She knew what he meant. He’d been proving himself for years, trying to be better than his father to prove himself worthy and negate the labels his father had given him as a child. “More money doesn’t mean better,” Randi explained. She was sure people could be wealthy and absolutely miserable. “There’s much more to happiness than money.”
“I think I’m figuring that out.” He lifted a hand to her head and stroked over her hair gently. “I’m sorry I hurt you, Randi. It’s never been my intention.”
It didn’t escape her notice that he was still thoughtfully using her nickname, not wanting to remind her of her childhood. His sensitivity touched her like nothing else could.
She understood his violent reaction now to the possibility of getting anyone pregnant. It wasn’t exactly for the reasons she’d assumed. Honestly, it wasn’t even rational. Just because he was dyslexic didn’t mean his child would also have the learning disability. With his fortune, he could afford the finest schools to help his child, and dyslexic children were often at average or above-average intellect. But maybe in Evan’s mind, he didn’t want a child to suffer like he did. He didn’t consciously realize that the way the problem was handled made all the difference. “You could have just told me.” She gave him a fake punch to the shoulder. “I thought you were starting to like me,” she teased.
“I think I more than just started,” Evan said grimly. “Show me happy, Randi. I think you’re the only one who can.”
Her heart accelerated as she contemplated what he was asking. Evan thought in broad terms when he requested something he didn’t quite understand. It hurt her heart to think he’d never really experienced a happiness that could help him understand contentment. “You have to trust me first.”
“I do,” he shot back immediately.
She grimaced, knowing she was committing herself to spending most of her free time the next few days with Evan. It was tempting, but dangerous. “It won’t be all about sex,” she warned him. Hell, she loved the sex as much as he did, but it wasn’t all there was to being happy and content.
His face fell, and Randi bit her lip to keep from smiling. Jesus, it felt good to have a man want her that much, but it wasn’t enough for Evan. He needed to learn that he wasn’t going to find what he was looking for by working every waking hour of the day. There was obviously little levity in what he did, or the people he worked with on a day-to-day basis.
“Okay,” he agreed, sounding reluctant.
“It won’t hurt a bit. I promise,” she assured him with a smile, her heart aching that Evan trusted her enough to let down his arrogant guard with her.
“Then show me.” He leaned forward and put his lips to her forehead.
His willingness to put his vulnerability into her hands had been her downfall. Randi was going to show Evan that there was more to life than just work and duty if it killed her . . . and judging by the sensual, hot look in his eyes, she decided that she just might not make it out of the whole experiment unscathed.
Dear M.,
What’s your favorite flower?
Randi looked at the short email from her pen pal, wondering what prompted him to ask that question. They threw out weird questions to each other, but it was usually relevant to something they’d been discussing at one time or another. This one was totally random.
Shaking her head at her laptop, she replied.
Dear S.,
I love calla lilies. My foster mother used to plant some of the huge, white variety down by the creek on her property every spring. Calla lilies in general don’t do well in the Maine climate, so she dug them up every year and preserved them inside for the winter so she could replant them in the spring.
Randi had named her dog after the flowers, because their center was actually the same gold color as Lily’s coat.
She had a momentary stabbing pain in her chest remembering that there would be no giant, white calla lilies by the creek this year. Joan had been too sick to preserve them, and Randi had never learned how.
It will be sad not to see the giant white flowers by the creek this year.
Randi added the sentence to her previous message before S. could reply.
Dear M.,
Still hurting?
Randi answered honestly.
Dear S.,
I think I’ll miss her and my foster father for the rest of my life. It’s been way over a month now since she passed, but it still hurts so much sometimes that I can hardly breathe. I know I was lucky to have them in my life at all, but our time was too short.