Too Hard to Handle (Black Knights Inc. #8)(90)
Her brow furrowed. She blinked. “What the… How do you know about that?”
“I may have done a little research on you when I got back from Kuala Lumpur,” he admitted, his expression sheepish.
“Y-you did research on me?”
“Yeah.” He nodded, rubbing a hand over his beard stubble. “And I’ve been wanting to tell you how sorry I am for your loss, but I didn’t know how to bring it up. It’s not something you just say right out of the blue, you know?” That charming way he smashed his words together made it sound like right outta th’blue, y’know.
“Thank you,” she told him. The dull ache that knifed into her stomach anytime she thought about the night her father died was so familiar she could ignore it. “It was a really long time ago.” And that had another one of those flimsy, ephemeral questions swirling around in her head suddenly solidifying. “How long ago did she die?” When she realized how nosy that sounded, and how insensitive, she was quick to add, “Sorry. I’m so sorry. Geez. Don’t answer that. You probably hate talking about it.” After a shake of her head she added, “It has become glaringly apparent to me that I am a blue-ribbon-worthy ass.”
“No you’re not.” He squeezed her shoulder. “You’re wonderful. And it’s okay to ask me anything. I’ll always give you the truth.”
Yeah, he would. Because he was an honest, upstanding guy. And she was…a blue-ribbon-worthy ass. She couldn’t help reiterating.
When he squeezed her shoulder again, she instinctively scooted away. All the comfort and ease she usually felt had vanished. It was weird to be in bed with him, naked. You know, what with his wife smiling at her from the photograph. She nonchalantly tucked the comforter around herself, trying to play off the move by pretending to pick distractedly at a stray thread.
Dan frowned, cocking his head first at her and then the space she’d put between them. So much for nonchalant. “It was over two years ago.”
She stilled, her fingers no longer plucking at the string. “Recent then,” she said. And what was that she was feeling? She didn’t know. It was like a cross between dread and fear and heartbreak. And then a thought struck her like a blindside haymaker from a heavyweight. Oh, God! Am I a rebound?
“In some ways it feels recent,” he admitted. “In other ways it feels like a lifetime ago. Maybe even another lifetime. I guess ’cause going through something like that, losing someone you love so unexpectedly, it…changes you. I’m not the same man I was back then. I’m harder in some ways, softer in others. You know what I mean?”
She did. The day her father died was the day her life split in two. There was the Penelope Ann DePaul who’d come before. That girl was footloose and carefree. And there was the Penelope Ann DePaul who’d come after. That woman was a little bit more circumspect and a lot more serious. But that was beside the point. Because…just over two years?
That familiar dull ache in her stomach was joined by a brand-new nauseating pain. “H-have you…” She wasn’t sure how to put what she wanted to say without being indelicate. “Um, what I mean is…” Just spit it out, Penni-pie. No use skating around the truth. “Have you dated much since?”
“Dated?” The look on his face was incredulous. “No.” He shook his head, causing a lock of hair to fall over his forehead, concealing the wound there.
Okay, so was he doing that guy thing where he meant he hadn’t “dated” women but he “shagged” a whole truckload of them? “But you’ve…been with other women, right?”
He narrowed his eyes, lacing his hands behind his head and studying her. “Does it matter?” he asked.
“I-I guess not.” You bet your ass it does! And, shit. That was the first time she’d lied to him. It didn’t sit well. But in her defense, it was like she was in the eye of the storm. Her life, and all her dreams and hopes and fears, were swirling around her at 300 mph.
She didn’t know how she felt about Dan being a widower—other than knowing she felt terribly sorry for him and the loss he’d suffered. She didn’t know what it meant for the future she’d hoped might be possible. She didn’t know if it changed—
Aren’t you getting ahead of yourself? You haven’t even told him what you came to tell him.
True. Too true. And maybe now was the time. You know, what with so many emotional Molotov cocktails having already been thrown. Blowing out a deep breath, scolding her stupid heart for being lily-livered and sinking down to hide somewhere around the vicinity of her knees, she opened her mouth—
“You’re the first,” he said, preempting what she’d been about to say.
“I’m sorry?”
“Since my wife.”
“Come again?” She heard his words but they weren’t computing. Or maybe she just didn’t want them to compute. And goddamnit! The room had shrunk again. She would swear the ceiling was slowly falling, getting ready to crush her.
“There haven’t been any others,” he said.
“Oh-kay.” That’s what she said. What she thought was Oh, Christ on the cross! I am the rebound! She felt like crying. Or puking. Or maybe screaming? So she was completely surprised when her next words were “What was her name?”