Chapter Fifteen
Bree knew he was waiting for her to say something. Kruze was intelligent and perceptive. She meant to start small. Digging for details like the journalist she was, anything he might want to share would be a good start. Even if it was insignificant. She wasn’t planning to write a story about him, though. If she were, she’d have told him up front. She’d be totally honest. Because somehow, between her breakdown and him sharing his secret, she felt closer to him tonight than she’d ever felt before.
“So tell me about that mother of yours,” she murmured, her eyes on the chest hairs her fingers had discovered behind his top two buttons.
“Nothing much to tell. Scarlett Sinclair was a best-selling romance author and the best mom of all time.”
Bree’s eyes jerked up to his face. “She’s your mom? The Scarlett Sinclair? Oh, my gosh! I’ve read her works. All of them. She’s brilliant. You’re one of the three boys she mentions in the backmatter of her books?”
He nodded, still not smiling. “Don’t believe everything you read. Mom liked to brag.”
“I can’t believe I never made the connection. I should have, you look just like her.” Bree reached a hand to Kruze’s head and let her fingers comb through his dark black hair, the feel of it silky, lush, and cool. He’d trimmed the sides close but left the top longer. “You have her eyes and her hair color. Wow. Tell me about her. What was living with a famous mother like?”
Kruze shrugged. “If you’ve read her books, you already know everything. Single mom. Patriotic as all get out. Worked her ass off to make top ten in the country, then worked harder to make sure us boys knew life wasn’t meant to be easy.”
“That’s where you get your work ethic.”
“Maybe, yeah. I just know we had chores to do every day after school, and Mom didn’t believe in buying us boys cars just because we graduated high school. She co-signed our first loans, sure, but we had to have jobs by then, make car payments and pay insurance. He ran his hand through his hair. “And God bless us when we got speeding tickets. What about your parents?”
Bree relaxed listening to Kruze reminisce. “They’re the best. They adore me, and they’re always there whenever I need a babysitter or… or…” Oh, shit. Her mouth went dry. What had she done?
Kruze cocked his head. “I didn’t know you had kids. You were married?”
She shook her head as her noisy heart climbed back up her throat. “No, I’m—”
And suddenly, Bree was sitting alone on the passenger side of that bench seat. Kruze had his hands to himself and his back against the driver’s door. His eyes had gone dark. His brows were narrowed into an angry V, and the laugh lines bracketing his eyes were razor-sharp. “You’re married now? What the fuck!”
Bree raked her fingers through her ponytail, tempted to tear it out. “No, no, it’s not like that. It’s… it’s different.” She stalled. Different how? Keep lying? Come clean? Scare the life out of the man she’d finally gotten close enough to, that he trusted her with his truth? Destroy the trust she’d just earned with the lie she still kept? Kruze had shared the worst pain in his life. He’d broken down in her arms. He’d cried. What was she waiting for? But could she set Robin up like that? For heartbreak? Better Kruze than Robin, but…
Oh, sweet Lord. Bree sucked in a belly full of air, puffed her cheeks and blew it out, not sure she should tell him anything. And yet…
His fingers were tight on the door handle. His hair had flipped down into his eyes and he was angry. Livid. She’d lied to him, and he was leaving. Bree couldn’t blame him. Blowing out another breath, she started at the beginning. “Do you remember that night in Paris at all?”
Kruze blinked, his lashes slamming up and down like the shutters inside Navy signal lamps. Distress flashed with every blink. He swallowed hard, as if he couldn’t get his throat muscles to work. Raking his fingers through his hair, he pushed it back, staring her down. Daring her to keep talking.
“I was younger and prettier then.” She fingered her lifeless ponytail. “Maybe even a little overweight. My hair was red. Not carrot or ginger. More rust with red highlights. That’s my natural color. It was short and curly. You liked it. You told me so.”
His chest heaved, as if there weren’t enough air inside the car ad he couldn’t breathe. He was still trying to connect the dots between the woman he’d known in Paris and the disaster he’d rescued in Turkey. Between the carefree woman she’d been that magical night in France and the lackluster loser he was looking at now. At last, Kruze’s face scrunched with wrinkles. He licked the thin line of his bottom lip and whispered, “You’re her?”
