He didn’t say anything as he continued to study her as intensely as she was studying him. What was he seeing? Besides a few extra pounds she hadn’t shed after her pregnancy. Some men would think of them as curves. She thought of them as a nuisance that wouldn’t go away no matter how much she exercised.
“Are you ready to answer my question?” he asked in a deep, husky voice that seemed to resonate inside her. “Because I have even more.”
She’d been afraid of that. She also knew they couldn’t stay holed up in Mr. Jazlyn’s office forever. She understood she needed to fill Laramie in on so much that had happened but now was not a good time. “I suggest we meet tomorrow and—”
“No. I need to know tonight.”
Tonight? “That’s not possible,” she said, glancing at her watch because she needed to stop looking into his eyes. His dark gaze wasn’t just directed at her, it was assessing her in a way she knew too well. During those three days in Paris, she had been able to—most of the time—interpret what he was thinking from his eyes. Namely, she knew when he was ready to make love again by the desire she would see in them.
“Why tonight?” she asked.
“Why not tonight?” he countered.
Drawing in a deep breath, she said, “My neighbor, Ms. Charlotte, is keeping Laramie and I don’t want to get home too late.”
He nodded. “And where is home?”
“Brooklyn.”
He nodded again as he continued to stare at her. She couldn’t help wondering what he was thinking. She found out when he said, “I want to see my son tonight, Bristol.”
Why did him saying her name, no matter the tone, make an unexplainable warmth spread through her? “It’s past his bedtime and he’ll be asleep.”
“Doesn’t matter. I want to see him.”
She eased up off the sofa. “Why?” she asked, not sure she was ready for him to come to her home, invade her space and meet Ms. Charlotte, who was the closest thing to a family she had now. “Don’t you believe me?”
“Yes, I do. I just want to see him.”
It was similar to her father’s wish when she’d first made contact with him. She hadn’t known what to expect when she’d first spoken with him. To break the ice, her aunt Dolly had spoken with him first. By the time Bristol had gotten on the phone, he had been eager to talk to her. Nervously, she’d blundered out the words, “I’m your daughter.” And he’d said, “I believe you and I want to see you.” He’d flown out that same day from Los Angeles and in less than eight hours was knocking on her aunt’s door.
Bristol studied Laramie. Noticed his stiff posture. Was he expecting a fight? Hadn’t she told him that she wanted him to know about their child? “Fine, you can see him tonight. A private car is taking me home.”
She nervously nibbled her bottom lip. There was something she had to tell him before they left the office. It was the answer to the question he’d asked regarding her use of his name. “And to answer your question about me taking your name.”
“Yes?”
“Before leaving Paris, I had already made up my mind to name my son after you, first name and last. But I didn’t want people asking questions about why we had different last names. My friend Dionne came up with the idea. She had a friend who was an assistant to a judge in Paris who was willing to help with our plan. We did a fake marriage license where I listed you as my husband. It was then filed with the courts in Paris.”
He didn’t say anything for a minute before he asked, “Giving birth to a child without the benefit of a husband drove you to do that?”
She looked away for a second to figure out how to make him understand. “Yes. More so for Laramie than for me.” She paused. “My mom was a single parent and I never knew my father. All my life the stigma of being born illegitimate bothered me because there were those who never let me forget. I got teased a lot about not having a father. I know having kids out of wedlock is more acceptable these days, but still, I didn’t want to take a chance and put my child through that.”
Although her mother had never said so, Bristol believed it bothered her mother as well, not only for her daughter but for herself. While growing up, there had been organizations Bristol’s mother had tried to sign up for that had rejected their application because they hadn’t met what was considered normal family dynamics. In other words, she didn’t have a father and her mother didn’t have a husband.
“I assume your manager believes we’re married. She practically accused me of deserting you and my child.”
Bristol rubbed her hands down her face, feeling bad about that. “I’m sorry. I’ll tell her the truth.”
“Don’t bother doing that. At least I know why she’s been acting like I’m scum. And I also now know why that Culpepper guy was acting like an ass when I asked about you.”
“Steven?”
“Yes, I take it he’s your boyfriend.”
Where would he get an idea like that? “No, he’s not my boyfriend. Steven and I have never even gone out on a date.”
Laramie held her gaze, apparently finding it odd that the man would act so territorial under those circumstances. “But he has asked you out though, right?”
“Yes, but I’ve always declined. He’s not my type.” She checked her watch again and then looked up at him. “Are you going to deny you’re my husband? People might question you about it.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t give your secret away.”
Six
When they walked out of the office, the first person Laramie noticed was Steven Culpepper and how the man’s eyes narrowed when they got closer. If the guy had gotten word that Bristol’s supposedly dead husband wasn’t dead after all, then what the hell was he still hanging around for?
Laramie detected Bristol’s nervousness. Did she think he would rat her out, expose her for lying about their marriage when he’d told her he wouldn’t? He slowed his pace and she slowed hers. He glanced down at her. “You okay?”
