Page 16 of Tru Blue
Shifting his eyes away from that enticing sight, he said, “They’re really just mindless doodles.”
“You’re one hell of a talented artist if those are mindless doodles. I could feature you in one of the community newsletters I write for my boutique. I bet you’d get some interest in commission work.”
He crossed the room to the kitchen to try to cool down from the heat stroking through his core. He didn’t usually like pushy women, but her confidence, and the look in her eyes, made him long to take her in his arms and possess that sassy mouth of hers. “Can I get you a drink?”
“Nice change of subject.” She popped off the couch and joined him, like a sinfully sexy ray of sunshine. Now that he wasn’t in the midst of last night’s nightmare, he saw Gemma more clearly. She was even more beautiful than he remembered. In her flat-heeled sandals she was about a foot shorter than him, and the dress she was wearing was like icing on the Gemma Wright cake—and he was ravenous. The bright color, the way it hugged her lush curves, and the thick gold belt gave her an edgy look, which contrasted sharply with the demure outfit she’d worn last night.
He needed to get a grip, because not only was an ex-con with two babies not high on any woman’s hot list, but he had other priorities. Not to mention that he had no free time or a bedroom, making even the thought of taking her a ridiculous one.
“I have to confess, in addition to looking at your drawings, I heard a little of the fairy tale you were telling Kennedy, but um…I think you mixed up a few of the stories.”
“I can’t tell her the real stories. She’s seen enough bad stuff in her life. So I made up a night-night story for her.” God, he sounded like a pussy.
Her eyes warmed.
Maybe it’s good to sound like a pussy. Jesus, he had more important things to worry about.
“You made up a night-night story just for her?”
He ground his teeth together. “Yeah. I’m surprised you didn’t sneak a look at that sketch pad, too. I’m drawing it out so she can see pictures. It’s not a big deal. Can we please talk about something else?”
“Yes, but making Kennedy her own fairy tale book is the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. And I have to say it one more time. Seriously, Truman, your drawings are incredible. Why don’t you want me to see them?”
Because they come directly from my soul. “It’s not personal. I don’t show them to anyone.”
“Well, you should. They’re really good.” She looked at him like she wanted to push him for more answers as she had last night, but then she glanced over at the jars of baby food on the counter, and her expression changed. “I feel bad about showing up so late. Please don’t feel like you have to entertain me. You were getting ready to come upstairs when I got here, and you probably have a million things to do while the kids are asleep. I was only supposed to drop off my car. I can go.”
“It’s fine,” he said, cringing at his sharp tone. It wasn’t her fault she’d come along at a time when his life was crazier than a three-eyed buffalo, and he didn’t mean to make her feel like she was an imposition when he’d spent the day hoping she’d show up.
Softening his tone came easier than expected. “I’m glad you’re here.” He liked the way her expression brightened at that. “My life is not usually this fragmented. Hell, I’m not usually this fragmented. If you had come by at this time any other day, you’d have found me working on a car. But now…I’m managing schedules for three, and I don’t even know their schedules yet.” If they even have schedules. He opened the refrigerator, which was full of the groceries they’d chosen last night. “How about that drink?”
“I’m not a big drinker,” she said. “Do you have anything nonalcoholic? I like wine. It’s not that I don’t drink, I’m just not in the mood.”
“Unless iced tea, apple juice, or water have alcohol, I think we’re good.”
“Iced tea is great, thanks.” She watched him intently as he poured the drinks. “Can’t you ask your mom about the kids’ schedules?”
