Vegas, Baby - Volume 3
“Stay right there and don’t ‘beautiful’ me, you—you—two-timing jerk!”
My brows shot up to my hairline. “Pardon?”
“I can’t believe you just...just..um...did that to me when you’re living with a woman! Ugh! You made me a home-wrecker!”
I tried not to laugh. I knew it was the wrong reaction. But I wasn’t able to stop myself, though I did manage to contain it to a chuckle. Still, if looks could kill, that moment of amusement would have had me six feet under. “You overheard my conversation with Delia?” I guessed.
“Yes! So what was this little fling? Are you having a mid-life crisis and wanted to be with a younger woman to make you feel alive?”
“No,” I argued. “I didn’t want to be with you because you’re younger than Delia. She’s only seventeen.” Amelia gasped, her face a mask of horror, and I immediately realized how she’d taken my explanation. “Okay, that didn’t come out right.” Amelia’s eyes narrowed, and when I took a single step forward, she plastered herself even harder to the door. As though she thought it might swallow her up. “Delia is my daughter, beautiful.” I pointed at the electronic frame on the desk that was currently showing a picture of me holding Delia on my shoulders when she was about six. Then it dissolved into another shot, this time of Delia and me right before she left for her junior prom.
“D-daughter?” Amelia sputtered. Her mouth formed a cute little O, and her brown eyes widened and blinked owlishly.
“Daughter,” I confirmed.
She gasped, “You’re married with a seventeen-year-old daughter?”
I mentally rolled my eyes at myself. I was handling this poorly. “Let me try this again.” I held up my left hand to show her my lack of ring and tan line. “Not married. Never been married.” I flipped my hand around to show her my palm when her mouth opened. “And before you go accusing me of not doing what’s right and marrying the mother of my child, please let me explain.” She snapped her mouth shut and nodded. The ire in her eyes was slowly being replaced with curiosity, and I breathed a silent sigh of relief.
“My brother and I are trust fund kids, and for a while there, I was basically the embodiment of the stereotype for the spoiled, good-looking rich-kid jock. At nineteen, I made a stupid decision, but it ended up resulting in the best part of my life. Delia’s mother had no interest in keeping the baby, but from the moment I knew about her, I loved her.” Amelia’s expression softened, and she even gave me a small smile. “I begged her to go through with the pregnancy and let me raise my daughter. I threw enough money at her that she eventually agreed. By my twentieth birthday, I was a single father and had turned my life around so that I could give her the steady life she deserved. She was my whole world.” I watched Amelia with intense seriousness when I spoke again, “Until recently.”
I turned my large leather chair and lowered myself into it before holding my hand out to Amelia with a tender smile. She blushed prettily, and her eyes lit with a spark of hope as she accepted my gesture. I gently tugged her closer, then wrapped an arm around her waist and brought her down to sit on my lap with her legs dangling off the side of mine. “I’ve raised my little girl all on my own, and never once did I feel as though I was missing anything. Then a beautiful mystery woman kissed me senseless”—I smirked when her cheeks flushed even more, and she giggled at my use of her word—“and my perspective on my life changed.”
“You don’t even know me,” she whispered.
“I know enough,” I answered honestly. Not that I intended to share just how deep I’d dug into her life. “And we both know there’s something between us.” I speared her with a dark warning glance. “Don’t deny it.”
She shook her head. “I won’t.”
“Good,” I murmured as I lowered my lips to hers. “Here’s a reminder, just in case you’re second-guessing that decision.” The kindling between us went up in flames as our tongues rubbed and tasted each other. We were both breathing hard when we finally separated.
Amelia sighed and laid her head on my chest. She drew her fingers along the smooth, shiny wood top of my desk and aimlessly played with a silver pen I’d left lying on a stack of papers. Her hand suddenly stilled, and I glanced down to see why. The engraving of my name on the pen had caught the light, and I mentally groaned. She abruptly sat up and dropped the pen, only to grab the picture frame and stare at it as a few more photos floated across the screen. Then she leaned over to look at the papers.