Page 39 of Tattered (Lark Cove 1)

“Sorry.” I stepped inside the shed, raking my eyes down her body.

Earlier, she’d been wearing a thin, long-sleeve gray top, but she’d changed after I’d left. Now she was just wearing a low-cut tank with thin crisscross straps. The way her chest heaved as she breathed made her breasts strain against the cotton.

And it made my cock jerk behind my zipper.

This woman, everything about her, was sensual. Her hair was up again, revealing the long line of her neck. Her legs were so smooth and toned, bare except for her green shorts. They hugged the curves of her hips. She was wearing rubber flip-flops, showcasing toes painted fire-engine red.

She was stunning.

My mother and sisters had always thought designer gowns and fancy jewels made a woman beautiful. They pampered themselves at the spa weekly and never left the house without makeup. Would they think differently if they saw Thea like she was tonight? Raw and natural. She was so damn gorgeous I had a hard time staying upright.

“What are you doing here, Logan?”

My head jerked up as I tore my gaze from her legs. “I owe you an apology.”

Her eyebrow quirked. “For?”

“The fight.” I walked farther into the room, taking my place against the far wall and leaning on the same cabinet I’d propped myself against last night.

“Oh,” she muttered, dropping her gaze and picking up the bottle again. Instead of pressing it to her lips, she held it between us. “Me too.”

I took the bottle and brought it to my mouth, doing my best not to think that Thea’s had been on the rim not thirty seconds ago. The vodka burned but had a sweet aftertaste. What was that?

“Huckleberry,” she said before I could inspect the label. “It’s another one of my drinking laws. Vodka for the particularly bad nights.”

I winced. “I deserved that.”

“No,” she sighed and took the bottle back to set aside, “it’s not your fault. It’s just . . .”

I waited for her to continue, but she stayed quiet. “Just what?”

She gave me a pleasant, but forced, smile. “It’s just hard. We need to figure this out for Charlie.”

Her eyes were on the floor. Her shoulders hunched forward. Was this just about Charlie? Because my gut was telling me there was something else. Something I was missing. I opened my mouth to push her for an explanation but stopped before a word came out.

No question I could ask would get answered. Thea wanted this to be about Charlie, so I’d make it about Charlie. Maybe after she had some answers to give our daughter, Thea would realize I wasn’t the enemy. She’d realize I genuinely cared for her feelings.

She’d trust me.

“I had an idea I wanted to run past you. I’m thinking of buying a house here.”

She straightened off the table, her eyes were full of hope as they lifted to mine. “Really? You’d move here?”

“Oh, no. Sorry.” Shit. “That’s not what I meant. I’d still live in New York but get a house here to stay when I visited.”

“Visits. Right.” She went for the bottle again. “And how often do you think you can visit?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t gotten that far. But I thought if I had a place to stay and work while I was here, I could extend my trips.”

“Great idea. Charlie will love that.”

Except she didn’t sound like it was a great idea. The excitement I’d had thirty minutes ago was gone.

Thea gave me another one of her pleasant smiles. The fake smile.

I knew it well because I had one of my own. It was the same smile I used when I wanted to appease a difficult client. The one I gave my mother when she pried into my personal life. The smile I wore to fundraisers.

Most people bought that pleasant smile without question. I’d perfected it over the years.