“Balcony’s perfect.”
But not as perfect as those mouthwatering curves of yours.
Speaking of curves…
Beckett’s dick twitched behind his zipper as focus lowered to her luscious ass. Evie wasn’t rail thin like some of the women he’d dated. She had that whole Marilyn Monroe hourglass thing going on, and those curves—in those tight, can’t-hide-a-thing leggings—made his fingers twitch and his mind race with thoughts of all the naughty things he wanted to do to her.
So many, many things.
“Make yourself at home.” Evie motioned toward the French doors leading to the balcony. “I’ll get you a glass and meet you out there.”
His attention snapped back up to where it belonged, and he quickly reminded himself of why he was here. He’d flown here to talk. Listen. Comfort.
Not ogle the woman’s luscious ass.
“Sounds great,” Beckett practically blurted.
Evie turned right and headed for the room’s small kitchenette area. He continued toward the French doors, unable to keep from stealing a final glimpse of her tempting backside as he walked past.
So very, very tempting.
Minutes later, the two were seated at the small patio set with their wine glasses in hand and a magnificent view of the Atlantic. A cool breeze blew past, carrying with it the calming scent of the salty sea air.
Beckett turned his head toward Evie, who was sitting in the cushioned chair to his right. She reached up to brush away some strands blowing in her face as she stared out onto the rolling waves.
Goddamn, she’s beautiful.
“He lied.” She didn’t take her eyes from the water.
“About not having a daughter? Yeah, sweetheart,” Beckett let the endearment slip. “I know.”
But a humorless chuckle shook her feminine shoulders. “Ironically, no. As it turns out,thatpart was actually true.”
What?
He frowned, shifting in his chair to face her more fully. “What do you mean, that part’s true?” When she didn’t respond right away, he prodded with a soft, “Evie?”
She turned to him, then. The sadness dimming the shine in her eyes breaking his fucking heart.
But by the time she was finished sharing the unbelievable tale of the bombs Phillip Mitchell had dropped at the poor woman’s feet—her mother’s affair, DNA tests, and a man so selfish he didn’t hesitate to wipe his hands of the child he’d spent three decades resenting—Beckett’s empathetic heartbreak had morphed into a burning, raging fury.
With a muttered curse, he shot up from his seat and stormed back into the room.
“What are you…” Evie was hot on his trail. “Where are you going?”
“I think it’s time Phillip Mitchell and I had a talk.”
“What? Beckett, no!”
“Sorry, darlin’. But this isn’t somethin’ I can just let go.”
She rushed past him before sliding directly into his path. “Yes.” She put a hand to his chest, forcing him to stop. “You can.”
“Evie—”
“Please, Beckett. I get that you’re trying to help, and I can’t even begin to tell you how much that means. But this isn’t your fight. And really, at this point, it’s not even a fight at all.”
“Like hell, it’s not.” His back teeth clenched together. “From what you’ve said that man—a man who should have loved, nourished, and protected you—made you feel as though you were a thorn in his side, rather than a daughter who simply wanted to be loved. Now, after learning those terrorist bastards failed to rid him of his burden, he drops this DNA bullshit on you and all but tells you to have a nice fucking life!”