Wildest Dreams (Thunder Point #9)(37)

“Do you know anyone more confident than Charlie?” she asked with a laugh.

“Around us, yeah, he’s solid. We don’t know how he is around other people, especially kids his own age. It’s a constant uphill battle for a fourteen-year-old boy, trust me.”

He gave her hand a squeeze, reluctant to let go. Her hand was small in his, warm and soft. She turned her hand over and held his for a moment.

“Thank you for doing this,” she said. “Thank you for everything you’ve done. You’ve been very kind to me and Charlie.”

“It’s a privilege,” he said. It’s a privilege? Where the hell had that come from? He wanted to say something much warmer, much more intimate than that. He wanted to say something sexy.

She pulled her hand away from his. “Should I send Charlie over this afternoon, then?”

“Sure. I mean, give him time to unwind after school. I’ll stay here today instead of coming next door for the afternoon report. Charlie won’t want to discuss this in front of everyone. We’ll do it one-on-one.”

“You do have good instincts about kids, don’t you?”

“I’m interested in kids and athletic programs. In some cases it can save their lives. You know?”

“Like in Charlie’s case?”

“That would be a good example. It can also get them out of trouble, build self-esteem, help them sleep at night and have something to look forward to in life.”

She stood from the table. “I hope all of that works for Charlie. I’ll catch up with you after you’ve had a chance to talk.”

He let her out, softly closed the door behind her. And leaned his forehead against the door.

Crap.

She was controlling, manipulative and secretive. She was fiercely determined to have her way, and beneath that beautiful face and little body, she was powerful. There was an iron will in there. Almost unnaturally strong. She obviously had identity issues that she’d unwittingly passed on to her son and he’d put his money on some serious abandonment problems, as well. She had calm hands, a gentle step, was sweet spoken when it suited her and had a sharp tongue when it didn’t. He hadn’t even witnessed this crazy Asian temper Charlie referred to, yet he had no trouble picturing it. There was a Zen-like serenity about her, unless she was pissed off, then look out. Don’t turn your back. She was a very complicated woman. Untangling her would take a lifetime.

And he didn’t care. He wanted her.

* * *

Lin Su entered the house quietly. Mikhail was sitting on the deck alone, his feet propped up on the deck rail on this sunny afternoon. She checked on Winnie, sleeping restfully, then went into the guest bath, closing the door softly behind her. She looked in the mirror. Her cheeks had a slight rosy blush. She reached up and pulled the stick from her bun, letting her hair fall down her back. She pulled it over one shoulder and combed it with her fingers.

He was so tender with her, she thought. Gentle and kind and sweet. But there was no mistaking the firmness in his resolve—he would not weaken under duress. Never. Instinctively she knew this was a man who wouldn’t change his mind. When he first moved into that house she thought he was just another rich guy, self-indulgent and pompous. Over time she began to think of him as prudent and steady, someone who knew his mind, was mature and comfortable in his skin. Solid.

She splashed cold water on her face. She would be very careful around him, cautious that she didn’t betray the slightest desire. If she could rein in her feelings, control her actions, perhaps they could be friends. She didn’t dare even entertain a single romantic notion; it could be her undoing. She made up her mind a long, long time ago—it would take every breath of energy and resourcefulness she had to be a mother first, then a nurse, then a friend. She would never again be a lover.

But, oh, it was hard. He was magnificent.

* * *

When Charlie got home from school, home to Winnie’s, Troy was not yet home and Grace was still at the shop. Lin Su took him aside. “Spend a little time with Winnie, tell her about your day and I’ll listen in. Then I’d like you to go next door and see Blake. He has some very good ideas about an exercise program that can help you build strength and stamina so it will be less likely you’ll have an asthma attack if you exert yourself.”

“Huh?” Charlie said. “You mean work out?”

“Well, a monitored program, but yes—work out.”

“He wants to do this?” Charlie asked.

“Yes, he does. I asked him for help. He’s a professional athlete and trainer.”

“You asked him?” Charlie asked, awestruck.

She made a face. No one thought her capable of letting down her guard long enough to share control of her son. It irritated her that people found her thus. So she lied. “I asked Scott Grant about it and he’s pretty convinced, as am I, that much of your asthma is exercise induced. Scott confirmed what I already suspected—your asthma is not severe. But you can’t control it without building up endurance.” There, she thought. That should show her in slightly better light to her son. “Of course, if you get an upper respiratory infection or have a severe allergic reaction...” She just couldn’t seem to stop herself. Warnings seemed to come more naturally than encouragement.

“I told you!” Charlie said, ecstatic.