It'll Be An Adventure (Masters of the Shadowlands #15)(79)
Author: Cherise Sinclair
There was a pause, then Murphy said, “Perfect. Well, maybe I’ll see you this weekend at the club.”
From the reference to Marcus, she must be talking with Gabi. And about kids? Saxon frowned in sudden unease and headed out the front door.
On the lawn, Murphy was kneeling beside the cottage garden that stretched down the front of the house. A pile of weeds lay beside her.
With a bark, Sherlock danced over to her.
Stuffing her phone in a pocket. she hugged the dog and smiled at Saxon. “Did you wear this sweet puppy out?”
He dropped down beside her and ran a hand over her bare leg. Such smooth silky skin. “More the opposite, wench. I think he saves up energy all day.”
“My poor barbarian.” Sympathy dripped from her voice. “Is your sword getting too heavy to carry?”
Brat.
Flattening her into the grass, he gave her enough of his weight that her breath whooshed out. “It’s a heavy sword. Let me show you.”
Fuck, he loved her kitten-sneezing giggles. But dominance should be upheld, right? So he possessed her lips, kissing her until all he heard were happy sighs.
Grinning, he rolled off, onto his side—and saw Sherlock lying in the center of the lawn with an expression of disgusted patience. Humans.
Bracing an elbow on the ground, Saxon propped his head on his hand and looked down at his woman. “You are so cute.”
“You are so rude.” But she was smiling.
He ran his finger over her wet lower lip. “I heard the end of your conversation with… Was that Gabi?”
“Uh-huh.”
“It made me wonder. Is there a correct time to talk about having children?”
Her shocked expression only tightened his already tense gut.
He frowned. “Why are you so surprised?”
“I…” She tried to turn her head, to look away.
He captured her chin. “Sweetheart.” She had the biggest, most beautiful brown eyes he’d ever seen. He’d always thought poets who wrote about eyes being pathways to the soul were full of artistic bullshit. Until her. “Why don’t you want to talk about this?”
She swallowed, then her lips firmed. “I think you skipped some steps, is all. I mean, we’re just dating. We’re not—”
Ah, hell. She was right. “You have a point.” A smile tugged at his lips. “I forgot there were steps.”
“Forgot?” Her gaze lingered on his face. “Saxon…why do you avoid serious relationships?”
God, did he want to tackle his wretched past? He watched his fingers trace the upper swell of her breasts. “That’s a fair question.”
Rummaging through painful past experiences wasn’t something he did often, but if he didn’t explain his past, how could he ask her to share her own? “Mostly because of my father. Although, hell, neither of my parents could be considered a good role model.”
Thank fuck he’d had an uncle and aunt who’d loved him unconditionally, or he might have a few more problems.
Her frown held concern, and her hand clenched. “Your father didn’t hurt you or—”
“No, nothing like that.” He lifted her small fist and kissed it until her fingers opened. “My father is John Halvorson.”
“Oh, I’ve heard of him. Like a film producer, right?”
“That’s him. Movies, TV series. Way back when, Dad was an up-and-coming movie director, Mom was an actress. He didn’t want children, but she deliberately got pregnant. At the time, he was making children’s shows and couldn’t afford a scandal, so he had to marry her.”
Her eyes filled with disgust. “I’m glad you’re here, but that’s a crappy reason for bringing a child into the world.”
“Yeah. She got what she wanted from him—a leading role in a movie—but the reviews slammed her acting.”
“Oh, ow.” Murphy shook her head. “Maybe she deserved it, but bad reviews can pretty much gut a person.”
He frowned. With Murphy’s need to please people, hearing that her work had let them down would be rough. “Have you had bad reviews?”
Sitting up beside the flowerbed border, she started weeding again. “We’re not talking about me.”
Yeah, she must’ve had bad reviews. He doubted she’d had many. Her books usually averaged around 4.7 or 4.8 stars.
“Did your mother stay an actress?” Head down, she concentrated on pulling a stubborn dandelion.
Hmm. He’d allow her the shield of activity, but not of distance. He slid close enough his hip and thigh rubbed against hers. “She quit. And since she and Dad had nothing in common except her wanting to be in film, they divorced when I was five.”
Murphy turned to look at him in concern. “Who raised you?”
Yeah, she’d figured it out. “Neither one wanted me, but Dad got stuck with my custody. I was handed over to nannies then boarding schools. My high school was a military one.” At her appalled expression, he shrugged. “It wasn’t that bad. Dad wouldn’t have been much of a parent. He was rising fast in the industry, which meant long hours and no time off between movies.”
“I guess he gets points for providing for you.” She tapped her fingers on her knee. “Do you hate them?”
“Nah. When I was a junior in college, Dad was in a car crash. Almost died.” His uncle had called him. “I know you’re not close, and he’s been a shit father. But he’s still your dad, and the doc doesn’t think he’ll last the night.” Saxon tipped his head back, breathing in the fragrance of the grass, the moist, rich soil. “He…I guess had some kind of epiphany. He apologized to me and now makes a real effort to keep in touch.”
“What a surprising turnaround. And you forgave him?”
Saxon had spent the night beside Dad’s bed, trying to resolve a world without a father, even an absent one. It still made a hollow feeling in his chest. “Yeah. I’d rather have him alive, as it turns out. Besides, he admitted he was pleased to have a son—an adult one.”
“Sheesh. I can see they weren’t the best examples of parenting.”
He yanked out a dandelion and ran his fingers over the serrated leaf. “Or of marriage. Mom’s had a few husbands. No more children though.” When he was young, he’d steal Aunt Priss’s gossipy magazine and search for news of his mother. By the time he was a teen, he’d accepted he’d never really had a mother. “Dad’s on his fourth wife.”