Irritating as hell that she could so blithely ignore what had been driving him slowly insane. Fresh annoyance spiked at having her so calmly staring him down, pretending to know him and his life and not even once allowing that there was something between them.
Plus, in a few well-chosen words, Tula had managed to both insult and intrigue him.
“I don’t have a routine,” he grumbled, resenting the hell out of the fact that she had made him sound like a doddering old man concentrating solely on his comfortable rut in life.
She laughed and the sound filled the big room with a warmth it had never known.
“Simon, I’ve only been in this house a handful of days and I already know your routine as well as you do. Up at six, breakfast at seven,” she began, ticking items off on her fingers. “Morning news at seven-thirty, leave for the office at eight. Home by five-thirty…”
He scowled at her, furious that she was reducing his life to a handful of statistics. And even more furious that she was right. How in the hell had that happened? Yes, he preferred order in his life, but there was a distinct difference between a well-laid-out schedule and a monotonous habit.
“A drink and the evening news at six,” she went on, still smiling as if she was really enjoying herself, “dinner at six-thirty, work in your study until eight…”
Dear God, he thought in disgust, had he really become so trapped in his own well-worn patterns he hadn’t even noticed? If he was this transparent to a woman who had known him little more than a week, what must he look like to those who knew him well? Was he truly that predictable? Was he nothing more than an echo of his own habits?
That thought was damned disconcerting.
“Don’t stop now,” he urged before taking another sip of scotch. “You’re on a roll.”
“Well, there my tale ends,” she admitted. “By eight I’m putting the baby to bed and I have no idea what you do with the rest of your night.” She leaned one elbow on the arm of the chair and grinned at him. “Care to enlighten me?”
Oh, he’d like to enlighten her. He’d like to tell her she was wrong about him entirely. Unfortunately, she wasn’t. He’d like to take her upstairs and shake up both of their routines. But he wasn’t going to. Not yet.
“I don’t think so,” he said tightly, still coming to grips with his own slide into predictability. “Besides, I didn’t want to talk about me. We were going to talk about the baby.”
“For us to talk about the baby,” she countered with a satisfied nod, “you would have to actually spend time with him. Which you manage to avoid with amazing regularity.”
“I’m not avoiding him.”
“It’s a big house, Simon, but it’s not that big.”
He stood up, suddenly needing to move. Pace. Something. Sitting in a chair while she watched him with barely concealed disappointment was annoying.
Simon knew he shouldn’t care what she thought of him, but damned if he wanted her thinking he was some sort of coward, hiding from his responsibilities. Or an old man stuck in a routine of his own devising. He walked to the wide bay window with a view of the park directly across the street. Moonlight played on the swing sets and slides, illuminating the playground with a soft light that looked almost otherworldly.
“I haven’t gotten the paternity test results back yet,” he said, never taking his gaze from the window and the night beyond the glass.
“You know he’s yours, Simon. You can feel it.”
He looked down at her as she walked up beside him. “What I feel isn’t important.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Simon,” she said sadly, looking up at him. “In the end, what you feel is the only important thing.”
He didn’t agree. Feelings got in the way of logical thought. And logic was the only way to live your life. He had learned that lesson early and well. Hadn’t he watched his own father, Jarod Bradley, nearly wipe out the family dynasty by being so chaotic, so disordered and flighty that he neglected everything that was important?
Well, Simon had made a pledge to himself long ago that he was going to be nothing like his father. He ran his world on common sense. On competency. He didn’t trust “feelings” to get him through his life. He trusted his mind. His sense of responsibility and order.
Which was how he’d slipped into that rut he was cursing only moments ago. His father hadn’t had a routine for anything. He’d greeted each day not knowing what was going to happen next. Simon preferred knowing exactly what his world was doing—and arranging it to suit himself when possible.
Besides, despite what Tula thought, he wasn’t so much actively avoiding Nathan as he had been avoiding her. Ever since that kiss. Ever since he’d held her breasts cupped in his hands he hadn’t been able to think of anything else but getting his hands on her again. And until he figured out exactly what that would mean, he was going to keep right on avoiding her.
Damn it, things used to be simple. He saw an attractive woman, he talked her into his bed. Now, Tula was all wrapped up in a tight knot with the child who was probably his son and Simon was walking a fine line. If he seduced her and then dropped her, couldn’t she make it more difficult for him to get custody of Nathan? And what if he had sex with her and didn’t want to let her go? What then?
There was no room in his life for a woman as flighty and unorganized as she was. She thrived in chaos. He needed order.
They were a match made in hell.
“Are you even listening to me?”
“Yes,” he muttered, though he was actually trying to not listen to her.
Which was no more successful than trying not to think about her.
Tula wasn’t comfortable in the city.
Ridiculous, of course, since she’d spent so much of her childhood there. Her parents separated when she was only five and her mother, Katherine, had moved them to Crystal Bay. Close enough that Tula could see her father and far enough away that her mother wouldn’t have to.
Crystal Bay would always be home to Tula. Right from the first, she’d felt as though she belonged there. Life was simpler, there were no piano lessons and tutors. Instead, there was the local public school where she’d first met Anna Cameron. That friendship had really helped shape who she was. The connection with Anna and her oh-so-normal family had helped her gain the self-confidence to eventually face down her father and refuse to fall in line with his plans for her life.
Now being in San Francisco only reminded her of those long, lonely weekends with her father. Not that Jacob Hawthorne was evil, he simply hadn’t been interested in a daughter when he’d wanted a son. And the fact that his daughter didn’t care at all about business was another big black mark against her.
Funny, Tula thought, she had long ago gotten past the regrets she had for how her relationship with her father had died away. Apparently though, there was still a tiny spark inside her that wished things had been different.
“It’s okay though,” she said aloud to the baby who wasn’t listening and couldn’t have cared less. “I’m doing fine, aren’t I, Nathan? And you like me, right?”
If he could speak, she was sure Nathan would have agreed with her and that was good enough for now.
She sighed and pushed the stroller along the sidewalk. Nathan was bundled up as if they were exploring the Arctic Circle, but the wind was cold off the bay and the dark clouds hanging over the city threatened rain.
She and the baby had been in that house for days and it was harder and harder to be there without thoughts of Simon filling her mind. She knew it was pointless, of course. She and Simon had nothing in common except that flash