“Yes. I’m just surprised to see Steven still here.”
That made two of them. “You want me to ask him to leave?”
“No. I guess he was concerned. I see Mr. Kusac is still here, too. I can understand his concern since he was a good friend of my father’s.”
Laramie didn’t say anything. He recalled how people had jumped into motion when the man named Kusac had barked out orders earlier. Even the owner of the gallery was quick to do the man’s bidding.
Margie left the group to walk toward them, a smile on her lips. “Well, did the two of you get things straightened out?” she asked.
Laramie answered before Bristol did. “Yes, and we’re leaving.”
The woman lifted a brow. “Leaving? To go where?”
Laramie was tempted to tell the woman that he didn’t think it was any of her business, but Bristol answered, “I’m going home, Margie. Is the car ready to take me there?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” She then turned to Laramie and said, “I need to say good-night to everyone.”
“Okay, let’s do that.”
Her eyes widened, probably in surprise that he’d included himself in the goodbyes, but she didn’t say anything as he walked with her over to the three men. “I would like you to meet Laramie Cooper.”
Laramie was sure it didn’t go unnoticed how Bristol had introduced him. She hadn’t referred to him as her husband. He figured these people assumed he was her back-from-the-dead husband, but she wasn’t allowing anyone to presume anything about the nature of their relationship.
She thanked the owner of the gallery for hosting the event and apologized for all the commotion she’d caused by fainting.
Maurice Jazlyn waved off her words and said, “I would have passed out, too, had I thought my husband was dead and then he suddenly appeared out
of nowhere.”
Laramie didn’t speak. If they were waiting for him to explain his absence for the past three years, they could wait on.
Then Jazlyn’s face broke into a smile. “But then, I certainly can’t complain since every last one of your paintings sold and you being here brought Kusac out tonight. It’s been years since I’ve seen him.”
“And I was glad to see him, as well,” Bristol said, smiling at the man. “Thanks for coming.”
Colin Kusac smiled. “Your first art show in New York—I would not have missed it for the world.”
Then Bristol’s attention went to Steven Culpepper. Laramie didn’t like the vibes he was picking up off the man. He hadn’t liked them from the first. “Steven,” he heard Bristol say. “Thanks for inviting all those people here tonight. It was a nice turnout thanks to you.”
“No need to thank me, but I’d like for us to meet sometime this week. Several of my clients here tonight were impressed with your work and want to see more. A few are willing to commission some of your future projects.”
“That’s wonderful! I’m sure we can arrange a meeting,” Margie said excitedly behind them. “Just give me a call, Steven. I’ll work out a date and time when Bristol is available.”
A tight smile touched Culpepper’s lips. “Yes, of course, Margie.” Laramie had a feeling Culpepper had wanted a private meeting with Bristol and her manager had ruined those plans.
“I’ll call you tomorrow to discuss your availability, Bristol,” Margie said.
“That’s fine,” Bristol said, smiling. She then turned to him. “I’m ready to go, Laramie.”
He nodded and took her hand, leading her toward the door.
* * *
“I don’t bite, you know.”
Bristol glanced across the back seat at Laramie and had to admit there was a lot of space between them. He might not bite but she could vividly recall a lot of other naughty things he could do with his mouth.
Jeez. Why was she remembering that now?
“I know you don’t bite, but I figured you would want your space.”
She thought the chuckle that ensued from his throat sounded way too sexy for her ears. “Is that a way of letting me know you like yours?”
She shrugged. “I guess I’ve gotten used to it.” No need to tell him that she hadn’t had another man in her life since him, serious or otherwise. After her son was born, he had become her whole world and there hadn’t been room for anyone else. Some women needed a man to feel like a female; she didn’t.
He didn’t say anything for a minute and that was fine with her as the private car carried them through the streets of Manhattan and toward the Brooklyn Bridge. When they’d left the gallery she’d noticed the temperature had dropped. Forecasters had predicted a heavy snowfall before Christmas and with this cold snap being less than two weeks before Christmas, she could see it happening.
“Tell me about him. My son.”
Laramie’s words intruded into her reverie and she glanced over at him. The bright lights from the tall buildings they passed illuminated his features and she could see why she’d been taken with him from the first. Any woman would have been.
In Paris, Laramie Cooper had been handsome and charismatic all rolled into one. He was still handsome, she would give him that, but he had yet to unleash any of the charm that had swept her off her feet and into the nearest bed. But then she figured when a man was told he was the father of a child he hadn’t known he had, his secret son, shock might put a damper on the charm.
Bristol settled her body against the leather seat. Talking about her son was one of her favorite subjects. “He’s perfect.”
There was that sexy chuckle again from him. “Besides that. How about starting off telling me about your pregnancy. Was it a hard one?”
She could vividly recall all nine months of it. “Not after my sixth month. I was one of those unusual women who had morning sickness in the morning and at night. I could barely keep anything in my stomach, and the smell of some foods would send me rushing for the nearest bathroom.”
