Though Jenna had put on a tough front, she’d let Stone see past her wild ways. She’d shown the real Jenna to him, and Stone had loved that frightened, uncertain, self-conscious Jenna with all his heart.
She’d been a virgin the night she and Stone had first made love, and though they’d used protection, somehow she’d gotten pregnant—with his child.
Stone’s family refused to listen to reason. They were wealthy, disdainful of scandal of any kind, and though he’d once thought of them as loving giving people, the truth was, they were snobs. It’d been a huge shock and major disappointment to Stone, but they’d stood firm. If he kept the baby, he’d be disowned. Stone had loved Jenna, loved their unborn baby, but even if he hadn’t, he wanted to be responsible for his actions. He’d kept his baby, for he could do nothing else.
And he ended up with no family, no Jenna, no money. Just Sara. Somehow they’d made it, and God, he didn’t want to remember those first months, how nightmarish they’d been, but he’d done it. They’d done it.
He and Sara were a family now, and it rankled like hell that he, after all this time, needed his parents.
They didn’t need him in return. They had Richard, and Stone knew his brother had never married. He’d never had any kids.
Which meant Sara was the only grandchild his parents had.
How could they ignore that?
How could they ignore her?
Stone continued to listen with half an ear as his client rambled on about the product he was buying, watching with detached interest out his window as two doors down from him, a moving truck pulled up.
A new neighbor.
The back of the truck opened, and two beefy men started to unload. An oak desk and chair. An elaborate computer system. An expensive-looking couch and matching chairs. A huge bulletin board, filing cabinet.
And Cindy Beatty.
Cindy Beatty?
Stone set his feet back on the floor, made quick excuses to his client before hanging up and left his office.
His heart thundered uncomfortably. Truth was, he’d not stopped thinking about this woman since they’d met, which was enough to make him wonder what the hell was wrong with him.
Rarely, if ever, had he let one woman intrude so on his private life. Driven by a need to see if their crazy attraction was real, he walked toward her, his gaze soaking in the first sight of her in days.
She looked the same—irresistible, and any hopes he’d held that he’d be able to turn and walk away were dashed.
Her black jeans outlined her thoroughbred legs to perfection. Her lightweight sweater clung to her soft curves in a way that made him ache, and he came to the uncomfortable realization that he was hopelessly attracted to her.
And he had no idea why.
Never one to run from his fears, he continued toward her. He wanted to see her face, watch her lips curve into a shy smile. He wanted to know her innermost thoughts.
But she was wearing those damn dark glasses, hiding herself from the world. Absorbed in watching the truck unload, she didn’t look up when he stopped next to her. “Hello,” he said. “What’s this?”
She gave a startled little jump. “Oh!” With her hand to her chest, she offered him that tentative smile he’d wanted to see. “Uh...hi.”
“Hi.” She could still do it, he discovered. Still make his heart skip a beat.
“You scared me.”
Vulnerable but determined, hesitant but brave. Such a contradiction, and yet it had been so damn long since he’d wanted to touch anyone quite as badly. Like a hormone-filled teen, he had to slip his hands in his pockets, or he would have actually reached for her. “What are you doing?”
“I’m moving in.” Her smile brightened, and on the surface she appeared to be fine. Great. Mouthwateringly beautiful, actually.
But only an idiot could miss the quivering tension in every line of her body, the delicate purple circles beneath her eyes makeup had not successfully covered. Truth was, tension shimmered off her in waves, and even as he looked at her, she lifted a hand to cover one side of her face and jaw.
He gently took her hand away from her face and brought it to his mouth. She gasped as he kissed her palm.
“Why do you cover your face?” he asked. “You’re so lovely.”
“I... You...” She let out a breath and stared at her hand in his. “You make it difficult to think.”
And she made his heart drum. “You’re opening your office here?” he asked, letting her go. “This is an industrial park.”
“It’s small and affordable. And it’s perfect, actually. Centrally located.” She looked away. “And most of my business will come from the industry around here, anyway.”
“Was that the only reason?”
She regarded the tall oak tree lining the parking lot as if it held the greatest interest. “Not quite.”
Stone had no idea how he felt about her silent admission that she had picked this spot because of him. Disturbed? Wanted? Wary? Appreciated? All those things, yes, but what he felt mostly was relief.
She scraped her teeth over her lip, drawing the skin on her chin tight. And there, on her neck above the scarf, he saw a faint weblike scar that spread... With a gentle hand he brushed her scarf aside. His heart beat faster as he realized the scars spread along both sides of her jaw, and disappeared into her hairline behind her ears.
He jerked his gaze up, meeting her sunglasses-covered eyes, horrified to be caught gaping, even more horrified at whatever it was she’d gone through. “Cindy...”
She took a step back, bringing her hand up to cup her cheek, an instinctive move on her part whenever she was nervous or upset.
Now he knew why. She was trying to hide her scars. God.
“Hey, lady, where do you want this?”
Cindy quickly turned from Stone, clearly jumping at the chance for distraction. One of the men stood there holding two large boxes. Practically falling in her hurry to get away from Stone, she smiled shakily at the mover. “Next to the filing cabinet Thanks. Is there more? Maybe I should help...”
The man shook his head and disappeared into the office.
They were again alone, yet for the first time in his life, Stone didn’t know what to do or say. He wanted to grab her, hold tight and offer comfort, but more than that, he didn’t want to scare her off, and since at the moment Cindy appeared to be braced for flight, he had to be careful.
Her head was ducked, she was busy studying her shoes. Slowly, gently, he ran his hand over her silky short hair, tucking a strand behind her ear before he cupped her jaw and lifted her face. Stroking her skin with his thumb, he murmured, “What happened to you?”
Immediately Cindy looked away.
But Stone forced her chin back up, his clasp on her face firm yet careful, for he was well aware of his strength in a way that most men his size weren’t.
She shrugged. “The how of it is not important.”
Stone thought it was important. “Cindy—”
“Please.”
Imagining the pain and trauma of whatever she’d been through to cause such scarring made him feel sick for her. But he could see that his closeness was unnerving her, so he backed off.
She