Page 5 of Parentmoon

“I can’t stay.” My incredulous tone drops as I tip up my chin, implying words I don’t say. I can’t stay with him.

He lifts his head, forehead furrowing while I still can’t see his eyes. “What’s with the attitude?” If I knew him better, I’d say I hurt his feelings, but I doubt emotions come into play with this man. The only person he seems to care about is his daughter. He spared his child nothing.

We had the Palmer House in downtown Chicago reserved for the reception. We made a huge financial donation to Old St. Pat’s to secure the iconic Catholic church for the ceremony. Three-hundred people, of whom I probably knew five, had RSVPed to attend the wedding.

And by we, I mean, Keli’s father. He was generously covering every dollar and desire of his little girl.

“No attitude.” My face heats to match my snarky retort, almost confirming I definitely have an attitude toward Dallas, who is still looking in my direction. His eyes hidden behind those reflecting lenses give me a glance at my appearance. Wind-blown honey-blond hair. Wide brown eyes. Pouty lips.

I turn away from his gaze.

“Still have that pretty pink flush to your skin.” His voice deepens. The sound mocking.

He’s so full of . . . “I know your type,” I quip.

“Don’t know nothin’ about me, darlin’. But I’d like to know more about you.”

The suggestiveness has my skin prickling in a way it shouldn’t. Shivers run over my flesh despite the heat of the afternoon. Refreshing, enticing, thrilling ripples. However, a man like Dallas Cole would never be interested in me and I wouldn’t be interested in him.

“I am not sleeping with you,” I blurt before considering the suggestion in my declaration. The beach house only has one bedroom with one bed. “I mean . . . we aren’t sharing a bedroom . . . or a bed.”

However, the image of Dallas and I in that bed has those ripples turning into tidal waves, rushing over my already-heated skin and crashing in one place. Between my legs. I can’t remember the last time I shared a bed with a man. Craig. Even when we were still sleeping in ours, we only took up space. We weren’t actually using the mattress together.

When my imagination collides with logic, I weakly offer, “I’ll find other sleeping arrangements.”

Dallas pinches the stems of his aviators and lowers them once more to the tip of his nose. His gaze roams over my body. “No one said anything about sleeping, darlin’.” His voice is even more evocative.

Unbelievable.

Talk about things that won’t happen. First the wedding. Now, me getting physical with this man has shot to the top of the list.

“This is probably your fault,” I stammer. The accusation is unwarranted, but I want to blame someone. I want to understand what happened to our kids. Two beautiful adult children who were perfect for one another. Why did everything fall apart?

Dallas shifts so quickly his knees knock into my chair. “How is this my fault?”

“It’s always the man’s fault,” I mock, repeating his sentiment from moments ago.

Additionally, I’m speaking from my own jilted heart. Craig was the one who destroyed our marriage and disappointed Michael often. I was the one left to pick up the pieces, holding us together.

Dallas abruptly stands and I crane my neck to look up at his imposing form. His barrel chest and solid arms would make my mouth water if my heart rate ratcheting up with irritation wasn’t making my tongue feel like sand. Deep down, my gut tells me the separation of Michael and Keli has nothing to do with anyone other than Michael and Keli, but I’m not rational lately.

As Dallas stands before me, I’m eye level with a part of him I have no business being curious about. In one blink, I lower my gaze to his thick thighs. A muscle twitches in the right one. A breeze blows forcing my short hair across my face, like an intimate caress. Pulling my attention from Dallas’s powerful stance, I swipe the wisp behind my ear, brushing away thoughts of what it would feel like to touch those solid legs or have Dallas tenderly stroke my cheek.

“You would think that,” he snaps, tossing my man-fault assumption back at me. Again, a trickle of fear that I’d hurt his feelings twirls in my brain.

Impossible.

Dallas turns to the sliding glass door behind us, letting himself into the house without a glance back at me.

However, I can’t seem to stop myself from checking out his backside in a pair of low-slung olive-green shorts, accentuating the firmness of his butt.

Dallas Cole has a very fine ass.

And the only time I see it is when he can’t seem to get away from me fast enough.

Chapter 2

I’m well aware I’m not Dallas Cole’s type.