He’d remembered. Good. But he didn’t yet believe.
Bree nodded, frantic to tell her side of the story before he launched out of the car, and she never saw him again. “I thought you loved me in Paris. I fell so darned hard for you.”
“I… I…” He shook his head, as if there were something in it that hurt.
So much anguish flickered across his handsome face that Bree wanted to throw up. She’d done this to him. She’d hurt him and she’d done it intentionally. Instead, she stiffened her spine and spilled her heart the same way he’d just spilled his.
“Kruze, honey, we made love like a couple of rabbits that night, and I adored every second being with you, and every single thing we did. I’m sorry but…” Now Bree needed more air, too. Swallowing hard, she finished with, “Only I’m not sorry, not one bit, and no, I’m not married, and I’ve never been married, because… b-because I…” Because I don’t want anyone but you. I’m stupid that way.
Bree pressed her palm to her chest to stop the relentless banging behind her breastbone. My Lord, her heart felt like it was going to explode. Drawing in another deep breath, she finally said the words she should’ve said years ago. “Because I’ve never stopped thinking of you, damn it. We made a baby that night, Kruze. You and me” —she toggled her index finger between herself and him— “and we have a daughter. I know we used condoms, but things still happened, and she’s beautiful, and if you hurt her…!” Tears burst from Bree’s eyes at the foolish threat she just leveled at the poor man who’d had no idea he’d fathered a child.
Poor Kruze hadn’t done a thing yet. He hadn’t left, hadn’t cursed, just looked so damned confused and stunned. He’d been blindsided, and that was on Bree. She inched closer until she could touch his knee.
The second her fingertips made contact with denim, he brushed them off. Okay, that was an acceptable response. Kruze was in shock, and she was wrong to think he’d forgive her so quickly. Or ever. He needed distance and time to think. This revelation might be one of those things he’d never forgive her for. Why should he? At least, he hadn’t left.
“I know you’re upset, but—”
“Quiet!” he hissed, his finger sternly in her face. “Stop talking. Just… Shush!”
“But I—”
“Shhhhh!”
Wow, she had no idea a man could make a shush sting. Her ears rang from the vehemence in that command. Bree sealed her lips, needing Kruze to know the whole story before he turned away and ran from a lifetime of child support.
The thought of him rejecting his sweet little daughter, though, ripped Bree’s heart out. Just one nasty word out of his mouth, one single breath of denial, and Kruze would never, ever see Robin. Bree would make darned sure of it. She hadn’t needed financial support from him so far; she wouldn’t need it tomorrow. Robin already had a college fund, courtesy of Bree’s thoughtful mom and dad, and her employer-provided health and life insurance. Come to think of it, Bree didn’t need Kruze in her life at all. At least, not his money.
“Can I meet her?” he asked quietly, the cords of his neck standing taut and hard in the shadows. “You said we made a little girl. Will you let me meet her?”
Bree cocked her head, not sure she’d heard right. “What?!”
“Can I meet my little girl? Please?”
&n
bsp; She’d mentally prepared for a long, bloody war over child support, but Kruze had effectively jerked the self-righteous rug out from under her. She was the one blinking now, trying like hell to catch up with him. “You want to meet her?” she asked, like a wide-eyed dolt with no brains to back up her big mouth.
“Yes, please. I do.” His head bobbed. “Tonight. Right now. Why not? Am I too late? Is she already in bed or s-s-something?”
That boyish stutter was Bree’s undoing. Somehow, Kruze had jumped past denial and leaped straight into acceptance. He believed everything she’d told him, hadn’t protested at all. Hadn’t called her a liar or told her to prove it. He hadn’t suggested she take a DNA test or insinuated that she slept around. Which Bree had never. He just wanted to meet the child he’d helped create. His child. The little girl he had every right to meet.
Oh, Lord. Bree hadn’t anticipated this calm, reasonable response in any of her wildest dreams. Frightened, she backed against the passenger door and put her knee between Kruze and her, keeping her distance. Was he calm because he planned to take Robin from her? Could he do that? He was actually more mentally stable. It was possible.
