His hair was a dark chocolate tousle. Tumbled around his face and shoulders, taunting her fingers. It would be soft and cool against her skin. A neat beard and mustache only framed lips she had a feeling knew their way around a kiss.
And none of this was anything she should be thinking! She should especially stop looking at his arms. Her fingertips itched to slide along the tattoo she could see. Musical notes. On the other arm . . . she paused. “Woody Guthrie,” she murmured, not meaning to.
His smile was surprised and pleased. “You know the quote?” He turned his arm out so she could see it better.
“My grandmother used to listen to Woody Guthrie when I was younger. She liked to tell this terribly lurid story about how she had a wild and passionate affair with him back in the day.” Oh and wasn’t that an appropriate story.
He laughed though, and she liked it on him so much she didn’t ruin the moment.
When her tea arrived, she put her file on the table and decided to just say it.
“Thirteen years ago my sister gave up her newborn son for adoption. To me.” She licked her lips. “I’ve asked her several times a year since she got pregnant just who the father was and until several days ago, she always refused.”
The teasing warmth in his eyes was gone in a second as he physically sat back, away from her.
“No.”
She sighed and tapped the folder. “Yes. My sister, Tina, died last week of congestive heart failure, and for whatever reason, she finally decided to tell me who the father was on her way out. Miles and I live on Bainbridge Island.” She passed Adrian a card. “This is my attorney. I have other things here. Pic—”
Before she could finish her sentence, Adrian burst out, interrupting her. “Christ. There are easier ways to get money out of me. You’ve got a nice enough body, a pretty face. This is bullshit. I’ve heard this tune before. Didn’t work for her either.”
She blinked several times, her face noticeably paler than it was before.
But her back was ramrod straight as she let out a long breath. “You continue to return to this theme, no matter that I’ve not asked you for a single thing but your time. Miles is your son. I promised my sister to find you and now I have. Fat lot of good that’s done.” She had the nerve to look him up and down, finding him wanting.
He stood, the chair clattering behind him, so angry he barely registered the way she flinched before she recovered her composure. “I don’t give in to blackmail. I’ve dealt with whores and gold diggers plenty of times. You played me wrong, baby. We could have burned things up between the sheets. I’d have tossed some money your way. A lot easier than this bullshit.”
That’s when she stood as well, grabbed her things, tucking the folder into her bag. Her jaw was tight, her gaze narrowed. Every movement was totally precise. Sharp. “You, my son, are a piece of work. No one calls me a whore and walks without a limp. So if you want to keep walking you’ll stay behind that table. Bugger it all, you’re a sullen little boy. You don’t deserve Miles.”
She headed out, pausing to put a few ones on the counter for the tea she’d never drink.
“You’d better go! If I see your face again or you contact any of my family, I’ll have you arrested for attempted blackmail.”
Gillian Forrester paused at the door and sneered. “You’re a pathetic little man. Never you worry, I’m done with you and it’s all your loss.”
Adrian did have to admire the way she sniffed at him and flounced out.
“Shall I call the police?” the server asked.
Brody spoke from where he’d been standing at the doorway. “No. It’s fine. Adrian, with me.” He indicated the tattoo shop and Adrian headed after his brother, ready to punch something.
She sat in her car, her hands shaking. Impotent anger, a familiar, bitter cocktail, sliding through her system as she fought tears of frustration.
What on earth was his problem? She’d given him Miles. What gift on the entire planet could mean that much? Surely the man had stuck his dick in more than one woman over the years. And yet he had the nerve to attack her?
Humiliation burned at the back of her throat, threatening to choke her. How many times had she had to face such a thing? Public ridicule had been something she’d dealt with on a regular basis back in Newham.
He hadn’t taken one second to think about what she’d told him. He didn’t know her and yet he’d judged her. How dare he? Adrian Brown with his carefully constructed wardrobe of clothes that probably cost more than her couch. He found her wanting? Oh ho! Who the f**k was he?
He’d shown his true colors, the spoiled idiot. And now she’d kept her promise and could go on with her life. Just as she had before.
Taking a long, steadying breath, she headed toward Phinney Ridge. Mary said they’d have Cuban sandwiches today and that sounded very good.
She’d tried. She really had. But she’d done her duty and there was nothing that would make her take any more abuse because the person was too blind to see the greatest gift life ever gave you.
He was a git. A bloody idjit and to hell with him and his pretty, sexy eyes and that drawl.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Brody pushed him into a chair.
“Did you hear that?” Adrian surged out of the chair to pace.
