“Well, yes,” she said, knowing she was blushing. “That was my story. And Scarlett, naturally, picked the oldest rat, because he was in charge, and the most responsible. Which is clearly how she sees you, and also may be how she sees herself. Interesting.” The kids. That was the point. “Duncan thought the biggest rat might not try hard enough, because hewasthe leader. He clearly didn’t connect the rats to you and your brothers, because nobody who watched you outthere tonight could think that. Do you ever doanythinghalfway?”
He considered that. “Dunno. I’ve never thought about it. Why would I want to do something halfway, though? Not give my best?”
“Because most people don’t operate at that intensity?” she suggested.
“I’m too much, you’re thinking.” Did the man ever lookaway?“It’s been said before, no worries.”
“No.” She had to be honest, didn’t she? “I think you’re … that it’s an enviable quality. An attractive quality. A quality that a woman would—” Wait. No.
“That a woman would what?”
She shrugged, felt the dressing gown slip off one shoulder, revealing the strap of the pink camisole—whoops—hoped her entire breast hadn’t been on display, tugged the two halves of the dressing gown together, considered retying the belt, and gave it up. It would look self-conscious. They were getting to know each other, talking about his kids. Having a chat.
“That a woman would what?” he asked again. Oh.
“That she’d want. That would make her feel lucky.” Blame the wine. “If you focused on her the way you focus during the match. If you focused on your family like that, too. If she knew you were all in.”
“Ah.” It was a breath. He drank some more wine, and she watched his brown throat work. He had some dark scruff, exactly like his sister had said, and, yes, that was a good look. “If she were doing the same for me, wouldn’t I want to?” Those dark eyes on her again. “You were married, eh. Divorced?”
Oh, bloody hell. They were going there. “Widowed.” She held up her left hand. It was ringless. “Six years ago, when I was pregnant with George. And I’m still sorry I said that to you. About the bus. I know it isn’t funny.”
“Can’t say I’m not surprised you said it,” he said. “As we’re being honest.” Or ripping away the layers to expose the truth, possibly. “As shewashit by a bus. Or close enough.”
“Wait.” Her head actually spun a little. “I didn’t—she was?”
“Oh. You didn’t know.” He let out a long breath. “Makes more sense, then. Yeh. Riding with Georgia in the trailer behind her when a delivery van pulled out straight into her. Looking the other way, he said. Knocked the trailer over, too. Samantha was wearing a helmet, but by the time the driver realized, she was under his wheel.”
“Oh, my God.” Her hand was on her heart. “Oh, Zane. I’m so sorry.”
“Yeh. Not good.” He stared into his wine glass. “I was in London. End-of-year tour. The journey home was …” He stopped, and she could see why. How could you bear to remember that?
“And Georgia?” she asked quietly.
“Strapped into the trailer, and wearing a helmet. Sam was careful, always. Georgia broke an arm, was in a cast. But she was OK.” He stared into the darkness. “Thank God.” Then seemed to shake himself, turned back to her, forced a smile, and said, “You’re probably sorry you asked.”
“Just that …” Her hand was still on her chest. “It hurts to see you hurt like that. Tothinkof you hurting like that.”
A huff of laughter. “I know how to chat up a pretty girl. Smooth as, wouldn’t you say? Oversharing a bit there. And here.” He took the bottle of wine and poured her another glass. “We’ll let that fade. And you haven’t told me your story. I’d have said ‘divorce.’ Don’t know why.”
“Because people don’t usually lose their spouses in their twenties, that’s why.” She drank another mouthful of the wine, even though it was a bad idea. It was just too delicious. “Nope. Not a tragic case of brain cancer or whatever you’re thinking,either. It’s more of a … mixed-emotions thing. Part of it could even make you laugh.”
“It’s going to make me laugh,” he said slowly, “to think about your husband dying and leaving you and your kids alone. You must have some opinion of men.”
She flushed. She couldn’t help it. Defensive. Embarrassed. He saw too well. Who’d have thought there was that much under the tough exterior? “I should go inside,” she said. “That’s enough for one night, and it’s late. You should, too. You have to be so tired.”
“It’s my job,” he said, the dark brows coming down again. “Not some act of heroism. Stay out a bit longer with me. We don’t have to talk about this. Could talk about your rats instead.” He gave her a smile. It was disarmingly sweet.
She couldn’t do this. Shecouldn’t.Her emotions were all over the place, and what if she cried? She said, the words coming out too fast, “No. It is that. It was. Heroism, I mean. Courage. You should be—you should be proud. I can— I’ll go to bed. I’ll see you in the morning, at breakfast. I think we’re doing breakfast together, anyway, because Granddad didn’t provide much instruction before he buggered off. Oh—drink the wine. I’ve definitely had enough.” She got to her feet, and he did the same beside her, frowning once more. She focused on all her wrappings, because she wasn’t going to trip in front of him. “Good night. And congratulations again.”
Somewhere out there, some woman was swanning out of a too-intense moment with a man, fully under control and dignified, even wrapped in a blanket, slippers, and dressing gown. Unfortunately, that woman wasn’t her.
11
FAMILY, MORE OR LESS
He could’ve said that he went to sleep thinking of Skylar’s hair and eyes and softness—and her confusion, there at the end, and what it might mean. In truth, though, he fell into bed and was asleep in seconds. He did have a dirty dream about her, though. Something about sitting in an outdoor café beside a stream, which was romantic, and slipping a hand under her shirt, which was possibly not. It had gone on from there. The details were a bit hazy when he woke up, but there had definitely been some sex against the wall. He could practically feel the backs of her thighs under his hands, and the feel of her around him, too, tight and warm and wet.
He needed to get laid. Next trip. Absolutely.
