Deserve (7 page)

I shake my head at the unfamiliar name.

“For thirty years, it was the most successful shipping
company in the world. When my grandfather died, my mom sold her shares to a
distant cousin and put half of the money in a trust for me. The other half went
into my parents’ account. I think the cousin changed the name to American Transport
something or other.”

“Why didn’t she stay on to run the business?”

“My mom never had an interest in the business to begin with
and at the time, it was unheard of for a woman to be at the helm of a company.
She had been married to my father for a year and already had a new baby. Her
focus was on her new family.” His jaw clenches and loosens before he continues,
“Besides, she knew she’d have to be active in his career.”

“What was she like?” I know the Senator, but I’ve never
heard much about Sean’s mom.

His face softens and so does his voice. “Beautiful. Gentle.
Funny. My father couldn’t have become a US Senator without her help. Although
she hated being in the spotlight, she was incredibly adept with the press. She
was constantly busy with my father’s campaigns, but she always tried to be
there for me. If we were having a fundraiser at the house, she’d sneak away
during my bedtime and read me a book before she went back to the party.”

“It sounds like she was a great mom.” I can tell he worships
her.

He nods. “Yeah, she was. Your mom reminded me of her.”

I smile sadly. “Thank you. I miss her so much.” There are
some days when it’s a gaping hole in my chest.

“I do too,” he says gently, his gaze steady. “She would be
so proud of you.”

“Thank you,” I say, tears shimmering at the back of my eyes,
not surprised by his understanding. The hardest part of losing her is not being
able to share the triumphs in my life. Refusing to let sorrow darken our day, I
breathe deeply through my nose and ask, “What was your mom’s name?”

“Amelia.” A tender smile touches his lips. “She always
thought it sounded old-fashioned and introduced herself as Amy.”

“I like Amelia. It sounds elegant.”

Sean says quietly, “I like it, too.”

“How did your parents meet?”

“According to my mom, my father was meeting with my
grandfather—her dad—at the house to try to get a donation for an
upcoming run for a congressional seat. At the time my father was already in the
state assembly, but he had a lot of ambition.”

I almost flinch at the contempt he injects into the word
ambition. It’s clear he doesn’t have a lot of respect for his father’s work and
I wonder if this is the source of the friction between father and son.

“When he walked out of the office, he didn’t look where he
was going and bumped into my mom. She lost her balance and he caught her in his
arms. They looked into each other’s eyes and Mom swore it was love at first
sight.”

Detecting the disdain in his voice, I ask, “You don’t
believe in love at first sight?”

He shakes his head. “No, I don’t.
Attraction
at first sight.
Yes.
Lust at first sight.
Definitely. Love. Hardly.”

I’m aghast at his cynicism. “But you do believe a man and
woman can be in love with each other?”

The sound that comes out of his mouth is patently skeptical.

“What about Romeo and Juliet? Cleopatra and Marc Antony?
Elisabeth Bennett and Mr. Darcy?”

One corner of his lips curls up in a sneer. “Fiction.”

I try to remember a real life couple and snap my fingers
triumphantly. “King Edward and Wallis Simpson.”

“He wanted an excuse to abdicate the throne. He was
miserable as king from all accounts.”

I frown. “How about everyday couples who fall in love? Like
your parents!” At the mention of his parents, his lips thin, making me wonder about
the marriage.

“Most people mistaken lust for love. Once that wears off,
there’s nothing left.”

Appalled by his jaded remarks, I want to cry for him. It
must be sad to go through life looking at things in the worst possible light. I
stop in my tracks and Sean yanks me out of the way of a couple of runners.

“You honestly don’t know anybody who’s in love?” I ask.

“Well, maybe my partner and his wife,” he grudgingly admits.
“Marc and Laurel seem to make goo-goo eyes at each other all the time and
they’ve been together for years.”

“See, there you go!” I point out in relief. I don’t dare
examine why it’s important for him to believe in love. “I take it you’ve never
been in love?”

“Nope.”

“Don’t you want to fall in love?”

“Hell no! Why would I want to give someone that kind of power
over me?”

I frown at his asinine remark. “It’s not a power exchange,
you know. You make it sound like one of those bondage scenes.”

“And what would you know about BDSM, young lady?” he teases,
pretending to be shocked. “
Cael
has not been
screening your books and movies properly.”

I stick my nose in the air and sniff, refusing to let him
steer me off topic. “Love is not about power. It is about trust. It’s about
giving without wanting to receive. It’s about wanting to be a better person for
your partner.”

“You sound like an expert on the subject. Have you ever been
in love?”

I fight to keep my expression neutral. “Once.” My stomach
cramps at the thought that I still might be.
Don’t think about it, Maggie.

