LITMIR.BIZ

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turned. ‘I don’t recall offering.’

      ‘No. You just assumed. Our relationship is professional.’

      Speaking of excuses...

      His pale eyes narrowed. ‘It’s just lunch, Natasha. I’m hardly going to proposition you over a toasted sandwich.’

      She straightened her shoulders. ‘In my experience that’s exactly how it goes.’

      The assumption. The entitlement.

      His head tipped. Something flickered across his expression. ‘Then you’ve had the wrong experiences.’

      She laughed. ‘Hard to disagree.’

      She spent the last four years of high school disappointing the raging hormones of boys who thought her hippy clothing reflected her values. Being disappointed by them in turn. Waiting for the one that was different. The one who liked her for who she was, not for what they thought she might do for them. To them.

      And then, after graduation, the men who wanted an unconventional arty sort on their trophy wall. And then Kyle...

      ‘Lunch. That’s it.’ He peered down on her, a twist to his lips. ‘Until you tell me otherwise.’

      Ugh. Such a delicate line between confidence and conceit. One she couldn’t help being drawn to, the other sent her running. She’d had her fill of supercilious men. She fired him her most withering stare and turned for the exit. In the polished glass of the building’s front, she saw the reflection of his smile. Easy. Genuine.

      And her gut twisted just a hint.

      Nice smile for a schmuck.

      They stopped outside a café called Reveille two blocks down, probably better for breakfast but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Aiden chose a table at the back.

      ‘So how do my father and your mother know each other?’

      The question took her aback. She’d not expected him to ask outright.

      ‘Did.’ She cleared her throat. ‘She died last year.’

      He frowned. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realise.’

      ‘No reason you should.’

      ‘How did they originally know each other?’

      ‘They went to the same university.’

      True. And yet not complete. The whole truth wasn’t something she could share if he hadn’t already done the maths. It wasn’t her place.

      ‘That means your mother and mine may have known each other, too. That’s where my parents met. Although she dropped out before graduating so perhaps not.’

      Tash held her breath and grabbed the subject change. ‘She didn’t finish?’

      He smiled at the waiter who brought their coffees. ‘My fault, I’m afraid. Universities weren’t quite so family friendly back then. My grandparents pulled her out of school when she got pregnant.’

      ‘She never went back? Finished?’

      ‘I think child-rearing and being the wife of an up-and-coming executive rather took over her life.’ His eyes dimmed. ‘She sacrificed a lot for me.’

      ‘You’re her son.’

      ‘I’m still grateful.’

      She didn’t want to give him points for being a decent human being. Or respond to his openness. She wanted to keep on loathing him as a handsome narcissist. ‘Do you tell her that?’

      He glanced up at her and she found herself drawn to the innate curiosity in his bottomless eyes. Opening up in a way she normally wouldn’t have risked. ‘The first thing I regretted when I lost Mum was not telling her all the obvious things. Not thanking her.’

      For life. For opportunity. For all the love. Every day.

      His eyes softened. ‘She knows.’

      Was he talking about his mother or hers? Either way, it was hard not to believe all that solid confidence. He didn’t understand. How could he? Plus, Aiden Moore’s business was none of hers, and vice versa.

      She handed him a menu. ‘So were you serious about a toasted—?’

      ‘Are you a natural blonde?’ he asked at the same time. The menu froze in her fingers. But he hurried on, as if realising how badly she was about to take that question. ‘It’s your eyes...I thought blonde hair and brown eyes was genetically impossible. Like all ginger cats being male.’

      Her frost eased just a little and she finished delivering the menu to his side of the table.

      His eyes grazed over the part of her visible above the table before settling back on hers. ‘Unless they’re contacts?’

      ‘I’ve had both since birth. And I’ve met a female ginger cat, too. It happens.’

      Kyle’s old ginge was a female. One of the things that let her get so close to him was how loving he was of that cat. Turned out how people treated animals wasn’t automatically a sign of how they’d treat people. Just another relationship myth.

      Like the one about love being unconditional.

      Or equal.

      She opened the menu and studied the columns.

      * * *

      Aiden took his cue from Natasha, but he knew what was on the menu and he didn’t really care what he had. The meeting before theirs had been a luncheon so he wasn’t hungry. At least not for food.

      Information he was greedy for.

      Her mother was dead. That explained why the woman wasn’t hovering on the scene discouraging her daughter from dating a man twice her age. Maybe it explained the vulnerability in her gaze, too. But one personal fact wasn’t nearly enough.

      He’d work his way slowly to what he really wanted to know.

      ‘Have you been a glass-blower all your life?’

      She didn’t look old enough to have had time to become a master at her craft. With her sunglasses holding her shaggy hair back from her lightly made-up face, she looked early twenties. Fresh. Almost innocent.

      But looks could be deceiving. She was old enough to have a reputation for excellence in art circles and old enough to have worked out that there were faster ways to make money than selling vases when you looked as good as she did.

      ‘Twelve years. We went to a glassworks when I was in school and I grew fascinated. I started as a hobby then took it up professionally when I left school.’

      ‘No tertiary study?’

      Her chin came up. ‘Nothing formal. I was too busy getting my studio up and running.’

      ‘It’s a good space,’ he hinted. ‘Arts grants must be pretty decent these days.’

      Her lips thinned. ‘I wouldn’t know. I haven’t had one for years.’

      He studied her closely. ‘You’re fully self-sustainable just on your sales?’

      ‘I traded pieces for studio space until I was established enough to sell commercially.’

      ‘So somewhere there’s a crazy Tash Sinclair collector with a house full of glass seahorses?’

      She shrugged. ‘He had empty commercial space and I had investment potential. Our boats rose together.’

      ‘Ah, a patron.’ Of course.

      Her eyes darkened for a heartbeat, then flicked away. ‘At the time. Now he’s the mayor.’

      Kyle Jardine. He knew the man. Big fish, small pond. Always a little bit too pleased with himself given what little he’d actually achieved in life—mid-level public office. Exactly the sort of man to be suckered by a hot, intriguing

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