"A little help, if you please?"
"Hey, mine isn't old enough to throw tantrums yet." Pierre shrugged, dropping his hands into his trouser pockets and rocking back on his heels. "I have no idea how to deal with this."
"I'm taking her to the nursery but she's going to hate me for deserting her," Bryce informed as he hugged the crying child closer.
"By the time you fetch her again, she'll be having so much fun, she'll cry when you try to take her home."
"God, this parenting business is tough," Bryce muttered. "I don't know how the hell Bronwyn coped on her own for two years."
"That's why Mother's Day is so much bigger than Father's Day will ever be," Pierre quipped. "I'm off to the Mezzanine Conference Room; meet you there in ten minutes?"
"Sure," Bryce agreed. Naturally, that was easier said than done. Kayla stubbornly clung to his leg when he set her down in the nursery, and he and one of the nursery school teachers tried desperately to bribe and cajole her into letting go. Twenty minutes later, exhausted and rumpled, Bryce made his way into the Mezzanine Conference Room, troubled that he'd had to leave his crying and begging daughter behind and wondering how often Bronwyn had had to go through the same ordeal over the past two years. How difficult it must have been for her, especially being able to hear Kayla's begging and crying, when she turned to walk away.
His first big business meeting outside of his home, after the accident, was not as tough as he'd expected it to be, largely due to the sign language interpreter Pierre had thoughtfully employed. The same woman would be Bryce's new assistant and would ease his transition back into the office. He still intended to spend a lot more time at home than before the accident, but the meeting made him realize just how much he'd missed being in the thick of things and at the heart of the deal.
Bronwyn could barely focus on what Raymond was saying; her mind kept straying back to the lonely image of Bryce sitting in front of that television with her image frozen on-screen. There was something so stark, sad, and desolate about the memory that it ate her up inside every time she thought about it.
"You seem preoccupied." Raymond's gentle voice intruded on her thoughts, and Bronwyn was startled back to the present and the man sitting opposite her. He really was a nice man, tall, lean, and almost handsome, with dark eyes, slightly thinning black hair, and a warm smile. Bronwyn really liked him but not enough to seriously consider dating him.
"I think this was a mistake," she mumbled, and he frowned. "It's too soon. It just doesn't feel right for me to be out with you." He smiled in understanding.
"I was wondering where your mind was," he said.
"Maybe . . ." she began, and he covered one of her helplessly fluttering hands with his own.
"Some other time?" he completed, and she nodded gratefully. "That's okay. I can wait until you're ready."
The crazy thing was Bronwyn wasn't sure if she would ever be ready. Despite everything that had happened, she still loved Bryce, and she didn't know how to stop. While his past behavior had been unforgivable, it had also been completely out of character. How could the man who now loved his daughter so unreservedly have rejected the idea of Bronwyn's pregnancy in the first place? It made no sense. And yet, while she was confused and conflicted, she still couldn't forget about or forgive those two years that she had struggled to keep both herself and her baby alive and safe. She loved him and yet she resented him for abandoning them so completely. And there was just no way she could reconcile those two conflicting feelings in any kind of emotionally satisfying manner.
"Thank you for understanding, Raymond."
He shrugged.
"I can't say I'm not disappointed, Bronwyn. I would still like to get to know you better and spend time with you. I hope I get that chance."
"You're a really nice man, Raymond," she responded. "But I shouldn't have come out with you. I'm still married, and while my husband may not be perfect, he's the father of my child and at one point, he was my whole life. I don't know what I'm doing here. I can't make any promises, you understand?"
"I understand." He smiled again, squeezing her hand in reassurance. "I hope you know that I'm here, as a friend. If you need a shoulder to cry on or someone to listen, I'm always here."
"Thank you," she whispered, trying desperately to blink back her tears at his graceful acceptance of the situation.
Bryce, who sat alone in the darkened den, was startled when the unmistakable flash of headlights coming up the drive disturbed the unrelenting dark. He jumped up and stepped out onto the wide balcony that overlooked the driveway, knowing that he would not be spotted in the dark. It was Bronwyn, home a lot sooner than he had expected. She was standing beside the car, her head bent over her bag as she fumbled for her house keys. He frowned, making a mental note to talk to her about her carelessness. She really should have her keys out before she got out of her car; they had the best security money could buy, and there were guards all over the property, but he still didn't want her taking unnecessary risks. He could see her clearly in the light that was spilling from the front porch, and his stomach clenched at how beautiful she looked in the pale blue wraparound skirt that molded to her long legs with every move she made. Her white top dipped low enough to show off her modest cleavage and it set his blood boiling. She looked too provocative, too bloody tempting! He was sure that the pervert professor could not possibly have kept his hands to himself.
Burning up with the need to know if that bastard had laid his grubby paws on her, he made his way downstairs, sure he would be able to read her expression and know if she had let the man touch her. He just needed to know . . .
"How was your date?" The deep voice, sounding so unexpectedly from behind her, made Bronwyn jump in shock. She was busy setting the alarm and botched up the code when he startled her. She took a deep steadying breath and quickly reentered the correct code before turning to face him.
"It was fine," she murmured, knowing it was too dark for him to read her lips; she used her hands as well.
"When did you get so good at signing?" he asked huskily, stepping into the small pool of light in the hall and neatly trapping her between his body and the door.
"All those times I met Alice for lunch? Before going back to university? We were going to the same center Pierre went to for his sign language lessons. I go mostly on Saturdays now."
"Why?" She shrugged awkwardly, trying to step back when he took a small step forward but finding herself with no place to go when her back hit the door. He was so close she could feel his body heat and smell his wonderfully clean scent.
"I don't know," she said quietly. "I wanted to be able to talk to you." He very gently lifted his thumb and forefinger to her chin and used it to tilt her face up to his.
"I didn't catch that," he whispered. She repeated her previous statement and his eyes darkened.
"You wanted to talk to me? Despite the way I've treated you?" There was a world of vulnerability in his voice, and Bronwyn tried not to let it disarm her.
"I know how it feels to have no one to talk to," she said, closing her eyes to hide her pain from him.
"Oh God, sweetheart . . . Bron . . ." The anguish in his voice undid her, and she found herself unable to resist when he lowered his head and rested his forehead against hers. His warm breath washed over her face, her lips, and she shuddered before going up onto her toes and brushing his mouth with hers. He went so still that she thought he would shatter, but when she moved her small hands up to cup his face, his breath escaped on a strangled sob. He tentatively wrapped his strong arms around her slender body to gather her close and responded to her sweet kiss with unbelievable tenderness and reverence. The kiss did not last long; it was over before it properly began, and Bryce took a step back, lifting a hand to gently palm one of her cheeks, his eyes bright with some inscrutable emotion. Bronwyn tilted her face into his hand and lifted her own much smaller hand to cover his. They stood that way for what seemed like an eternity but what was, in reality, only a few seconds before Bronwyn stepped around him. She left without a word, unable to find the right words, not even sure if there were words for what she was feeling.
Bryce groaned the following morning, when his boisterous twenty-one-month-old daughter bounced her way onto his bed at some ungodly hour. One sharp little knee narrowly missed his groin to land painfully on his abdomen, causing him to curse softly under his breath as he doubled over in pain.
"Kayla, honey, why don't you go find your mummy? It's her day off today." He caught her to stop her bouncing and planted a quick kiss on her soft cheek. She giggled at the feel of his stubble.