“I heard her tell you you had a thirteen-year-old son. I didn’t hear her ask you for money. Not once. I heard you call her a whore though. I’m sure everyone in the café did.”
And none of this was anything she should be thinking! She should especially stop looking at his arms. Her fingertips itched to slide along the tattoo she could see. Musical notes. On the other arm . . . she paused. “Woody Guthrie,” she murmured, not meaning to.
His smile was surprised and pleased. “You know the quote?” He turned his arm out so she could see it better.
“My grandmother used to listen to Woody Guthrie when I was younger. She liked to tell this terribly lurid story about how she had a wild and passionate affair with him back in the day.” Oh and wasn’t that an appropriate story.
He laughed though, and she liked it on him so much she didn’t ruin the moment.
When her tea arrived, she put her file on the table and decided to just say it.
“Thirteen years ago my sister gave up her newborn son for adoption. To me.” She licked her lips. “I’ve asked her several times a year since she got pregnant just who the father was and until several days ago, she always refused.”
The teasing warmth in his eyes was gone in a second as he physically sat back, away from her.
“No.”
She sighed and tapped the folder. “Yes. My sister, Tina, died last week of congestive heart failure, and for whatever reason, she finally decided to tell me who the father was on her way out. Miles and I live on Bainbridge Island.” She passed Adrian a card. “This is my attorney. I have other things here. Pic—”
Before she could finish her sentence, Adrian burst out, interrupting her. “Christ. There are easier ways to get money out of me. You’ve got a nice enough body, a pretty face. This is bullshit. I’ve heard this tune before. Didn’t work for her either.”
She blinked several times, her face noticeably paler than it was before.
But her back was ramrod straight as she let out a long breath. “You continue to return to this theme, no matter that I’ve not asked you for a single thing but your time. Miles is your son. I promised my sister to find you and now I have. Fat lot of good that’s done.” She had the nerve to look him up and down, finding him wanting.
He stood, the chair clattering behind him, so angry he barely registered the way she flinched before she recovered her composure. “I don’t give in to blackmail. I’ve dealt with whores and gold diggers plenty of times. You played me wrong, baby. We could have burned things up between the sheets. I’d have tossed some money your way. A lot easier than this bullshit.”
That’s when she stood as well, grabbed her things, tucking the folder into her bag. Her jaw was tight, her gaze narrowed. Every movement was totally precise. Sharp. “You, my son, are a piece of work. No one calls me a whore and walks without a limp. So if you want to keep walking you’ll stay behind that table. Bugger it all, you’re a sullen little boy. You don’t deserve Miles.”
She headed out, pausing to put a few ones on the counter for the tea she’d never drink.
“You’d better go! If I see your face again or you contact any of my family, I’ll have you arrested for attempted blackmail.”
Gillian Forrester paused at the door and sneered. “You’re a pathetic little man. Never you worry, I’m done with you and it’s all your loss.”
Adrian did have to admire the way she sniffed at him and flounced out.
“Shall I call the police?” the server asked.
Brody spoke from where he’d been standing at the doorway. “No. It’s fine. Adrian, with me.” He indicated the tattoo shop and Adrian headed after his brother, ready to punch something.
She sat in her car, her hands shaking. Impotent anger, a familiar, bitter cocktail, sliding through her system as she fought tears of frustration.
What on earth was his problem? She’d given him Miles. What gift on the entire planet could mean that much? Surely the man had stuck his dick in more than one woman over the years. And yet he had the nerve to attack her?
Humiliation burned at the back of her throat, threatening to choke her. How many times had she had to face such a thing? Public ridicule had been something she’d dealt with on a regular basis back in Newham.
He hadn’t taken one second to think about what she’d told him. He didn’t know her and yet he’d judged her. How dare he? Adrian Brown with his carefully constructed wardrobe of clothes that probably cost more than her couch. He found her wanting? Oh ho! Who the f**k was he?
He’d shown his true colors, the spoiled idiot. And now she’d kept her promise and could go on with her life. Just as she had before.
Taking a long, steadying breath, she headed toward Phinney Ridge. Mary said they’d have Cuban sandwiches today and that sounded very good.
She’d tried. She really had. But she’d done her duty and there was nothing that would make her take any more abuse because the person was too blind to see the greatest gift life ever gave you.
He was a git. A bloody idjit and to hell with him and his pretty, sexy eyes and that drawl.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Brody pushed him into a chair.
“Did you hear that?” Adrian surged out of the chair to pace.
“I heard her tell you you had a thirteen-year-old son. I didn’t hear her ask you for money. Not once. I heard you call her a whore though. I’m sure everyone in the café did.”
