting her hands through her hair, she knocked her forehead once, twice, three times against the cool glass. “What the hell am I going to do?”
Nothing came to mind. And wasn’t that too whacked for words—she who had had a plan since her daddy was sent to the pen when she was barely sixteen? At the moment, however, her mind was nothing but white noise, her stomach awash in red-hot acid. And she couldn’t string two consecutive thoughts together to save her soul.
She needed Tasha.
Just the thought of her best friend made her stomach a fraction less messed up, and she dashed into the bedroom, snatched her purse from the top of her dresser where she always left it, and headed back toward the door.
On the way, she caught a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror on the inside of her open closet door.
“Holy crap.” She’d forgotten she was still wearing her cleaning clothes. Not to mention that she was devoid of so much as a hint of makeup and her do was totally pulled apart in front from her ten-fingered grab-and-bang. “That’s not pretty.”
Tossing her purse back on the dresser, she toed off her Keds and kicked them into the closet. She shimmied her jeans down her legs and wrestled her T-shirt off over her head. She was in no mood to go primp crazy, but surely she could do better than this.
It took her no time at all to pull on a nicer pair of skinny-wale cords, a thin red sweater and her three-inch Cuban-heeled black leather boots. She swiped a sheer red balm over her lips and gave her lashes a cursory pass with the mascara wand. Then, removing the rubber bands from her braids, she pulled a brush through her hair.
And called it good.
Two minutes later she was out the door, pulling on a military-style jacket as she headed for the boardwalk that followed the curving shoreline into town.
The wind whipped her hair around her head when she rounded the inn, and she pulled a knit beret out of her jacket pocket. Stretching its back opening, she caught up the bottom of her hair, tugged the gray angora front band into place and tucked in stray strands blowing around her face. The day was more blustery than cold, and the upside to the gusty wind was the clarity of the air now that the earlier clouds had blown away. The Olympics soared out of green layer upon complex green layer of foothills, rising a scant two