Understanding didn’t make it hurt any less.
They were a new couple, he’d said. But she loved him with an intensity that made her ache. Maybe he didn’t want that. Maybe he just wanted to keep things casual, take it slow. For all she knew, he didn’t want that kind of commitment.
Then why was she living here, with him and his daughter? Why did they feel like a family?
Tony ducked into the living room, his tie hanging loose around his throat, his shirt partially unbuttoned. He smiled. “Miranda wants a good-night kiss from her fairy.”
“Sure.” Rebecca rose and smoothed her shirt. Her fairy. Again that frustrating echo of a memory she couldn’t grasp, bringing with it a ghost of remembered emotion. Depression. Pain. Longing. Why? Why had she been upset over Miranda? Was it because the child wasn’t really her daughter? Hell, was she even the motherly type?
With a sigh, Rebecca brushed past Tony and slipped into Miranda’s room. The little girl sat in the middle of the bed with a stubborn pout. The covers were bunched at the foot of the bed.
“Can you tuck me in?” Miranda said. “Daddy does it wrong.”
Rebecca laughed. Her tension unraveled, and she sank down on the edge of Miranda’s bed. “Does he?” She nudged the girl until she lay down, then pulled the blanket up over her shoulders. “Night, munchkin,” she said, and kissed the tip of Miranda’s nose.
Miranda smiled with a sleepy yawn. “Night, angel.”
Rebecca blinked. “Angel? I thought I was a fairy.”
“Daddy always calls you an angel.” Miranda curled her little hand against the pillow. Her eyes drifted closed. “So I changed it,” she mumbled. “Becca-angel.”
Rebecca smiled. Her, an angel? Not likely. She was as far from an angel as anyone could get without going straight to hell.
“Night, kiddo,” she whispered, but her only answer was Miranda’s sleeping breaths.
Shaking her head, Rebecca crept from the room and rejoined Tony in the living room. He was reading the sports section and drinking coffee, but he set the paper down with a smile when he saw her.
“Passed right out, didn’t she?”
“Before her head even hit the pillow.” Chuckling, Rebecca sat on the arm of the couch next to him. “Looks like I’m not a fairy anymore. I’m an angel.”
Tony choked on his coffee and spluttered, turning red. Rebecca slapped his back.
“Um. You okay?”
He coughed and set his mug on the table, blinking. “I will be when you stop pounding on me. Damn, woman. Oughta join the Cowboys, with an arm like that.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I get the feeling I didn’t like football very much.”
“I’m working on changing that so I won’t have to leave you. Or at least put you out on the stoop every Sunday.”
She punched his arm. “Very funny. I’m going to the store and buying a Giants jersey tomorrow.”
He glowered. “Do that, and I really will put you out.”
“Sure you will.” Rebecca grinned and leaned over to nudge his shoulder. “That’s the jackass talking. Not the real Tony.”
“You want to see the real Tony?”
A crafty gleam in his eyes was the only warning before his arms snaked around her waist and he dragged her down in his lap. His fingers raced over her ribs, tickling her, and she shrieked with laughter—then clamped a hand over her mouth.
“Tony!” she gasped, wriggling in his grip. “Stop it! I’ll wake Miranda!”
He stopped. Stopped and just looked at her, his eyes intense, his hands resting against her waist. The stormy green caught her yet again, captured her with their heat and left her breathless. She yearned to kiss him again, but she knew the moment she moved, the moment she broke this spell, he’d push her away.
He teased a lock of hair away from her temple and traced a finger over her scar. “I wish I could find the man who did this to you, and kick his ass from one side of Dallas to the other. He shouldn’t be walking free. Not after hurting you.”
“The police will find him.” Rebecca searched her mind for even a glimpse of that day, but came up blank. Her first memory was the hospital, and those heart-stopping green eyes watching her with such fear and worry. “I can’t even remember his face. Do you?”
“Only a little. It all happened so fast, and in the chaos…” He shook his head. “I was more worried about you and Miranda. I thought you were dead. Both of you.” He shuddered and pulled her closer, against his broad chest. “If I’d lost either of you…”
The raw emotion in his voice warmed her. She rested her head to his shoulder and crept one hand up to lay it against his chest. “We’re okay,” she murmured. “You don’t have to worry about it. The police will catch him. Guys like that never hide out for long. They need trouble. They go looking for it.”
He titled her chin up and searched her eyes. “You sound like you’re speaking from past experience.”
Was she? She’d spoken without thinking, yet the knowledge had been as innate as her ability to cook. As if it had been ingrained over time, becoming something deeper than mere memory. A fundamental truth that made up who she was.
“I don’t know,” she said slowly. “I have this feeling that…I was involved with bad people. Bad men who did nothing worthwhile with their lives. And I guess…that’s what I expect out of guys.” She half smiled. “Except you.”
He tensed. His hands firmed against her waist—but only so he could lift her out of his lap and gently set her on the couch at his side. He leaned forward to pick up the newspaper again. Of course. Of course, if she asked, he’d say it was just that he wanted to finish the sports section. Not that, every time she said something he didn’t like, he closed himself up inside a tiny shell and hid himself away where she couldn’t reach.
Rebecca sighed. “Please don’t do this again. What is it now? What did I say wrong this time?”
“You didn’t say anything wrong.” He glanced at her, and relented with a small smile. “Really, you didn’t. I’m just keeping—”
“—your distance. Yeah. I know.” She frowned. “But we were just talking. It’s not like I was giving you a lap dance. Your virtue is safe.”
His mouth pressed into a hard, irritated line. “It’s not my virtue I’m protecting.”