you didn’t know, I wouldn’t have been so harsh.”
He looked from her hand to her face and found her studying his expression. Her unusual amber eyes were wide, concern crinkled her brow. She stood close enough that the front of her dress brushed against his legs and her breasts were mere inches from his arm. He sucked in a deep breath.
This wasn’t why he was here—no matter how tempting Laney Fortino was.
But all the deep-breathing exercises in the world wouldn’t help—not when the scent of her filled his lungs with every inhalation. She smelled like crayons and Elmer’s Glue. The unique combination should have been unappealing but wasn’t. And underneath that was the smell of her soap or maybe her shampoo—something fruity and simple, clean and uncomplicated.
He nearly laughed at the thought. Laney may smell uncomplicated, but there was nothing uncomplicated about the way she made him feel.
He straightened away from the bookcase, which only brought her closer. She snatched her hand back as if she’d been burned and skittered away from him, retreating to the desk.
“Strangers upset her. Gran, I mean. Of course, you’re not a stranger. But that’s why the assisted-living center doesn’t let people visit her. Her doctor thinks it’s for the best.”
He felt himself crumbling under the weight of her words. When he forced his gaze back to hers, it was to see her watching him with an emotion he rarely saw directed at him—an emotion he never thought he’d see in her eyes… certainly not after he’d spent so much of their teenage years treating her with disdain and scorn.
He’d known from the time he was thirteen that Laney Fortino could be his downfall. He’d known she alone had the power to bring him to his knees. He’d fought against it with every tool in his juvenile arsenal. He’d been rude, condescending and—occasionally—downright mean.
Laney had looked at him with the sting of pain, feisty rebellion and with downright anger. But until now, she’d never looked at him with sympathy.
Three
Given their troubled history, she should have enjoyed seeing defeat flicker across Dalton’s face. Maybe time had mellowed out her dislike of him. Or maybe it was just that… jeez, they were talking about Gran. How could she be upset with anyone—even Dalton—who got this choked up about Gran?
So often she felt as though she was all alone in caring for her gran—no father, no siblings. Yes, the staff at the assisted-living facility took care of her grandmother, but they didn’t care about her. And they didn’t offer Laney the emotional support a loved one would. So maybe it was natural that she went all gooey inside when she saw Dalton openly devastated by the news.
“I’m so sorry, Dalton. I had no idea Gran meant so much to you.”
He glanced up, surprise flickering across his features.
Instantly, she knew she’d guessed wrong. She blew out a huff of annoyance as she walked over to the nearest cluster of tables and began picking stray crayons off the floor. “Never mind.”
He watched her for a moment in silence, then said, “You’re annoyed with me.”
She set aside a picture book with a sigh. “No. I’m annoyed with myself. For a minute there, I actually felt sorry for you. I forgot you’re a Cain. Heartless and cold, just like the rest of them.”
She frowned at her own words. She was heartless and cold—glacial, practically. Except for the moment when she’d touched his arm. He’d looked up at her with genuine heat in his gaze. She’d swear it. What was she supposed to do with that?
Before she could find any answers, he spoke. “Is that really what you think of me?”
Shaking her head, she shoved a few crayons into one of the buckets before moving on to the next cluster of tables. “What else am I supposed to think? I tell you my grandmother has Alzheimer’s, and you feign sympathy to manipulate me?” She looked up at him, half expecting him to dodge her gaze in shame. He didn’t. “I didn’t expect even you to be that much of a jerk.”
“You don’t think I’m sorry your grandmother has Alzheimer’s? Your grandmother was really important to me.”
She snorted, snaking her foot under a desk to nudge a marker out into the open. “Don’t overplay your hand. Polite condolences would be believable. But a Cain would never display actual grief over the hired help.”
“You think I’m such an ass I couldn’t muster any emotion for the woman who kept house for us for nearly three decades?” His tone was flat and cold.
“No. I just think you’re most upset that you won’t get to grill her for information.”
She paused as she said the words and it hit her. He was here to grill Gran for info regarding his father. That meant he didn’t know about the money. She should be relieved. She was. But she was also annoyed with him for trying to manipulate her.
Hoping to dislodge her contrariness, she shook her head and said, “I don’t believe Gran was important to you. She was neither caring nor attentive. She didn’t inspire gushing feelings of warmth and affection, even from me.”
Dalton opened his mouth as if he might protest, but then he shut it again with a fair-enough shrug.
“My grandmother was efficient and competent. She ran the Cain household like it was inside of a Swiss pocket watch. But she was not the kind of woman people love. People tolerate her, mostly because they like her cooking. But they don’t love her.”
She straightened, crossed back to the desk and grabbed her school keys. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, my afternoon class starts in five minutes.”
She plucked her purse and tote bag from the corner behind her desk and marched toward the door, holding it open for Dalton with something of a dramatic flair.
She couldn’t help wondering if she’d pushed too far. Dalton straightened, his expression impossible to read. His mouth was set in a humorless line, but mischief danced about his eyes.
He walked toward her slowly, without ever taking his hands from his pockets. Instead of preceding her out the door, he stopped, close enough that she inched back a step until the doorknob pressed into the small of her back.
His stance was vaguely threatening—there was something in the way he stood too close. Or maybe it was just that, for her, he was always too close. Or maybe it was the way he looked at her, his gaze steadily taking in every one of her features and imperfections.
When he spoke, it was slowly, as if each word was meant to build her dread, but foolish girl that she was, she didn’t feel the threat, only the thrill.
“Laney, if you are so convinced I’m the bad guy here, then I’ll play the bad guy. I’m more than happy to be the big bad wolf to your industrious little piggy.”
Refusing to back down from him, she bumped up her chin. “I’m not afraid of you.”
He did another one of those slow, lingering perusals of her face, and her cheeks burned under his gaze. “Maybe you should be.”
Maybe he was right.
