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Authors: Jaci Burton
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has your best interests in mind, would let you choose your own women.”
The waiter delivered their food. Tara dug in and started eating. It took her a while to realize Mick hadn’t said anything, so she cast glances at him above her lashes, but he seemed content enough. Had she said something to offend him? Not that she cared—much.
When he was finished, he pushed his plate aside, took a long gulp of water, and said, “I’m trying to choose my own woman. But she’s being damned difficult about letting me.”
Tara blinked, then emptied her wineglass in two giant gulps.
No man had ever pursued her like this. No famous, gorgeous, could-have-any-woman-he-wants-so-why-does-he-want-me man had ever given her the time of day. She had no idea what to do about Mick Riley. He was utterly and completely out of her league, and couldn’t have come into her life at a worse time.
Then again, was there ever a good time?
Probably not. But this time was definitely not a good time. No matter how much her toes curled at the thought of being sought after by a man like Mick, she had Nathan to think about. This was not a good time.
And she knew just how to shut him down and get him to run like hell from the restaurant faster than he could run a hundred-yard dash. She hated bringing it up, but there was no choice now.
“I have a fourteen-year-old son, Mick.”
***
MICK STARED ACROSS THE TABLE AT TARA. A KID, HUH? He hadn’t expected that. She didn’t look old enough to have a fourteen-year-old son. “You must have had him when you were pretty young.”
“I was sixteen.”
“That explains it.”
“Explains what?”
“You don’t look old enough to have a teenager.”
“Trust me, I’m old enough.” She laid her napkin on the table. “You’d probably like to leave now.”
Oh, now he understood. “You think I want to cut and run because you told me you have a kid.”
“I’m not exactly the kind of woman who’s in your dating pool.”
“No, you’re not.”
She stood. So did he, coming around to her side of the table.
“Thanks for dinner.”
“Sit down.” He took her shoulders and gently pressed her back in the chair, then kneeled in front of her. “If that was your version of a Hail Mary pass to finish things with me, sorry—I happen to like kids.”
She stared down at him, a confused look on her face. “The women you date are young and single, and I’m sure they don’t have teenagers.”
He shrugged. “I don’t have any idea what they have at home. Most of them have those annoying little yippy dogs.”
Tara laughed. “I don’t have any dogs, though Nathan would love one. A big one, like a Lab or a retriever or a German shepherd.”
“Smart kid. Nathan, huh?”
“Yes.”
Mick returned to his chair now that he was fairly sure Tara wasn’t going to bolt. “Tell me about him.”
“He’s fourteen—almost fifteen, really. His birthday is next month. He just finished up his freshman year in high school, and he’s cocky as hell. He—you really don’t want to hear about my kid, do you?”
“Why wouldn’t I? I told you, I like kids.”
“You have any of your own?”
“No. I’d like to someday. And in case you’re wondering, no, I haven’t fathered any that I’m paying child support for. I’m very careful with women.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“But you thought it.”
“Okay, I did think that, you being a superstud with women and all.”
He snorted. “Yeah, right. I don’t believe in getting a woman pregnant and leaving her. Not my style and not the way I was brought up.”
“Well, aren’t you just a saint.”
He leveled his gaze at her, wanting her to know just what he was. And what he wasn’t. “I never said I was a saint, Tara. Just that I’m responsible.”
She looked down at her lap. “Sorry. I’m being a bitch.”
“No, you’re not. I handled this badly. I’m pushy, I know. I backed you into a corner.”
She lifted her gaze to his. “No, you
The waiter delivered their food. Tara dug in and started eating. It took her a while to realize Mick hadn’t said anything, so she cast glances at him above her lashes, but he seemed content enough. Had she said something to offend him? Not that she cared—much.
When he was finished, he pushed his plate aside, took a long gulp of water, and said, “I’m trying to choose my own woman. But she’s being damned difficult about letting me.”
Tara blinked, then emptied her wineglass in two giant gulps.
No man had ever pursued her like this. No famous, gorgeous, could-have-any-woman-he-wants-so-why-does-he-want-me man had ever given her the time of day. She had no idea what to do about Mick Riley. He was utterly and completely out of her league, and couldn’t have come into her life at a worse time.
Then again, was there ever a good time?
Probably not. But this time was definitely not a good time. No matter how much her toes curled at the thought of being sought after by a man like Mick, she had Nathan to think about. This was not a good time.
And she knew just how to shut him down and get him to run like hell from the restaurant faster than he could run a hundred-yard dash. She hated bringing it up, but there was no choice now.
“I have a fourteen-year-old son, Mick.”
***
MICK STARED ACROSS THE TABLE AT TARA. A KID, HUH? He hadn’t expected that. She didn’t look old enough to have a fourteen-year-old son. “You must have had him when you were pretty young.”
“I was sixteen.”
“That explains it.”
“Explains what?”
“You don’t look old enough to have a teenager.”
“Trust me, I’m old enough.” She laid her napkin on the table. “You’d probably like to leave now.”
Oh, now he understood. “You think I want to cut and run because you told me you have a kid.”
“I’m not exactly the kind of woman who’s in your dating pool.”
“No, you’re not.”
She stood. So did he, coming around to her side of the table.
“Thanks for dinner.”
“Sit down.” He took her shoulders and gently pressed her back in the chair, then kneeled in front of her. “If that was your version of a Hail Mary pass to finish things with me, sorry—I happen to like kids.”
She stared down at him, a confused look on her face. “The women you date are young and single, and I’m sure they don’t have teenagers.”
He shrugged. “I don’t have any idea what they have at home. Most of them have those annoying little yippy dogs.”
Tara laughed. “I don’t have any dogs, though Nathan would love one. A big one, like a Lab or a retriever or a German shepherd.”
“Smart kid. Nathan, huh?”
“Yes.”
Mick returned to his chair now that he was fairly sure Tara wasn’t going to bolt. “Tell me about him.”
“He’s fourteen—almost fifteen, really. His birthday is next month. He just finished up his freshman year in high school, and he’s cocky as hell. He—you really don’t want to hear about my kid, do you?”
“Why wouldn’t I? I told you, I like kids.”
“You have any of your own?”
“No. I’d like to someday. And in case you’re wondering, no, I haven’t fathered any that I’m paying child support for. I’m very careful with women.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“But you thought it.”
“Okay, I did think that, you being a superstud with women and all.”
He snorted. “Yeah, right. I don’t believe in getting a woman pregnant and leaving her. Not my style and not the way I was brought up.”
“Well, aren’t you just a saint.”
He leveled his gaze at her, wanting her to know just what he was. And what he wasn’t. “I never said I was a saint, Tara. Just that I’m responsible.”
She looked down at her lap. “Sorry. I’m being a bitch.”
“No, you’re not. I handled this badly. I’m pushy, I know. I backed you into a corner.”
She lifted her gaze to his. “No, you
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