Keeping His Secret: A Secret Baby Romance Page 2
“Fuck that,” she cursed, coming up out of her chair and throwing the door open hard enough the wall shook. I was surprised I didn’t hear breaking glass.
Natalie was almost to the door when she stopped, paused, and turned to face me. “By the way,” she said in my direction. “I picked up a little something for you. Might not be your size, and you might want to wipe it off first, but it’s yours, little sister.” She pulled something out of her purse and threw it at me. It landed at my feet as I heard her slam the salon door. I looked down, tearing up at the way our talk had gone. There on the floor was something I’d never seen, but I was no fool. It was a purple dildo.
“Oh god!” I cried out and jumped back.
At that exact moment, the salon door opened, and I thought Natalie had come back in. I heard a deep voice say quietly, “Shall I come back when you’re done?”
My face was hot, and I looked up to see a silhouette in the sunlight that streamed through the salon door. He was tall and lean, his posture relaxed with his thumbs hooked into his jean pockets.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. My sister just…well, never mind. Look, if you’ll have a seat, let me tidy up,” I coughed, well, actually choked. “I’ll be right with you.” I was so humiliated and had no idea what the guy thought was going on, but I went into the back room and came out with a dustpan and broom. I tried to sweep it into the dustpan, but the bristles of the broom were soft nylon and the dildo was too heavy. The bristles just brushed over it. Jesus! I looked around frantically for something to push it with—maybe a piece of cardboard or a hammer.
The man stood up and came toward me, bending over to pick up the dildo and tossing it into a nearby trash can. “I am assuming you meant to throw it away?” he drawled in a mocking voice.
“Oh god, yes! That’s not mine, so that you know,” I hurried to add. “I’ve never seen it before, honest. My sister…” I couldn’t continue without saying too much.
“Relax. You wouldn’t be the first woman to have one, even if it was yours. Secondly, there’s nothing wrong with using one. In fact, I’m told they’re good for relaxing a tight ass,” he added, and I looked at him in shock. Was he suggesting…? “Hey, just teasing. Maybe I could get a little smile?”
I took a deep breath, relaxed my shoulders, and quickly stuffed some newspapers over the offending object in the trash. “I’m sorry. This is just so embarrassing. I don’t want to get into it, but it’s not mine, and honestly, I’ve never seen one before. Thanks for the… the help. Anyway, did you come in for a tat?” That was the first time I could really look him in the eye. I choked on my saliva. He was gorgeous. Exceptionally tall, he made me feel like a child, and I’m a full five-feet-four. He was darkly tanned, and his teeth were a perfect white slash above a strong jaw with a cleft. It was his eyes that caught me, though. An incredible shade of dark, dark gray, they held a lively but stormy promise that captured me. It was hard to look away.
“Thought I might,” he answered, and it felt like minutes had passed while I was caught up in inspecting him. There was a casual strength about him—very athletic and panther-like—but he appeared to be relaxed. I was drawn toward his energy. I could feel he was safe, and I always trusted my instincts. They had yet to prove me wrong.
“You have any idea what you’re looking for?” I asked, turning toward the counter where I kept a binder of graphic selections.
“It won’t be in there.” He pointed to the binder. “It’s just a name.”
“Oh, OK,” I nodded. That wasn’t an uncommon request. “The name?”
“Leila.”
Chapter 3
Bolton
I saw her amethyst eyes blink, but she kept her face cautiously impassive.
“Script or block?” she asked, motioning me into a chair.
“Beg your pardon?”
“The typeface you’d like. Would you like it in script or block lettering?” She turned away as she assembled her tools and sterile cloths.
“Oh, definitely script. In fact, I have a sample of her signature and wonder if you can duplicate that?”
She nodded and held out her hand. I could smell my mother’s cologne as I pulled the torn photocopy of her signature on a bank check. I’d torn away everything but the line upon which she’d signed. “Here you go,” I said.
She looked at it. “Pretty handwriting,” she noted and pulled on sterile gloves, snapping them at her wrists. “Where would you like it?”