“What’s her name?” Kruze asked quietly, his brows lifted, his tone pleading. “My daughter. What’s she look like? How old is she? Three and what? A couple months? When’s her birthday? Let me think…” He was rapidly doing the math.
“Three, yes.” Bree nodded at the man she didn’t know at all. The brash, brave former SEAL, who’d rescued her from Josephus, who’d carried her up mountains, doctored, and fed her, was counting on his fingers.
“Oh, shit, I’m sorry. Paris was four years ago, July. One, two, three…She’s three years and three months old, isn’t she? Oh, my hell, you were in Turkey for her third birthday. You were in that damned hole! I’m… I’m so sorry. Jesus…” Those beautiful green eyes held a wealth of regret. “Is she smart and pretty like you? Or is she a dumbass like me? Is she… is she healthy? Does she have all her fingers and toes? Talk to me.”
Bree’s worry breathed out of her on a sigh. None of her wild imaginings had come true. Kruze was not the monster her sleepless nights and worries had turned him into. Not at all.
“You’re not a dumbass, honey, and her name’s Robin, and yes, she’s got all ten toes and fingers. She’s perfect, and I named her after my mother, well, not exactly. But Mom’s name is Lark, so I named Robin after a bird, too, because—”
Kruze reached for Bree.
She ducked, fully expecting a slap, not that he’d ever hit her. But Josephus had. His women had. And PTSD made sure she never forgot.
He froze, his open palm suspended in the space between them, his tongue slipping over his bottom lip. “Don’t be afraid of me, Bree. Please. I’ve never hit you, not once. I’m not that kind of guy.”
“I know, I know,” she whined. “It’s not you. It’s… it’s just reflex.” Man, it was so hard to swallow. Her saliva glands had dried up. “I can’t help myself.”
His hand went to his thigh. Kruze was having a hard time swallowing, too.
“I’m so sorry. I should’ve told you about Robin a long time ago.”
He cocked his head, the sparkle in his eyes, if there still was one, lost in the shadow of the parking lot light that had just come on behind him. “I would never hit you, Bree. Ever,” he said softly. “And I’m sorry, too. You’re right, I did leave early that morning. I was an ass to do that. But I was only in Paris one night, and I had an early flight to catch, and… I wish I’d at least told you goodbye. I should’ve left a note. But I also wish you’d found a way to tell me you were pregnant. I mean, I am her dad, and…”
Bree squeezed her eyes to stop the tears. Lord, this man was something else. Kruze hadn’t even said, ‘if she is my child.’ Just jumped straight to, ‘I am her dad.’ All these years of anticipating a war with him were just—gone. He’d stolen the wind out of her angry sails. “I didn’t know how to reach you.”
“But you should’ve tried.”
“I gave you my business card. You never gave me anything.”
“Except a baby.”
“You know what I mean. You left me, Kruze. I didn’t leave you. At least you had my work number. Why didn’t you call?”
That gulp she heard for sure. Kruze ran a hand over his head. “Because I’m a stupid guy?” His reply was a timid question. “And I travel a lot, you know that. Don’t even know where I put that card. Even back then, I never knew when I’d be tagged for overseas business. I told you…” There went his hand again, ruffling through his hair and over his head like it was one of those magic eight balls that could help him come up with the right answer. “Kee-rist, I don’t remember what I told you. It’s not like you were the first—”
Bree put a hand in his face. “Stop,” she ordered. “I don’t care how many notches are on your bedpost. This is not about you or me. This is about you doing what’s right for your daughter’s sake. She’s the only one who counts. I don’t want anything from you, b-b-but whatever you want to give Robin, I would hope it comes from your heart, not from some stupid judge’s order or a lawyer or… or… your twisted idea of accepting responsibility or…” Bree dashed a hand over her teary eyes before she blubbered anymore. She was making a mess of everything, wasn’t sure what she was saying. Kruze hadn’t intimated pursuing any of the arguments she’d just tossed at him. Why had she? Because he’d left her alone, darn it. Alone and pregnant. He’d walked out on her without a backward glance. When she’d needed him most, he wasn’t there!
