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Authors: Ann Christopher
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experience raising your goldfish?”
“I don’t have a goldfish.”
“And you don’t have kids, either, so I’m not sure you know what you’re talking about.”
“Maybe not,” she said brightly, “but this is America, where everyone’s entitled to an opinion.”
“Ah, but I don’t have to listen to it. Especially in my own house.”
“The thing is,” she continued, “I’m wondering if he wants to spend more time with you. Maybe that’s what he needs. You know?”
“I don’t know.”
“I think maybe the reason you don’t get along is because you don’t spend enough time together. I know it sounds counterintuitive, but I really think that could be the problem.”
“Who says there’s a problem?”
She stared at him with those clear, dark eyes, saying nothing but seeing everything. If there was judgment there, she didn’t show it, but it didn’t matter. He was his own harshest critic, and he’d already condemned himself to hell and back for screwing up on the fatherhood thing. Between his long stints overseas and his complete inability to understand anything about his own kid, he was a regular paternal genius. Hell, if he kept doing such a great job, the boy would be in prison by Christmas.
Finally, he had to drop his gaze. Discomfort made him scrub his hand over his jaw, which she undoubtedly noticed.
“I’m thinking that being a single parent to a surly teenage boy is harder than leading a company of soldiers,” she said softly, catching him off guard.
He was good at a lot of things, but admitting weakness and showing emotion weren’t on that particular list and probably never would be. After all, what soldier was touchy-feely? Except that there was so much gentle understanding in Skylar’s expression that he couldn’t stop himself from opening up to her. Or maybe he was merely accepting the hand of friendship she’d extended him. The bottom line was: it was hard not to meet her halfway.
“I’m thinking you’re right,” he admitted.
She nodded. “Can I ask you a question?”
He shrugged.
“You love his hair, don’t you?”
One stunned beat passed, and then he grinned. Before he knew it, the grin had progressed to a chuckle, and then he and Skylar were laughing together. At least until she abruptly stopped laughing and started staring.
“What?” he demanded.
“I didn’t think you could smile, much less laugh.”
She was right, but the observation still irritated him. Unsettled him. Because why was his dead brother’s former fiancée so attuned to him and his moods?
Why did everything about this woman throw him off-kilter?
Was she feeling this…this attraction thing between them like he was? Did he affect her breathing the way she affected his? Why did the desire to touch her feel like it would suffocate him if it wasn’t satisfied soon?
Why couldn’t he explain the hold she had over him?
Maybe she knew his thoughts were spiraling out of control, because she pointed to his book and changed the subject. “What’re you reading?”
His memory failed him, forcing him to look at the spine. “It’s about Crazy Horse and Custer.”
“So you like biographies?”
“I like military histories.”
“Figures. I didn’t think you were the science-fiction type.”
Well, she was right about that, too. Damn woman. What did she like to read? More importantly, why did he care about the minutiae of her life? His mouth opened, ready to ask her, and that was when he caught himself.
What did he think he was doing here with the woman Tony had loved? Was his honor so depleted that he could now justify spending time alone with her in this cozy little nest? And if he reached for her…kissed her…touched her…would he justify that, as well?
What kind of a man had he become?
Unbidden and unwelcome, a memory of Tony barged into his mind.
Sandro stared at Tony, trying to analyze his crazy grin. “What the hell’s gotten into you?”
Tony turned several shades of
“I don’t have a goldfish.”
“And you don’t have kids, either, so I’m not sure you know what you’re talking about.”
“Maybe not,” she said brightly, “but this is America, where everyone’s entitled to an opinion.”
“Ah, but I don’t have to listen to it. Especially in my own house.”
“The thing is,” she continued, “I’m wondering if he wants to spend more time with you. Maybe that’s what he needs. You know?”
“I don’t know.”
“I think maybe the reason you don’t get along is because you don’t spend enough time together. I know it sounds counterintuitive, but I really think that could be the problem.”
“Who says there’s a problem?”
She stared at him with those clear, dark eyes, saying nothing but seeing everything. If there was judgment there, she didn’t show it, but it didn’t matter. He was his own harshest critic, and he’d already condemned himself to hell and back for screwing up on the fatherhood thing. Between his long stints overseas and his complete inability to understand anything about his own kid, he was a regular paternal genius. Hell, if he kept doing such a great job, the boy would be in prison by Christmas.
Finally, he had to drop his gaze. Discomfort made him scrub his hand over his jaw, which she undoubtedly noticed.
“I’m thinking that being a single parent to a surly teenage boy is harder than leading a company of soldiers,” she said softly, catching him off guard.
He was good at a lot of things, but admitting weakness and showing emotion weren’t on that particular list and probably never would be. After all, what soldier was touchy-feely? Except that there was so much gentle understanding in Skylar’s expression that he couldn’t stop himself from opening up to her. Or maybe he was merely accepting the hand of friendship she’d extended him. The bottom line was: it was hard not to meet her halfway.
“I’m thinking you’re right,” he admitted.
She nodded. “Can I ask you a question?”
He shrugged.
“You love his hair, don’t you?”
One stunned beat passed, and then he grinned. Before he knew it, the grin had progressed to a chuckle, and then he and Skylar were laughing together. At least until she abruptly stopped laughing and started staring.
“What?” he demanded.
“I didn’t think you could smile, much less laugh.”
She was right, but the observation still irritated him. Unsettled him. Because why was his dead brother’s former fiancée so attuned to him and his moods?
Why did everything about this woman throw him off-kilter?
Was she feeling this…this attraction thing between them like he was? Did he affect her breathing the way she affected his? Why did the desire to touch her feel like it would suffocate him if it wasn’t satisfied soon?
Why couldn’t he explain the hold she had over him?
Maybe she knew his thoughts were spiraling out of control, because she pointed to his book and changed the subject. “What’re you reading?”
His memory failed him, forcing him to look at the spine. “It’s about Crazy Horse and Custer.”
“So you like biographies?”
“I like military histories.”
“Figures. I didn’t think you were the science-fiction type.”
Well, she was right about that, too. Damn woman. What did she like to read? More importantly, why did he care about the minutiae of her life? His mouth opened, ready to ask her, and that was when he caught himself.
What did he think he was doing here with the woman Tony had loved? Was his honor so depleted that he could now justify spending time alone with her in this cozy little nest? And if he reached for her…kissed her…touched her…would he justify that, as well?
What kind of a man had he become?
Unbidden and unwelcome, a memory of Tony barged into his mind.
Sandro stared at Tony, trying to analyze his crazy grin. “What the hell’s gotten into you?”
Tony turned several shades of
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