Chapters (43)
- Cover
- Dedication
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-one
- Twenty-two
- Twenty-three
- Twenty-four
- Twenty-five
- Twenty-six
- Twenty-seven
- Twenty-eight
- Twenty-nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-one
- Thirty-two
- Thirty-three
- Thirty-four
- Epilogue
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
- Readers Guide
- QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION
- About the Author
- What’s next onyour reading list?
He could still feel the give of her lips pressing into his, the way her hands clung to his cheeks. He hated that he had anything to do with the tears staining her face. Earlier, he’d thought she was embarrassed because they’d been caught in a situation that looked flirtier than what it was. Shit, all he had wanted was to make her smile.
The anger twisted, writhing higher until he had to move. He got out a frying pan and dropped butter into it, tilting the pan so it would start to run as it heated.
“That’s not why he was mad,” she said. She paused to blow her nose, and as he processed her words, his grip froze with the pan still tipped to the right.
She hadn’t denied that there was something between them. She’d flown through his door tonight and kissed him, and he had not the first damned clue what that all meant.
The butter began to melt and slide, pooling into the far edge of the pan and filling the kitchen with its warmth and aroma.
“Dad doesn’t care that you’re black. But he’s not making any sense. It’s almost like he hates you, and he’s making up reasons why.”
He snorted. “Sure. He has a weird feeling about me, like I might be trouble. That’s how it works. Nobody thinks they’re racist, Andra. They just think some people can’t be trusted, especially not with their daughters.”
She paused, the paper towel wadded in front of her. “I just can’t imagine my dad . . . But maybe you’re right. He kept saying how different you were from me, and he doesn’t even know you.” She shoved the paper towel away. “That’s not all of it, though. He thinks we have nothing in common, but mainly he thinks I’m not capable of having a relationship. And that by spending time with you, I’m leading you on.”
Heat roared through LJ’s ears. He flipped off the burner and set the pan aside, going back to the table.
He pulled out a chair across from Andra, his jaw muscles locked tight as he propped his elbows on his knees so he’d be closer to her height. Then he looked up at her. “Two things.”
She nodded, eyes on the wadded paper towel she was shredding in her lap.
“First, there ain’t any ‘leading on’ between me and you. Ever.”
Her gaze jerked up to his, and he watched it flicker toward his bare shoulders and back to his face.