She swallowed, nodded. “I’m okay. It’s just … when I talk about all that, I feel like such a loser, you know?”
“Those men. Ryan and Peter. They are the losers.” He held her gaze. “I notice you haven’t told me their last names.”
“And I’m not going to. As I said, it’s long over for me, with both of them.”
He gave her his beautiful smile. “There. That’s what I was waiting to hear.” He let go of her hand—but only to touch her in another way. With his index finger, he traced the line of her jaw, stirring shivers as he went. He caught one of the loose curls of hair that Lani had pulled free of her French twist, and rubbed it between his fingers. “Soft,” he whispered. “Like your skin. Like your tender heart …”
“Don’t be too sure about that. I’m not only prickly, I can be a raving bitch,” she whispered back. “Just ask Ryan and Peter.”
“Give me their last names. Ryan and Peter and I will have a long talk.”
“Hah. I don’t think so.”
He touched her cheek then, a brushing caress of such clear erotic intent that her toes curled inside her Jimmy Choos. “As long as you’re willing to give men another chance.”
“I could be. If the right man ever came along.”
He took her untouched champagne flute and handed it to her. Then he picked up his own. “To the right man.”
She touched her glass to his, echoed, “The right man.” It was excellent champagne, each tiny bubble like a burst of magic on her tongue. And when she set the glass down again, she said, “I always wanted to have children.”
He answered teasingly, “However, not nine of them.”
Suddenly, it came to her. She realized where she’d been going with her grim little tale of disappointed love. It hadn’t really been a case of total over-sharing, after all.
“Actually,” she said. “This is serious.”
“All right.”
“There’s something I really do need to tell you.”
His expression changed, became … so still. Waiting. Listening. He tipped his head to the side in that strangely familiar way he had. “Tell me.”
She wanted—needed—for him to know about Trevor. If learning about Trev turned him off, well, she absolutely had to know that now, tonight. Before she got in any deeper with him. Before she let herself drown in those beautiful black eyes. “I …” Her mouth had gone desert-dry. She swallowed, hard.
This shouldn’t be so difficult, shouldn’t matter so very much. She hardly knew this man. Holding his interest and his high regard shouldn’t be this important to her.
Yet it was important. Already. She cared. A lot. Way, way too much.
He seemed too perfect. He was too perfect. He was her dream man come to vivid, vibrant, tempting life. The first minute she saw him, she’d felt as though she already knew him.
Yes, she should be more wary. It wasn’t like her to be so easily drawn in.
And yet she was. She couldn’t stop herself.
She thought of her grandmother, who had been a true believer in love at first sight. Grandma Ellen claimed she had fallen for Sydney’s grandfather the first time she met him. She’d also insisted that Sydney’s father had fallen in love with her mother at first sight.
Could falling in love at first sight be a genetic trait? Sydney almost smiled at the thought. She’d believed herself to be in love before—and been wrong, wrong, wrong.
But with Ryan, it hadn’t been like this. Or with Peter. Nothing like this, with either of them.
Both of those relationships had developed in the logical, sensible way. She’d come to believe that she loved those men over a reasonable period of time, after getting to know them well—or so she had thought.
And look what had happened. She learned in the end that she hadn’t really known either Ryan or Peter. Not well enough, she hadn’t. With both men, it had ended in heartbreak. Those failures should have made her more wary. Those failures had made her more wary.
Until today. Until she met Rule.
With Rule, her heart seemed to have a will of its own. With him, she wanted to just go for it. To take the leap, take a chance. She didn’t want to be wary with him. With him, she could almost become a believer in love at first sight.
If only he wasn’t put off by learning that she already had a child….
“It’s all right,” he said so gently. “Go on.”
And she did. “I was almost thirty, when it ended with Peter. I wanted to make partner in my firm and I wanted a family. I knew I could do both.”
He gave a slow nod. “But the men were not cooperating.”
“Exactly. So I decided … to have a family anyway. A family without a man. I went to a top cryobank—a sperm bank, at a fertility clinic?”
“Yes,” he said in a way that could only be called cautious. “I know what a cryobank is.”
“Well, all right.” Her hands were shaking. She lowered them to her lap so he wouldn’t see. “I went to a sperm bank. I had artificial insemination. The procedure was successful. I got pregnant. And now I have a beautiful, healthy two-year-old son.”
“You have a child,” he repeated, carefully. “A boy.”
She folded her hands good and tight in her lap to still the shaking. And her heart seemed to have stopped dead in her chest—and then commenced beating way too hard and too fast. It hurt, her own heart, the way it pounded away in there. Because she knew, absolutely, that it was over, between her and Rule, over before it had even really begun. And it didn’t matter how perfect he was for her. It didn’t matter if he just happened to be her dream-come-true. It didn’t matter that he made her want to believe in love at first sight. She was absolutely certain at that moment that he wouldn’t accept Trevor. And if he didn’t accept her son, she wanted nothing to do with him.
In a moment, she would be rising, saying good-night. Walking away from him and refusing to look back.
She drew her shoulders tall. Her hands weren’t shaking anymore. “Yes, Rule. I have a son, a son who’s everything to me.”
Chapter Three
And then, just as she was dead certain that it was finished between them, Rule smiled.
A real smile. He laid his warm, lean hand along the side of her face. “How wonderful. I love children, Sydney—but I already said that, didn’t I? When can I meet him? Tomorrow, I hope.”
She blinked, swallowed. Almost sick with emotion, she put her hand against her churning stomach. “I … You what?”
He laughed, a beautiful, low, sexy sound. “You thought I wouldn’t want to meet your son?” And then he frowned. “You don’t know me very well.”
“I … You’re right. I don’t know you.” She took slow, deep breaths, ordering her stomach to settle down, stunned at how much it mattered, that he wasn’t rejecting Trevor. That it wasn’t over after all, that she didn’t have to rise and walk away and not look back. She could stay right here, in this beautiful restaurant, at this private table, with this incredible man. She chided, “I have to keep reminding myself that I don’t know you