“Over my heart,” I answered solemnly. Her mouth dropped open, and I saw a flash of disappointment in her eyes. I knew she was attracted to me; I’d always sensed the energy from women who wanted to be closer. She most likely thought Leila was my wife or girlfriend. She could tell by the tone of my voice that there was emotion attached. Women wanted to believe they were the first, or at least, the last.
She nodded and motioned to my shirt. “Would you slide off your shirt, please? I’ll be right back,” she said and picked up the check fragment and disappeared around the corner from the chair where I sat. I folded my shirt over the chair near the doorway and saw her working at a computer, her back to me. Interested, I walked up behind her and watched as she scanned and then enhanced my mother’s signature until it was crisp and an appropriate size for the placement.
“Looks good,” I spoke, and she jumped.
“Sorry, didn’t hear you come up behind me.”
“You improved it,” I reassured her.
“Thanks, but that’s part of my job. Let me print it out and let’s see how it looks.” She moved to the printer and caught the sheet as it was expelled. She cut the excess off with a pair of broken-handled scissors and came toward me, holding it against my chest. I heard her intake of breath. She had to reach upward to put it in place, and when she swayed a little, I caught her by the elbows and steadied her. “Looks good, I think,” she rasped and backed up.
“It will be fine,” I agreed and walked back to the tattoo chair and sat down. The tension was palpable, and since she was branding me forever, I wanted her to be calm. I chose the conversational route. “How did you become a tattoo artist?”
She pulled up a stool on wheels and took her place next to me. “Well, it wasn’t my dream job, but it got me through college,” she shared.
“Makes sense. What was your first choice, career-wise?”
“Illustration,” she answered instantly. “Obviously,” she added with a laugh, nodding toward the needle she was inserting into my flesh. “Something in the arts. Creativity keeps me sane,” she shared, and all the things my mother did to stay sane around my father flitted through my mind. I’d hoped if I got the tattoo, it would let me set aside some of the grieving and get on with things.
“Are you good at what you do?” I asked, giving her a chance.
She stopped mid-air, smiled, and looked up at me through long lashes. “I’m very good,” she answered in a suggestive voice, and I froze. “Careful, don’t move,” she cautioned, and I relaxed my pecs again, giving her a flatter palette on which to work.
I felt flustered by her reaction. I wasn’t in the mood to play. Still, I wanted her to be relaxed and confident. “I can see where family responsibilities can limit your choices,” I tried, referring to her sister’s apparent immature behavior.
“Oh, I’m not married!” she was quick to say. “Not even a boyfriend,” she added, winking at me.
I reached for her wrist and moved her hand away from my chest so she wouldn’t overreact. “Look, I was just trying to be conversational. I’m not interested in romantic entanglements. You’re taking me all wrong. I just came in for the tattoo.” I knew my voice was harsh the moment I heard it in my head.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend,” she said slowly in a whisper. “Excuse me, I’ll be right back.” She peeled off her gloves and sprang off her stool. I heard her go into the room she’d come out of when I’d entered. The door shut behind her, and there was no sound.
I knew I’d made her cry. Mon
dieu! I was tightly wired and had lost any manners I might have been raised with. The gal had just been friendly, and I treated her like she had leprosy.
“Goddammit!” I rolled off the chair and slid my shirt back on. The partially-completed tat stung, but I ignored it. I deserved the pain. “Ah, excuse me?” I tapped on the door. “Hello?”
Silence answered. I drew in a sigh. “Hello in there? Hey, I was an ass. It’s been a bad day, and it wasn’t anything you did. Come out and give me another chance? I’m sorry, but I don’t know your name.”
“Lilly,” was distinctly audible from the other side of the door. It was laced with sniffs.
“There! You see there? That’s a pretty name for a very pretty girl. Come on, Lilly, just come back and let’s finish this thing up. Then you can do whatever you like.”