“Sounds pretty bad.”
“I thought so at the time. I had planned to leave Paris in my fifth month but my doctor restricted air travel until I was better. I’d lost a lot of weight. I wasn’t eating much and what I was eating my baby was getting. That’s why it doesn’t surprise me now that Laramie is a big eater.”
“When did you leave Paris?”
“In my sixth month. I wanted my baby to be born in the United States. Thank God for online shopping and for Ms. Charlotte, who lives next door to my aunt. The house was cleaned out and baby furniture delivered, which made things easy for me when I finally arrived back in New York. Once the morning sickness stopped and I could retain food, I blew up overnight but the weight gain was mostly all baby. Laramie was born weighing close to nine pounds.”
“And during all that time you thought I was dead.”
He’d said it not as a question but as a statement. “Yes. I had no reason not to believe what the State Department had reported. A part of me wished I’d known more about you so I could reach out to your parents. I recall you’d mentioned they were alive but you never gave me any personal information about yourself.”
“And you never gave me any personal information about yourself, either,” he said. “Though I do remember you telling Bane you were from New York.”
No, they hadn’t exchanged any of those details. She doubted if it would have mattered anyway. It was not like he’d intended to one day pick up where they’d left off. There was no doubt in her mind that after he’d been rescued he’d gotten on with his life and hadn’t given her a second thought.
“How did you stumble across me tonight?” She was certain now that he hadn’t been looking for her.
“I came to New York on military business. After dinner I was headed back to my hotel room when I saw the sign at the gallery with your name. I figured there couldn’t be too many artists with that name.”
“So you came into the gallery on a hunch?”
“Yes, although I knew from the way I was dressed I would stand out like a sore thumb. And then I encountered your Steven Culpepper, who—”
“He’s not my Steven.”
“He tried to paint the picture that he was. Appeared pretty damn possessive, too. He’d convinced me you weren’t the Bristol I was looking for, but then I heard your laugh.”
“My laugh?”
“Yes. I was less than a foot from the door when I heard you laugh. Twice.”
She nodded. “Colin Kusac was sharing something with me about how he and my father used to get in trouble in high school.”
“Your laugh is what let me know you were the same Bristol. I remembered it.”
Those three days they’d spent together had been memorable in so many ways. And it hadn’t been all about the sex. They’d had fun sharing breakfast in bed, sharing jokes. They’d even watched movies together. She had enjoyed waking up in his arms and going to sleep the same way.
Those memories were what had held her sanity together while she carried his child and believed he’d been lost to her forever. Those memories were what she’d remembered when the labor pains had hit. She’d drawn comfort from them.
The car came to a stop and she glanced out the window. She was home. The place she’d escaped to when she needed to heal from the grief she’d endured when she thought Laramie had died. It was the place where, months later, she had brought her son. Because her baby had been so large, at the last minute she’d had to deliver by C-section. Luckily, Dionne had made plans to be with Bristol as her delivery coach and ended up being a lot more. Her best friend was a godsend during the weeks following the delivery.
The first time Bristol had seen her son she’d been filled with so much love. She’d been given a spe
cial gift. She’d immediately noticed how much he looked like his father. It was uncanny. Her son’s coloring, the shape of his eyes, the tilt of his mouth, had all come from the older Laramie. And the older her son got the more he looked like his father. Would Laramie notice? There was no way he couldn’t.
“Are you okay, Bristol?”
She looked over at him. “Yes, I’m fine.” A part of her wondered if that was true.
The driver came around and opened the door. Laramie slid out, and she couldn’t help noticing how his masculine jeans-clad thighs slid with ease across the leather. Then he stood by the door and extended his hand out to her, to help her out.
The moment she placed her hand in his, she felt it. That spark, that tingling sensation she’d felt the first time they’d touched. She glanced up at him and met the darkness of his eyes and knew he’d felt it, too. Knew he was remembering.
Then she decided she wasn’t fine after all.
Seven
Laramie considered what had passed between him and Bristol a few moments ago. He was fully aware of the strong sexual chemistry that was still between them. Even when they weren’t trying, they pushed each other’s buttons. No surprise there. But what he found surprising was the intensity of what he’d felt from her touch.
Shoving his hands in his pockets, he turned to look at the line of brownstones, especially the one in front of them. The SEAL in him quickly surveyed his surroundings, took in every nook and cranny. It was a nice neighborhood of older well-kept homes on a tree-lined street with sufficient lighting. Even the sidewalks in front of the homes looked as if they’d been scrubbed clean. It was easy to see this was a block that took pride in their neighborhood.
He followed as Bristol walked ahead of him. Several live plants lined the steps to her front door. Had he told her how nice she looked tonight in that long, flowing black gown with a split on the side? The male in him couldn’t help but appreciate how those curves filled out the gown. She was a beautiful woman and he could understand Culpepper’s interest. What man wouldn’t be interested?
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