The Texan's Twins. Pamela Britton
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his bright blue eyes and his sparkling smile and the way he’d stared out at the world—as if he’d owned it and so nothing bad would ever happen to him—had drawn her to him like a kitten to catnip. She’d thought him invincible. She’d been dead wrong.
“So I take it he died on the job?”
“Yup. Two months before we were supposed to get married. I found out I was pregnant afterward. Darren never even knew.”
“Damn.” He shook his head. “That’s a tough gig.”
“Eyup.”
She felt better now. At least her lungs didn’t sound like a clogged exhaust pipe. Just a momentary breakdown. No big deal.
Except you broke down in front of the boss’s son.
Who’s staring at you right now.
She had to look away again. What she needed was a swift kick in the rear. That’s what Darren would have done. He’d never let her wallow in self-pity.
“Do you need anything?” Jet asked. “A helping hand? A shoulder to cry on? A shot of whiskey?”
That actually made her smile. “No.” She leaned her head against the smooth leather seat. No faux leather for the prince. “I’m fine.”
He stared at her again, and she wondered what he saw. A woman with raccoon eyes and tear-stained clothing, no doubt. She glanced down and realized she did indeed have a Cheerios in the cup of her bra. She should have known.
“How long has he been gone?”
Damn it, why shouldn’t she feel sorry for herself? It sucked big-time that she had no one to count on, no husband to help ease her burden, no family to share in the raising of her children. And her girls...her poor girls. They would never know their father. That, more than anything, broke her heart.
“Jasmine?”
“Five years ago.”
She wasn’t looking at him, but she could tell her words surprised him.
She inhaled, released her breath, inhaled again. She did that over and over again until her eyes stopped burning and her heart stopped breaking—but the cracks would always remain.
“You’ve been doing this a long time on your own.”
Yup. School. Working whatever job she could find. Raising the girls.
“I’m sorry,” he added. “Nobody should ever have to raise a child on their own, much less two.”
Damn it, she felt her eyes begin to burn again. She didn’t want him to see her like this. Didn’t want him to be nice to her. She wanted to go back to the way things had been this morning when she’d walked into her office and she’d been looking down her nose at him. Jet Baron the dilettante. Instead, he’d fixed her report, invited her to tour his family’s facilities and handed her tissue.
“I am, too,” she said.
She heard him shift. A hand reached for her own. She thought about twisting in her seat, turning away so he couldn’t do what he was about to do—touch her. Instead, she watched as long fingers enveloped her own. Warm fingers. Soft fingers. No. Not soft, she realized. He had calluses on the inside. He worked outdoors a lot, she remembered. Rodeo.
“Let’s see if we can’t put a smile back on that face of yours.”
He released her.
Jasmine couldn’t move. It had been a long time since a man had touched her. A long time since she’d felt soft tingles of desire skate up and down her arm. A long time since she’d experienced the need, the want, the longing to have a man do more than touch her.
Dear God.
She was attracted to Jet Baron.
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