Page 13 of Takeover

I’m an hour early, but I don’t care. I’ve been thinking about this moment since she walked out of my sight and into her house. I had to will myself not to call her office or her cell. I wanted to but held back, and for the first time all week, I’m nervous about today.

What the hell am I doing here? Forcing this woman to spend Thanksgiving with me when she’s so hostile towards me? It might be seven years since I’ve dated, but I still know how to read a woman. I know why she pulled her hand from mine immediately after making contact, and it’s not because she hates me. She didn’t wipe her hand on her pants to erase our touch. No. She did it because she felt the same pull I did.

I wasn’t looking for it. Hell, I have my hands full with work, raising Vincent, and dealing with his mother. A woman was not even on my radar, but here I am.

With a deep breath, I take Vincent’s hand and walk up the stairs. As expected, he hides behind my legs and pokes his head out as soon as he hears the front door open.

The eyes that meet mine are familiar, but they aren’t the eyes I’ve been thinking about for five days. The features are similar, too. They have the same coloring but the person standing before me now is slightly taller. She doesn’t make my body wake up, but in the same way Tara wouldn’t, she doesn’t smile at me. Instead, she looks me up and down, blocking the door.

“Well, hello,” she says, smiling down at Vincent. “I’m Vickie and you must be Vincent.” She offers him her hand, and he takes it and steps inside. Vincent doesn’t speak, but he offers her the flowers.

“What a gentleman. Thank you.” She finally turns to me and offers me her hand. Her shake is firm, but her touch, like her eyes, does nothing for me. “You must be Ethan Bradford, the man who has messed with my big sister. You’re in her domain now, Bradford.” Her eyes meet mine, challenging me.

I hold her stare, neither one of us smiling.

“Your sister doesn’t strike me as a victim,” I say to her.

In fact, her sister is the one who has been messing with my head ever since I laid eyes on her, but I refrain from telling her that.

She doesn’t smile but nods in concession. Then she turns from me and yells, “Dad, Ethan Bradford is here!” With Vincent’s hand still in hers, they walk further inside the house, leaving me to follow behind them.

They live in a large old brownstone in the heart of Sugar Hill. I can tell the house has recently gone through renovations. It’s spacious, with an open floor plan and floor to ceiling windows. The walls are full of pictures of the family, with a section dedicated to each of John’s children. My eyes immediately home in on Tara’s wall, finding her high school graduation photo.

“Ethan,” John claps me on my back, pulling my gaze away from the wall of photos. I take his offered hand. “Good to see you. This is my wife Cheryl.” He introduces me to a pretty, middle aged woman. Instead of shaking my hand, she pulls me into a warm hug, welcoming me into her home.

“Come this way,” John says. “The rest of the family is in the kitchen.” Vincent runs to me and grabs my hand, and we follow John to the back of the house, into a large kitchen with white cabinets and gray granite countertops.

I put the wine on the counter and see there’s a guy who appears to be in his late twenty’s talking to Tara. Her back is to me, and I know she’s pretending to rummage through the fridge to avoid addressing me, but that gives me a moment to study her. Unlike the other two times I’ve seen her, she’s dressed casually in a pair of leggings decorated with turkeys. It’s paired with a gray sweatshirt, and she has her hair up in a high ponytail.

The guy leans down and whispers something in her ear, and the sound of her giggle reaches me from across the room. I take an involuntary step closer and have to will myself to stop. The only thing keeping me from pulling the guy away from her is the fact that I know he’s her brother.

“Hey, kids,” John says. “Tara, you already know Ethan and Vincent. Ethan, this is my son, Alan.”

I cross the room to shake Alan’s hand.

Tara finally turns around when she hears Vincent’s name. The minute Vince sees her, he lets go of my hand, runs to her and hugs her legs. She reaches down and picks him up, kisses his cheek, and hugs him tight.

“Hey, kiddo. I’ve missed you.” He doesn’t say anything back, but he sticks his face in her neck. “Remember I told you about my brother? Here he is. Vince, meet Alan. Alan, meet Vince.”

“Sup, little man,” Alan says, offering Vince a fist bump. Vince doesn’t even hesitate before bumping his fist into Alan’s much larger one. “I’m glad there are other guys here. Me and my dad are always outnumbered.”

The room goes silent, and I look at Tara’s face. As usual, she isn’t wearing much makeup. In fact, she’s not wearing any at all. She looks at me and offers me a tight smile. I have no control over my own smile when she hugs Vincent to her again. She pulls back and runs a hand through his hair, and he giggles.

“I’m glad you’re here, buddy,” she says to him. “We need help cooking.”

“I love to cook,” Vincent announces, and I can’t help but shake my head. A pretty girl can get males of any age to say and do things. Other than licking the bowl after my attempt at making cookies, he’s never cooked a thing.

“Hello, Tara,” I say. She looks my way again over Vincent’s shoulder. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

“Happy Thanksgiving, Mr. Bradford.” I guess she’s going to keep it formal. She looks at my face, and her eyes linger on my lips a beat too long before she catches herself and looks away. “I see you decided to show up.”

“I never turn down an invitation for good food and good company.” She purses her lips but doesn’t say anything. She’s probably restraining herself because of the audience.

“Tarabelle,” Cheryl says as she walks into the kitchen holding a cordless phone. Tara looks at me and blushes at the nickname. “It’s your mother, darling.” She breaks eye contact with me long enough to take the phone and put it to her ear. She gently puts Vincent down, and he runs across the room to hide behind my legs.

“Vince, you want to come down to the basement and help me baste the turkey? We have a whole kitchen down there,” Cheryl says.

“Evil one, don’t try to lure my buddy Vince into your evil lair,” Alan says. Cheryl grabs a wooden spoon and tries to hit Alan on the hand.

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