“Right. My fault. I accept full responsibility. I did it. You’re her mom. You know what’s best for our daughter. But if you don’t want me to meet her—”
Our daughter. Darn him, he did it again! Bree was having a hard time remembering all the reasons she should hate this man. “I never said that.”
“But you haven’t said you’ll let me meet her, either.” Kruze bowed his chin to his chest, as if he couldn’t bear to look at her anymore. This stupid, stupid man kept breaking her heart.
Bree leaned close enough to cup his chin and make him look up at her. “Of course you can meet her. She’s your little girl. I would never keep you from having a relationship with Robin.”
Growling, he swiped an impatient hand over his face. He didn’t want her to see, but his lashes were spiked. Awareness washed over Bree at what she’d done to him. At the gentle, broken man behind the cavalier façade he’d led with, both in Paris and Turkey. He hadn’t once questioned she might be lying. Neither had he denied he was Robin’s father. He’d accepted everything she’d told him at face value—because he trusted her now, even though she hadn’t trusted him then. To make her feel worse, a tear dripped off that square, stubborn, clean-shaven chin of his. Her big bad hero was crying.
“I am so sorry,” she whispered, not sure how to repair the damage they’d done to each other.
“I’m sorry, too,” he rasped. “Gawddamnit, Bree. I need… I just want…”
It was the smell of his aftershave and the sound of his voice cracking that did it, and Bree couldn’t sit still anymore. She threw herself across the seat into Kruze’s arms, her heart a bloody chunk of hamburger. “I was so mad when you left that morning,” she cried into his shirt. “I was so angry. So hurt. You didn’t even tell me goodbye!”
“Yeah, well…” His deep voice trailed off as he pressed her close to his heart.
“Do you have any idea how long I stayed in that empty room and waited for you to come back? We made love, Kruze. Love. So many times.”
“On the balcony,” he murmured into her hair, his voice low and sad. “That was the best. And in the shower. My hell, they’ve got little showers in Paris.”
“They do,” Bree cried, grinding her face into his chest, wishing she could go back in time and make better choices.
“The last thing I remember is the feel of your body mashed into mine. We were snuggling. I… I don’t usually do that.”
>
“I get it. You’re a love ’em and leave ’em guy. You don’t do commitments. I never asked for that.”
He nodded against the side of her head. “I’ve seen what married SEALs go through. Never wanted that much pain. It’s bad enough my brothers are married.”
Kruze was breaking her heart again. Any hint that he wanted a future with the mother of his daughter was now effectively dead and buried. Not that Bree had planned on marrying him anyway. A man who didn’t waste time on goodbyes surely wasn’t family material.
“Let’s go. I’d really like you to introduce me to my little girl.” His voice was so darned hopeful.
Lifting away from him, Bree shook her head. “Not tonight. I mean, sure, you can certainly meet her if she’s still awake. But I can’t just walk in and tell her you’re her father, can I?”
Chapter Sixteen
Well, damn. That was a great question, one Kruze hadn’t considered. Popping into a child’s life and blurting, “Hey! I’m your dad!” wasn’t kind, nor smart. He wouldn’t do that. He’d hurt Bree enough. He could never hurt his little girl. Kee-rist, he had a daughter. And that child had a very smart mother. Kruze deferred to Bree’s better judgment. “You’re right, sorry. I’ll do whatever you think is best. My truck or your car?”
Bree was still mostly in his arms, one knee tucked under her. “The key’s in the ignition,” she replied tiredly. “You drive. I’ll call my parents and let them know I’m bringing a friend over.”
Kruze tugged Bree in tight and kissed her again, needing intimate contact with this woman. He remembered everything now. Who would’ve thought that carefree girl in Paris, the perky redhead, was the same woman he’d rescued in Turkey? In Paris, she’d been a lush, plump strawberry with fire in her eyes, not this gaunt stick of a nervous woman. Her sumptuous breasts had caught his attention first. They were still there, just not as remarkably luscious as then. She’d worn a blood-red push-up bra, that had all but offered them up to him for dessert, once he’d gotten her dress off. Even her dress, an airy piece of colorful fluff, had been a delightful feminine snare.
Damned (SOBs Book 4) Page 12