The door opened, and she peered at me through the opening. I watched her face transform from a sad young girl to a determined, professional woman. Her chin rose, and she pulled the door wide open. “Yes, of course,” she said in a strong voice. “If you’ll get back into the chair, we’ll finish up that tat and then you can be on your way. I apologize for that…” she looked behind herself. “Sometimes, I just overreact. It wasn’t anything you said, it’s just been a bit trying with family issues, is all. One of those straw-and-camel-back things. Let’s get this thing knocked out.”
I was back in the chair, and she was studiously finishing up my tat. We both saw through one another, and it made things uncomfortable. I felt guilty as hell. I held out a white flag. “Listen, I’m probably your last customer for the day. What do you say when you’re finished, you let me buy you dinner. I think you could use a break, and to tell you the truth, I could use one too.”
“You don’t have to do that,” she said, shaking her blonde head, and I felt like a son of a bitch for my rudeness.
“Please? You’d be doing me a favor, actually. I would like to have your company for dinner.”
Her eyes filled with compassion. “Are you sure?”
“Very.”
“OK. Look, I’m all finished. Here’s a mirror; what do you think?”
“You did a fabulous job. Thank you very much, Lilly.”
“It came out pretty well, if I say so myself. Leila will be honored by your gesture.” She taped up the tattoo, then ran through some care instructions with me. “Let me lock up and change my clothes. I’ll be right with you.”
I thoughtfully refastened my shirt and was standing by the door when she emerged. She had changed more than her clothes. Her entire persona was transformed. She was wearing a diaphanous blouse of shades of purple, green, and turquoise. It had wide sleeves, and she looked like a butterfly as she moved gracefully between the register, the door, and turning off the lights. She’d brushed her hair free, and it flowed in sandy waves around her angelic face. My throat went dry as I realized how screwed-up my head had been. How could I not have seen how gorgeous she was?
“You ready to go?” she asked, her amethyst eyes magnified by the residual teardrops. I felt myself growing hard, despite my resolution to stay away from women.
I didn’t like being out of control. I nodded and walked outside, pointing to my car at the curb. “I thought we’d go to Phil’s, on the river? You want to ride with me?”
“I can drive myself, but let me follow you. I’m not sure where that’s at.”
I nodded and got into the Land Rover I’d driven that day. I watched her, no… not true. I studied her, her dancer’s flexibility, her high, full breasts, the crown of her long sandy-blonde waves, and gave in to the male animal inside who yearned to hold that form beneath me. She got into her Toyota and sat there, unmoving. I opened my door and went up to tap on her window. “Anything wrong?”
She opened her door. “Sorry, the window’s broken. My car won’t start. I need to go back inside and call a tow, I guess. You go on ahead and enjoy your dinner. Thanks for the invitation, though. It was really nice of you to invite me.”
I heard the disappointment. I couldn’t leave her there like that. “I could take a look, but I don’t have any tools with me. Come on and ride with me. I’ll call a friend of mine to come take a look at this, and we’ll get you fixed up. Just leave your key under the passenger mat and don’t lock it. He’ll be here soon, and I’ll stand good for it if someone takes it.”
She looked doubtful, and if I wasn’t mistaken, even a little paranoid. “I’m so embarrassed.”
“Nah, don’t worry about it. Come on,” I said as I pulled the door open for her. She looked around the inside of the car, stashing her phone and a couple of envelopes into her purse. That seemed to satisfy her as she stepped out of the car and walked to the Rover. I opened the door for her, and she climbed inside. A minute later we were deep in traffic.
Chapter 4
Lilly
The vehicle screamed masculinity. From its elevation to the elegant but utilitarian interior, it surrounded me like a strong lover. “I’ve never ridden in one of these,” I said, running my hand over the dashboard. “It fits you, though.”
He looked at me sidelong. “Is that a good thing?”
I nodded. “I would take it that way.” In my mind I was thinking that it should be a flattering remark, but given how he behaved in the tattoo chair, I wasn’t sure what I was dealing with. Although I generally kept pretty much to myself, I’d had my share of dates, and they’d always seemed attracted. What was it about me that seemed to repulse this man?
