His Son, Her Secret. Sarah M. AndersonЧитать онлайн книгу.
“Thank you.” Leona gathered up her tablet computer—one of her true luxuries—and grabbed her purse. She got the address from Charlene, the receptionist, and hurried to the car.
A brewpub. One that was on the far south side of the city, she noted as she programmed the address into her Global Positioning System. There wasn’t any other information to go with the address—like which brewery this was for—but that was probably a good sign. Instead of doing an upgrading project, maybe this would be a brand-new venture. That would not only mean more billable hours but the chance to make this project the showcase she’d need when she started her own firm.
The GPS estimated the pub’s location was about forty minutes away. Leona called May and updated her on her whereabouts and then she hit the road.
Thirty-seven minutes later, Leona drove past a small sign that read Percheron Drafts as she turned into a driveway that led to a series of old brick buildings. She looked up at the tall smokestack in awe. White smoke puffed out lazily, but that was practically the only sign of life.
Percheron Drafts...why did that name sound familiar? She’d heard it somewhere, but she didn’t actually drink beer. She was going to have to fake it for this meeting. She’d have time to do the research tonight.
The GPS guided her underneath a walkway, around the back of the building and told her to park on a gravel lot that had weeds growing everywhere. Ahead she saw a ramp that led down to an open door.
Okay, she thought as she turned the car off and grabbed her things. So maybe the building was old, but this certainly wasn’t an already established restaurant. Heck, she didn’t even see another car parked here. Was this the right place?
She got out and put on her professional smile. Then—like something out of a dream—a man walked through the doors and up the ramp. The sunlight caught the red in his hair and he smiled at her.
She knew that walk, that hair. She knew that smile—lopsided and warm and happy to see her.
Oh, God.
Byron.
Percheron Drafts... It suddenly clicked. That was the name of the brewery the Beaumont family had started after their family business had been sold—and she only knew about that because it was her father who’d forced the sale.
Panic kicked in. He was coming toward her, his lean legs closing the distance rapidly. If he got too close, he’d see the baby seat in the back of her car.
Her head began to swim. She wasn’t ready for this. He’d walked out on her. He’d believed her father over her and simply disappeared—just like her father had said all Beaumont men did. Beaumonts took whatever woman they wanted and when they were done, they simply abandoned them—and kept the children.
She’d known she’d have to confront him eventually. But now? Right freaking now?
She wasn’t ready. She hadn’t lost all the baby weight and, as a result, she was wearing the only kind of business-casual attire she could afford—the kind from discount stores. She couldn’t even be sure that Percy hadn’t spit up on her blouse this morning.
When she’d imagined facing the man who’d broken her heart and abandoned her, she’d wanted to look her very best to make him physically hurt. She hadn’t wanted to look like a rumpled single mother struggling to get by.
Even if he was the reason she was exactly that.
But she couldn’t let him see into the back of the car. If he didn’t know about Percy, she wasn’t going to tell him until she’d had time to come up with a plan. Because what if he did the Beaumont thing and demanded her child? She could not lose her son. She couldn’t let Byron raise the boy to be yet another Beaumont in the line of Beaumont men. She had to protect her baby.
So, against her better judgment, she walked toward him.
Oh, this wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t. Byron’s hair had gotten a little longer and he wore it pulled back into a low ponytail, which took all of the natural curl out of it—except for one piece that had come free. His lanky frame had filled out a little, giving him a more muscular look that was positively sinful in the white button-up shirt he wore cuffed at the sleeves.
He looked good. Heck, he looked better than good. And she looked...dumpy. Damn it all.
They met in the middle of the parking lot, stopping less than two feet from each other. “Leona,” he said in his deep baritone voice as he looked at her. His eyes were a deeper blue now—or maybe that was just the bright sun. God, he was so handsome.
She would not be swayed by his good looks. Those looks lied, just like he did.
“Byron,” she replied. Because what else could she say here? Where have you been? I had your son after you left me? I don’t know if I want to kiss you or strangle you?
This was no big deal, she tried to tell herself. It was just the former love of her life, the father of her son—suddenly back after a year’s absence. And apparently hiring her for a job. A flash of anger gave her strength. If he was back, why hadn’t he just called her? Why did he have to hire her?
Unless...he hadn’t come back for her.
He’d left without her, after all, jetting off to Europe. That’d been as much information as Leona had been able to get out of Byron’s twin sister, Frances. Europe—as far away from Leona as he could get without leaving the planet. Or so it had felt.
And now he was back and hiring her. For a job she desperately needed. This was not him sweeping back into her life and making everything right. This was not him needing her.
So she did not flinch as he looked her up and down as if he expected her to fall into his arms and tell him how damned much she’d missed him. She would not give him the satisfaction. Yes, the past year had been the hardest year of her life. But she wasn’t the same silly little girl who believed love would somehow conquer all. The past year had shown her how tough she could be. It was time for Byron to realize the same thing.
But it was difficult to keep her head up as his gaze traveled over her. He’d always done that—looked at her as though she was the most beautiful woman on the planet. Even when they’d worked together at that restaurant and the cream of the high-society crop had come into the restaurant every single night—even when other women had thrown themselves at his Beaumont name—Byron had always had eyes only for her.
She shivered at the memory of the way he used to look at her—at the way he was looking at her right now.
“You cut your hair,” he noted.
Her mouth opened, the truth on the tip of her tongue—she’d cut it because Percy liked to yank it while he was nursing. She clamped down on that impulse. The words sat in the back of her throat, a lead weight that held her tongue still. She would give him absolutely nothing to use against her. She would not let him hurt her again.
“I like it,” he hurried to add when she couldn’t think of a single reasonable thing to say in response.
She blushed at the compliment. Her fingers itched to tuck the short bob behind her ears, but she held fast to the straps of her bag. She was not here for Byron, just like he hadn’t been there for her. She was here to do a job and that was final. “Do you really need an interior designer or did you call me away from my job just to note I’ve changed my style?” Since you left.
She didn’t say those last words out loud, but they seemed to hang in between them anyway.
Byron took another step toward her. He reached up. Leona held her breath as he trailed the very tips of his fingers over her cheek. It was almost as if he couldn’t believe she was really here, either.
Then he reached down and picked up her left hand. His thumb rubbed over her ring finger—her bare ring finger. “Leona...” he murmured, his voice husky with what she recognized as need. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it.
Everything