His gaze sharpens. “And?”

“And he wasn’t interested,” I say matter-of-factly, glad my
voice is steady.

“I’m sorry,
Mags
.”

“It’s alright. Better to have loved and lost and all that,”
I wave my hand breezily, not liking the look of pity on his face.

“For what it’s worth, the guy must be an idiot.”

My mouth quirks in dark amusement.
If he only knew he was talking about
himself.
“That he is.”

“I take it you’re one of those people who believes in
Happily Ever After?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” From his expression, I already know what
he’s thinking. “Because of my parents?”

He nods and I shrug philosophically. “It didn’t work out for
them, but it doesn’t mean it won’t work out for me.” My mom never talked much
about the sperm donor, but I always suspected she remained in a bad
relationship for the sake of her kids. What I learned from her was to never
stay with anyone unless there was love on both sides. “Everyone keeps saying
fifty percent of marriages end in divorce, but nobody says fifty percent of
marriages are successful. Seems like the odds are even to me.”

Looking dumbstruck, he comes to a halt and grins at me. The
look on his face makes my heart go pitter-patter. “Don’t ever change,
Freckles.”

Bewildered, but pleased, I say, “I don’t know what I’m not
supposed to change, but okay.”

He kisses me on my forehead. It’s meant as an affectionate
gesture, but my pulse accelerates at the touch of his firm lips. “Don’t stop
being you.”

“Since I can’t be anyone else, I will have to stick with
being plain
ol
’ Maggie Jackson.”

Tapping a finger on my nose, he says softly, “There is
nothing plain about you, Maggie Jackson.”

A blush steals over my cheeks at his look of approval. He
stares at me for a long moment, but finally looks away jerkily—almost
like he was caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to.

We walk in silence for a few minutes, but curiosity about
his childhood is eating at me. Finally I gather the courage to ask, “She died
when you were fifteen, right? Your mom?”

I can tell he doesn’t like the direction of the
conversation, but he answers readily, “Yes. She was in a car accident.”

“What happened?”

“A truck drifted over the median and hit her head on.”

“God! I’m so sorry, Sean.” I clasp his hand, trying to offer
a little human comfort.

He squeezes my fingers. “Thanks. It took a long time for it
to sink in that she was gone.”

I think about my mom’s more drawn-out illness. It was
horrible in its own way, but at least
Cael
and I got
to say goodbye to her. “I can’t imagine what you and your dad went through.”

His lip curls up in distaste. “Don’t feel sorry for my
father. He found plenty of ways to console himself.”

Wondering at the bitter undercurrent in his voice, I glance
at him inquiringly, but his face is closed off, his smile fake. I hate that he
feels the need to put on a mask in front of me.

“Let’s not talk about something so depressing on a beautiful
day.” He forces a cheerful note into his voice, but I can sense his sorrow.
“Tell me about your plans. What do you want to do after you finish school?”

Pasting a smile on my face, I say, “Well, after I graduate,
I still have my residency.”

“Have you thought about where you want to be?”

“I have four years of school to complete before I have to
make a decision, but I’d like to be in a big city. If not in New York, then
maybe in Los Angeles or maybe even back in Chicago.”

“Well, I hope you end up staying in New York.”

There goes my stupid heart again. Pitter-patter. “Thanks. So
do I.”

What the fuck are you
doing, Rowan?

I wish I fucking knew because my emotions are going AWOL in
a way I’ve never experienced before. As soon as I saw Maggie flirting with the
frat boy, I wanted to put my fist into his smooth, pretty face. I can’t blame
the kid for wanting her. She looks too damn adorable, green eyes blazing with
fire and cheeks flushing a rosy pink.

And
sexy.
How the fuck can someone
be cute and sexy at the same time?

My eyes flit down to her and I bite back a curse. The lust I
felt last week was not an aberration. There’s nothing about her outfit that is
provocative, but her compact body is too damn tempting. I felt every curve and
hollow when she hugged me earlier and my instinct had been to grab on and never
let go.

Her round breasts and tiny waist are perfectly outlined by
her thin blue tank. Her tan pants should look boring and conservative, but the
way her shapely backside stretches the material makes me want to take each
cheek between my teeth to test the firmness of her flesh. Lick. Then kiss. Then
nip again.

I forcibly shake off the lascivious image before I embarrass
myself in public.

You’re such a
perv
for lusting after your friend’s sister!

I remind myself that she’s looking for true love and Happily
Ever After. Even if I believed those things existed, I had long concluded that
they
would never be in the cards for
me. I had done too much shit to deserve love and happiness.