“Then that’s how I’ll take it too,” he answered, a smile fighting his otherwise neutral face.
There was something different about this man. All I had to go by was the fact that he seemed quite closed and secretive. His reaction in the chair was unexpected, and maybe that’s why I overreacted. Natalie had been getting on my nerves, and that latest stunt embarrassed me. I think he felt sorry for me, and that was what prompted the dinner invitation. He seemed honest, and I didn’t sense anything dangerous about him, but then I’ve never gone to dinner with a serial killer before, so how would I know what to expect? I was letting my imagination run away with me.
“So, did you grow up around here?” I was trying to stay with safe topics. He had an unpredictable trigger.
“Yes, well between here and Lexington. We go back a few generations,” he said, and instantly I understood. I don’t know why I didn’t pick up on it earlier. He was old money. That meant his people had been permitted their eccentricities for generations.
Although Louisville had set the line between the North and the South during the war, it clung to its southern roots. Old money remained old money, and it stayed within its grasp. They seemed to operate under their own set of rules, ignored, if not nurtured by, the good-old-boy law. They were exempt from the trivial and yet clung to silly traditions like men’s clubs and women’s teas. They really were a mystery and would probably always remain so. I wasn’t one of them.
“You’ve grown quiet,” he commented. “Is there anything wrong?”
I shook my head. “No, I was just thinking.” I wanted to change the subject, even though most of it was silently being discussed in my own head. “It was a cold winter this year. Do you think that means a hot summer for us?”
He shrugged. “Never really thought about it one way or another. What about you?”
“I think it means we’ll have a horrible summer. Everything has a season and a cycle. But it always has to return to the norm, so excess cold has to be offset by excess heat.”
“That’s some deep thinking,” he commented, looking at me as we came to a stoplight.
I shrugged. “I don’t know about that, but it just seems to hold true.” I laughed and glanced at him. “You must think I’m superstitious and that I repeat old wives’ tales.”
“You said it, not me.”
“Two points.”
“Two points?”
“Yeah, you know. You get two points for digging me back.”
“Were we keeping score?”
“Oh?” His face went neutral again, and his tone was guarded.
“What’s your name?”
He rolled his eyes and chuckled. “Where are my manners? I’m Bolton Symington, but friends call me Bolt. And yes, you may call me that.”
I nodded. “I’m Lilly Schultz.”
“How do you do, Lilly Schultz?”
“I’m well, thank you.”
Phil’s came into view, along with a long line of people waiting to get in. The overflow was seated at bar tables in the side garden, though I didn’t see anyone drinking. This place must really be good, I thought. Bolt pulled up to the curb and pulled out his phone to text. Less than a minute later, a man dressed in a sports shirt and dress slacks came out and stood next to the car. Bolt got out and came around to open my door. As I stepped onto the sidewalk, the Rover was driven away, and we were ushered inside through a side door. A waiter seated us at a table on the balcony overlooking the Ohio River, and that was when I realized how old money felt.
“I’m feeling really special right now,” I admitted, and that caused him to grin.
“You’ve never eaten at Phil’s?”
“Not only that, but I’ve certainly never bypassed the line and got premium seating.”
He shrugged. “Phil and my family go way back. In fact, it was my mother who backed him when he wanted to buy the place.”
“Your mother did?”
“Yes.”
“Sounds like a special lady.”
He nodded but said nothing more. I could tell it was an emotional topic, so I let it go. I wanted to just sit back, sip wine, and relax in the waning sunlight over the water.
Bolt ordered steaks for us, with all the trimmings. I was dying to cut my dinner into portions and doggy-bag it for the rest of the week, but I knew there were limits to what I could get away with. I couldn’t eat even half of the food, and it was with genuine regret that I watched the waiter clear away my plate with food remaining. My cell phone was buzzing in my pocket. Not just once, but repeatedly.