The bark of laughter abraded his throat, shocking him as much as her teasing. No one would ever dare to say that to him. Hell, no one would dare to tease him. But this slip of a woman knew no boundaries or fear. From the first, she hadn’t been cowed or intimidated by him. And God, it felt good.
“Naturally. And it required effort and a lot of pruning and nurturing,” he deadpanned, causing a grin to spread wide over her face. Jesus, she was gorgeous.
“Well, I volunteer as tribute to help you remove it. Starting with an ice-cream cone for breakfast. C’mon.” She didn’t brook any disagreement but jerked on the door to the shop and entered, pulling him behind her.
After a brief but spirited debate over the best flavors, they walked out with two waffle cones topped with a double scoop of ice cream—salted caramel for him and butter pecan for her.
Him.
Joshua Lowell.
Walking down the sidewalk lining Main Street. Eating an ice-cream cone.
Jesus, how did he get here?
But as Sophie tipped her head back and smiled at him, the light of it reflecting in her beautiful gray eyes, he embraced the moment. Embraced, hell. Hoarded it. In less than half an hour, he would be returning to pick up his mother, and the mantle of responsibility that he’d prematurely donned would fall back around his shoulders. Weighing them down with a pressure that was at times suffocating. Pressing them down with an anger-rimmed sadness that he’d never been able to completely banish no matter how many times he’d told himself that they didn’t need his father. That they were better off without him.
Yeah, he was going to embrace this moment and grab on to it selfishly. Because as Joshua Lowell, Vernon’s son, he didn’t have many. The cost for that kind of greed was too high. As his father’s actions had taught him.
“Now, I don’t want to say I told you so...” she said, an impish smile curving her lips. “Oh hell, who am I kidding? I so do want to say it. I told you so.”
“I think you might have held that in for two minutes and twenty-eight seconds,” he drawled. “Congratulations.”
She twirled her hand in front of her, dipping slightly at the waist. “Thank you. I’ll have you know my restraint was hard fought.”
He snorted, swiping his tongue through the cold cream and barely managing to contain a moan. When was the last time he’d indulged like this? Years. It’d been years.
“I don’t want to alarm you, but people are staring,” Sophie informed him in a stage whisper. As if he hadn’t already noticed. “One woman just almost rear-ended the car in front of her at the stoplight.” She gave a mocking gasp, splaying the fingers not holding the ice-cream cone wide across her chest. “Whatever do you think it could be that they find so interesting?”
Joshua didn’t answer, but some of the peace and joy filtered from his chest, replaced by a slick, grimy stain that was a murky mixture of guilt, anger and helplessness. The sludge tracked its way across his chest, down to his gut, where it churned. He deliberately relaxed his grip on the cone but couldn’t prevent the clenching of his jaw. A hint of neon-red pain flared along the edge.
“It must be so tiring,” Sophie murmured, all notes of teasing evaporated from her tone. He glanced down at her, and those gray eyes looked back at him, warm and velvet with a sympathy he never believed he’d glimpse. At least not for him.
“What must be tiring?” he ground out.
“Feeling like an animal in a zoo. Always being on display,” she replied softly.
Her observation struck too deep...too on point. He hated it that she saw it. Hated more that he’d allowed her to.
“Being fodder for any newspaper or online gossip column,” he lashed out with a biting coldness that was meant to burn.
She bent her head over her treat and licked a melting trail of ice cream. In spite of the anger knotting his gut, lust slid through him in a thick glide, flowing straight for his already pulsing flesh. He wanted that delicate pink tongue on him. Trailing over him like he was the most delicious thing she’d ever tasted. He hungered to hear her moans of pleasure in his ears, have it vibrate over his skin.
His control was soaked tissue paper when it came to this woman.
“I left the door wide-open on that one,” she said long moments later, voice quiet. “I won’t apologize for my job—it’s an important one, and I love it. But I will say I’m sorry that it’s contributed to making you feel as if you were a fish in a bowl. I can’t imagine that kind of scrutiny is easy.”
“But deserved, some would say.” They continued to walk down the sidewalk in a silence taut with tension. Or more specifically, the roil of emotions tumbling inside him. Shoving against his sternum, his throat, seeking an escape. A release. “There are days I believe I deserve it. Give people their due. They need to watch me and make sure I’m not exhibiting signs of becoming Vernon Lowell. They have the right to that transparency. Even years later. Even though—”
Even though there were times he wanted to yell that he wasn’t his father. That it wasn’t him that had wronged them. It wasn’t his fault.
But he couldn’t. Because in the end, the sins of the father were visited upon the sons.
In their eyes, as the head of Black Crescent, as the only one available to direct their anger and mistrust at, it was his fault.
And he couldn’t argue with them. Because deep inside, in that place that creaked open only in the darkest part of night when he had no energy left to keep it closed, he