The last person I should touch is Maggie, with her eyes
shining with hope and idealism. The only things I know how to offer women are
light-hearted companionship and hot sex. Maggie screams long-term commitment.

Recalling her confession about having been in love, I frown.
Who was it? I remember
Cael
telling me she was dating
someone in college, but he moved to another state. Was she still in love with
her ex? And why does it bother me so much?

It doesn’t matter.
She’s not for you, asshole.
I glance at her delicate face and regret stirs
in my gut.

No, Maggie deserves someone like Cory Michaels—someone
who still has a bright future ahead of him. I clench my jaw, forcibly
strangling the denial forming in my throat.

In the meantime, I plan to bask in her light for as long as
possible. She reminds me that there is still goodness and decency in the world.
Just talking to her makes some of the darkness in my soul
shrink
back.

Her face brightens and she looks at me with her eyes
dancing. In the sunlight they are the color of fresh spring leaves. “I think I
hear kids laughing. We must be close!”

It’s impossible to contain my smile in the face of her
excitement. I look around to assess our surroundings. “Yes, it should be right
around the bend.”

“Come on. Let’s hurry.” She takes my hand and lengthens her
strides.

“Maggie, they’re bronze statues. They can’t run away from
you.” I fight to not crush her fingers in my hand. The feel of her soft hand
does something funny to my chest.

Her laugh is high and musical, making a few passersby smile
along with her. “That’s true, but let’s hurry anyway.”

“Why do you like those statues anyway?”

She tilts her head in contemplation. “It’s not the
sculptures. I like watching the kids. Ever notice the look of wonder they have
in their eyes when they encounter the Mad Hatter? It’s magic,” she sighs.

No, you’re magic,
I
want to say.

“Come on, let’s go.” She speeds toward the loud shrieks of
children.

Laughing, I let her drag me along.

***

“What do you think? Ready to concede that we have the best
pizza?”

She smacks her lips, drawing my eyes to the perfect bow of
her mouth, and picks up her third slice. Her green eyes twinkle with mirth, but
her voice is carefully dispassionate. “It’s alright.”

“Why, you little…” I can’t think of a fitting insult. I
snatch her slice out of her hands and take a big bite.

“Hey!” She has the cutest pout on her face and I want to
lean over and kiss her pursed lips.

Stop it!

I force my eyes to move away from her mouth before I do
something I’ll regret. “I’m only saving you from having to eat ‘alright’ food.”

Smiling, she picks up the last slice and guards it
jealously. “I’m eating it because I hate to waste food. It goes against my
upbringing.” She sinks her small white teeth into the pizza and closes her eyes.
It’s obvious she’s enjoying it, but the little shit won’t concede anything.

“You’re such a brat.”

Some of the humor leaves her face. It’s not overt, but the
sparkle has dimmed in her eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

She shrugs and puts her unfinished pizza on her plate.
“Nothing.
Cael
calls me brat all the time.”

“Does it bother you? I’m only teasing.”

“It’s fine.” She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes and I
make a mental note to stop calling her that. After hearing
Cael
use the term all these years, I adopted it as a matter of course, but the look
on Maggie’s face is almost…pained.

Changing the subject, I say, “If you’re free tomorrow, we
can take the train to Brooklyn.”

“You don’t have to spend all your time entertaining me,” she
protests.

“Tired of me already?” I tease, feeling the muscles tense in
my neck. I don’t want to analyze my need to keep seeing her.

“Of course not!” She looks at me shyly through her long
lashes. “I’d love to spend tomorrow with you.”

My shoulders relax and I smile. “I was thinking we can go to
Smorgasburg
,” I say.

“Ooh…street food galore! Yes!” She wiggles excitedly in her chair,
making me bite back a chuckle.

“Great. I’ll swing by at ten thirty. By the way, the Senator
wants to invite you to a party next month at their Tribeca apartment. It’s the
third Friday. I told him you might be busy with school so don’t feel obligated
to attend.”

“Why do you call him that?” She tilts her head, looking
puzzled.

“Call him what?”

“The Senator. Why don’t you call him Dad or Father?”

“Habit, I guess. Everyone around me calls him that and it
just stuck.”
Liar. Liar.
Not wanting her
to examine my statement closely, I ask, “So, do you think you’ll want to go to
the party?”

She puts her elbows on the table and props her chin on her
fists. “Am I expected to bring a date?”

An image of her walking in with frat boy flashes across my
mind and I grind my teeth. “I was hoping you’d go with me.”

What the fuck are you
doing, Rowan?

Her smile returns, “Sure! That sounds like fun.”

“Great! It’s a date.”

Not a date! Not at
date!
I ignore the frantic voice. After all, it’s just a figure of speech.