Dark Legacy by Jen Talty (reading books for 4 year olds .txt) 📗

only excuse she had was the day had been long and hard, and all she really wanted was a hot bath and another glass of wine.

“Out here is good.”

“All right. Let me get myself another beer.” As if he’d read her mind, he lifted her wine glass and filled it. “Need a blanket?”

She nodded, curling her fingers around his muscular biceps. “I’m sorry. I could list a plethora of excuses for my behavior—”

He pressed his finger over her lips. “It’s okay. I was rude, and I’m sorry, too. Give me five minutes.”

Dropping her hand, she blinked, trying to break his searing stare. He looked at her with forgiveness behind his dark, questioning eyes. It was if she were the only thing that mattered. She swallowed. Being the center of attention hadn’t ever been something she desired. If anything, she preferred to be a wallflower.

He ran his finger over her cheek.

Her chest heaved as she tried to take a deep breath.

“I think it’s you who’s the enigma,” he whispered, right before he pressed his hot lips over her mouth.

For a second, every muscle tensed into a tight ball of nerves. She gripped his shirt, needing to push him away but wanting to draw him closer. Her brain screamed at her that getting involved with him romantically would only end with one of them getting hurt.

Probably, her hurting him.

However, as his tongue slipped between her lips, and her body relaxed into his, she realized that he could break her heart if she let him in too deeply. He was the kind of man little girls dreamed of marrying, and grown-up women searched for in all the wrong places.

“Jackson,” she said, prying her mouth from his. She rested her hands on his chest. “Where did that come from?”

He arched a brow. “You don’t think it’s been brewing for a while?”

In all her adult life, no liaison she’d ever had with a man had percolated. There had been maybe four men that she could have considered herself being in a relationship with, and all of them had been superficial. The last one, Jared, a man she’d met in her PhD program, had been sweet and kind, and he had a huge heart, but she could never truly give herself to him. And after nearly a year, he’d called it quits. Last she’d heard, he’d gotten engaged a few months ago.

“I’ve spent most of my life buried in schoolwork and then defending my dissertation and building my career. Having a man in my life hasn’t been a priority.”

“What does that have to do with the fact that we’re attracted to each other now.”

She opened her mouth but snapped it shut.

“I’d like to take you out on a real date.”

“My stepsister is getting married in two weeks, would you like to go with me?”

He arched a brow. “I’d love to.”

“I was kidding.”

“I’m not. I’d enjoy it. Now, let me get myself a beer, and then I need to change the subject to business.”

“Sounds like a plan. But before we do that, I need to make something clear. I’m going solo to my sister’s wedding. I shouldn’t have joked about that. My family is insane, if you haven’t noticed.”

“I’ll hold the date, just in case you change your mind.” He turned and headed toward the door.

She watched his ass flex against the fabric of his pants that clung to him like a wetsuit, detailing every muscle. Letting out an audible sigh, she eased into the chair and poked the fire with a stick. The flames snapped like fireflies toward the star-filled sky.

She dropped her head back and closed her eyes, focusing on the sounds of the evening—the cars revving on the street above. Boat engines humming on the lake below. Anything to get Jackson out of her head.

“I’m coming out of the house now,” Jackson called.

“Thanks for the heads-up.” She waved her hand over the chair as if she were giving him the white flag of surrender.

“I need to ask you some questions about the adoption. I probably should have had you come into the office versus ruining the ambiance here—”

“I spend all day in an office. If you don’t mind, I’d prefer to discuss this anywhere but your place of work.”

“I can respect that,” he said, holding a packet of papers on his lap. “I’ve got all the un-identifying information on you and your daughter.”

“What does that mean?”

“It has all of your medical information at the time of the adoption. It’s the history you provided to the hospital about family, and a write-up about your general appearance, race, religion, as taken at the time of the adoption.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen that.” She took the papers he handed and flipped through them.

“You wouldn’t. But it’s given to the adoptive parents and then sits in the registry. If anyone comes looking for you, the father, or the child, the records get pinged.”

She dropped the document. The breeze kicked up, taking it into the fire. “Shit.”

“I’ve got another copy,” Jackson said. “Are you always this klutzy?”

“I am.” She swallowed. “Can you tell if my daughter came looking for me?”

“That’s the beauty of a closed adoption. It protects both party’s privacy but allows for a mutual meeting.”

“Jesus Christ. Will you just answer my question?”

“I’m trying,” he said, slipping on a pair of eyeglasses, letting them rest on the bridge of his nose. “New York State uses a confidential intermediary program. If your daughter went looking for you, then once you enter the registry, she will be notified and be given whatever information you consented to.”

“I really don’t want to interrupt her life. And I don’t want to meet her. So, is there a way to locate her without sending up a smoke signal?”

“That would be a lot harder and costly. You don’t have to give your contact information on the registry. But you will have to give full birth name and proof of the adoption.”

“You have the birth certificate they gave me before the adoption.”

He nodded. “You named