And now he wanted answers.
Although she knew he deserved to have them, she wasn’t ready to tell him any more than she had already. She just wanted to go home and hug her son. Tomorrow, she would tell her son that the father he thought had become an angel was now a mortal.
She was about to tell him she was tired of talking for now when there was a knock on the door. “I’ll get that,” he said, standing.
She still appreciated the way he walked. Spine ramrod straight, steps taken in perfect precision with the best-looking tush she’d seen on a man.
When Laramie opened the door he practically blocked the doorway, but she heard Margie’s voice. “How is Bristol?”
“I’m fine, Margie,” she said. Thankfully, Laramie shifted aside so Margie could see for herself.
“Do you need anything?”
“No, I’ll be out in a minute.”
“No rush. Most of the people have left anyway. But the good thing is that all your paintings were sold. Tonight was a huge success.”
Was it? As far as her manager was concerned, it had been a successful night. But Bristol saw beyond the money her paintings had earned. She saw the man standing by the door. Her heart slammed against her ribs. Already she was wondering what changes were about to be made in her life.
“And Steven is worried about you.”
Bristol saw Laramie’s body stiffen at the mention of Steven’s name and wondered why. She became even more curious when he said, “Tell Culpepper she’s fine and is in good hands. Now if you will excuse us, Bristol and I need to finish talking.” He then closed the door.
How had Laramie known Steven’s last name? Had the two of them met? If so, when?
Laramie slowly turned away from the door to stare at her. It was a good thing she was sitting down because her knees began shaking. The intensity of his gaze sent sensuous chills through her body. How was that possible when she hadn’t seen him in three years?
The sexual chemistry that had drawn them to each other from the first was still there. She wanted to deny its existence, but she couldn’t. She wanted to break eye contact with him and look away, but she couldn’t do that, either. She sat there and endured the moment, hoping it would quickly pass. It didn’t. It seemed to extend longer than necessary.
She decided to use it to her advantage; checking him out wasn’t a hard thing to do. He wore a pair of jeans, a dark blue pullover shirt, a dark leather jacket, a Stetson and boots. He looked like a cowboy, ready to ride off into the sunset. He seemed to have gotten taller and his body appeared even more fit. Was he still a navy SEAL or had he given it up after that mission that had obviously gone all wrong?
Her gaze moved to his shoulders. She remembered them well. She could easily recall how she clutched tight to them when they made love. How she would cling to them while he thrust inside her. What she remembered the most was that Laramie Cooper was a very physical man, filled with an abundance of strength and virility.
She sighed as her gaze returned to his too-handsome face and stared into his eyes. And she saw it again, that hardness. Pain he refused to show. Ravaged secrets. A wounded heart. A damaged soul.
He probably didn’t want her to see any of those things, but for a quick moment, she’d seen them anyway. She wondered what he’d endured during those months when everyone thought he was dead. Would he share the details of that time with her if she were to ask? Was it any of her business?
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
