Have Baby, Need Billionaire & The Sarantos Secret Baby. Оливия Гейтс
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you first saw him, you looked…”
“Yes?” Simon glanced down when Nathan slapped both chubby fists onto the tabletop.
“…terrified,” she finished.
Well, that was humiliating. And untrue, he assured himself. “I wasn’t scared.”
“Sure you were.” She shrugged and apparently was dialing back her mistrust. “And who could blame you? You should have seen me the first time I picked him up. I was so worried about dropping him I had him in a stranglehold.”
Nothing in Simon’s life had terrified him like that first moment holding a son he didn’t know he had. But he wasn’t about to admit to that. Not to Tula Barrons at any rate.
He shifted around uncomfortably on the narrow chair. How did an adult sit on one of these things?
“Plus,” she added, “you don’t look like you want to bite through a brick or something anymore.”
Simon sighed. “Are you always so brutally honest?”
“Usually,” she said. “Saves a lot of time later, don’t you think? Besides, if you lie, then you have to remember what lie you told to who and that just sounds exhausting.”
Intriguing woman, he thought while his body was noticing other things about her. Like the way her dark green sweater clung to her breasts. Or how tight her faded jeans were. And the fact that she was barefoot, her toenails were a deep, sexy red and she was wearing a silver toe ring that was somehow incredibly sexy.
She was nothing like the kind of woman Simon was used to. The kind Simon preferred, he told himself sternly. Yet, there was something magnetic about her. Something—
“Are you just going to stare at me all night or were you going to speak?”
—Irritating.
“Yes, I’m going to speak,” he said, annoyed to have been caught watching her so intently. “As a matter of fact, I have a lot to say.”
“Good, me too!” She stood up, took the baby from him before he could even begin to protest—not that he would have—and set the small boy back in his high chair. Once she had the safety straps fastened, she shot Simon a quick smile.
“I thought we could talk while we have dinner. I made chicken and I’m a good cook.”
“Another truth?”
“Try it for yourself and see.”
“All right. Thank you.”
“See, we’re getting along great already.” She moved around the kitchen with an economy of motions. Not surprising, Simon thought, since there wasn’t much floor space to maneuver around.
“Tell me about yourself, Simon,” she said and reached over to place some sliced bananas on the baby’s food tray. Instantly, Nathan chortled, grabbed one of the pieces of fruit and squished it in his fist.
“He’s not eating that,” Simon pointed out while she walked over to take the roast chicken out of the oven.
“He likes playing with it.”
Simon took a whiff of the tantalizing, scented steam wafting from the oven and had to force himself to say, “He shouldn’t play with his food though.”
She swiveled her head to look at him. “He’s a baby.”
“Yes, but—”
“Well, all of my cloth napkins are in the laundry and they don’t make tuxedos in size six-to-nine months.”
He frowned at her. She’d deliberately misinterpreted what he was saying.
“Relax, Simon. He’s fine. I promise you he won’t smoosh his bananas when he’s in college.”
She was right, of course, which he didn’t really enjoy admitting. But he wasn’t used to people arguing with him, either. He was more accustomed to people rushing to please him. To anticipate his every need. He was not used to being corrected and he didn’t much like it.
As that thought raced through his head, he winced. God, he sounded like an arrogant prig even in his own mind.
“So, you were saying…”
“Hmm?” he asked. “What?”
“You were telling me about yourself,” she prodded as she got down plates, wineglasses and then delved into a drawer for silverware. She had the table set before he gathered his thoughts again.
“What is it you want to know?”
“Well, for instance, how did you meet Nathan’s mother? I mean, Sherry was my cousin and I’ve got to say, you’re not her usual type.”
“Really?” He turned on the spindly seat and looked at her. “Just what type am I then?”
“Geez, touchy,” she said, her smile flashing briefly. “I only meant that you don’t look like an accountant or a computer genius.”
“Thanks, I think.”
“Oh, I’m sure there are attractive accountants and computer wizards, but Sherry never found any.” She carried a platter to the counter and began to slice the roast chicken, laying thick wedges of still-steaming meat on the flowered china. “So how did you meet?”
Simon bristled and distracted himself by pulling bits of banana out of the baby’s hair. “Does it matter?”
“No,” she said. “I was just curious.”
“I’d rather not talk about it.” He’d made a mistake that hadn’t been repeated and it wasn’t something he felt like sharing. Especially with this woman. No doubt she’d laugh or give him that sad, sympathy-filled smile again and he wasn’t in the mood.
“Okay,” she said, drawing that one word out into three or four syllables. “Then how long were the two of you together?”
Irritation was still fresh enough to make his tone sharper than he’d planned. “Are you writing a book?”
She blinked at him in surprise. “No, but Sherry was my cousin, Nathan’s my nephew and you’re my…well, there’s a relationship in there somewhere. I’m just trying to pin it down.”
And he was overreacting. It had been a long time since Simon had felt off balance. But since the moment Tula had stepped into his office, nothing in his world had steadied. He watched her as she moved to the stove, scooped mashed potatoes into a bowl and then filled a smaller dish with dark green broccoli. She carried everything to the table and asked him to pour the wine.
He did, pleased at the label on the chardonnay. When they each had full glasses, he tipped his toward her. “I’m not trying to make things harder, but this has been a hell—” he caught himself and glanced at the baby “—heck of a surprise. And I don’t much like surprises.”
“I’m getting that,” she said, reaching out to grab the jar of baby food she’d opened and left on the table. As she spooned what looked like horrific mush into Nathan’s open mouth, she asked again, “So how long were you and Sherry together?”
He took a sip of wine. “Not giving up on this, are you?”
“Nope.”
He had to admire her persistence, if nothing else.
“Two weeks,” he admitted. “She was a nice woman but she—we—didn’t work out.”
Sighing, Tula nodded. “Sounds like Sherry. She never did stay with any one guy for long.” Her voice softened in memory. “She was scared. Scared of making a mistake, picking the wrong man, but scared of being alone, too. She was scared—well, of pretty much everything.”
That he remembered very well, too, Simon thought. Images of the woman he’d