“He was a passionate lover and likely a genius.”
Zodiac gave me a lazy smile. “And his name?”
“Lots of normal women get blitzed and fuck random guys. I’m not all that wild.”
“You ride with a one percent motorcycle club. Stop pretending to be normal.”
“The club life is what I grew up with. When I was a kid, my dad and uncle would disappear in the middle of a family meal. I knew they might come back banged up. I would put peroxide on my dad’s cuts and hold an ice pack on his sore spots. That’s normal for me.”
“It might be normal for you, but you’re aware it’s not normal. My life is normal to me. It would scare the shit out of most people. I don’t pretend I’m normal.”
Shrugging, I mumbled, “I guess you’re right.”
“I usually am.”
“I wish you were approachable.”
Leveling his icy gaze on me, Zodiac murmured, “Elle, you’re free to crawl your sweet ass closer.”
I fought a shiver at the sound of my name in his sexy voice. Shaking my head, I said, “I meant I wish you were easier to talk to about feelings and stuff.”
“What feelings are you holding back?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never wanted anyone before, but I do want you.”
“Of course, you do. But besides fucking and feelings, what are you looking for?”
“I don’t know.”
“I think you do.”
“No, I really don’t. I’m excited about the baby, and I want to spend time with you. But I don’t want anything in my life to really change.”
Zodiac eyed me like I might be nuts. I prepared for him to give me shit. Instead, he reached over and claimed a lock of my hair.
“Your son looks like you and your brother,” he said as he played with my hair and watched me with a curious gaze. “I want this boy to look like me.”
“I have no control over that.”
“Even so, you should be aware that I’ll be disappointed if he doesn’t look like me.”
“What’s wrong with our son looking like me?”
“Nothing but you already have people who look like you. No one looks like me.”
“Do you mean because you’re special or because you have no family?”
“All my people are dead, down to the last distant cousin.”
Feeling pity over the little boy Zodiac once was, I asked, “How?”
“They were losers, every single one. Drunks and junkies. Morons and hot heads. Weaklings, the whole lot of them.”
“Why would I want a kid like that?”
“This boy won’t be like them because he’ll grow up in your family and not mine. But I want the kid to look like me. That way, when I’m dead, someone will carry on my good looks.”
As I studied his chest inked with colorful images, I murmured, “Well, you are good-looking.”
