Miranda settled on the far end of couch and brought both legs up, resting the beer bottle on one knee. She looked around the room, slightly bothered by its lack of…warmth. Judging by this room and the others she’d already seen, Seth and Dylan weren’t concerned with personalizing their surroundings. The furniture in the house was sparse, the white walls devoid of artwork or decoration. Everything served a purpose—couch, flat screen, kitchen table, chairs. It kind of bummed her out, especially when she thought of the painstaking effort she’d gone to in order to make her apartment a cozy place she and the kids could call home. And now it was probably all gone—the furniture and knickknacks and personal touches she’d tried to infuse the place with.
Sighing, she leaned her head against the arm of the sofa. When her shirt slid off her shoulder, she blushed, hoping Seth wouldn’t comment on the fact that she still wore his flannel shirt and track pants even though her clothing had come out of the dryer hours ago. Call her pathetic, but the clothes smelled like him and she liked being surrounded by his heady scent.
But when he walked back into the room a few minutes later, that scent she loved so much held the unmistakable hint of smoke.
“Sorry for taking so long,” he apologized, crossing the hardwood floor with an unopened beer in his hand. “I needed a nicotine fix.”
She raised her eyebrows. “You went outside in the storm?”
“Naah, just opened the sliding door and stood in the kitchen. The rain’s letting up, by the way. And it’s not as windy as it was earlier.”
Rather than sit at the other end of the couch, he plopped that big body on the center cushion, his muscular thigh mere inches from Miranda’s socked feet. Her heart skipped a beat. Crap. Why the heck did he have to sit so close?
She decided to focus on the one thing guaranteed not to turn her on—his smoking habit.
“So, how long have you been trying to give yourself cancer?” she asked politely.
Seth laughed, the husky sound sending a shiver up her spine. “Oh no, gee, please don’t hold back.”
She couldn’t help but laugh. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He shrugged. “You’re right. It’s a terrible habit. And to answer your question—since I was fourteen.”
“Ah, you rebelled young.” Miranda slanted her head. “I’m surprised Missy let you get away with it.”
“The one thing my mom hates to be called is a hypocrite. Seeing as she’s a chain-smoker herself, she’s not one to lecture her son for doing the same. After she caught me with a cigarette that first time, she yelled at me for all of two minutes, then bummed a smoke off me and lit up.”
He grinned, and her heart did a juvenile little flip. He was so much more attractive when he smiled, so much…safer. Those angular features of his softened, the dangerous glint in his eyes dimmed, and he lost that predatory air.
But she wasn’t foolish enough to believe that beneath Seth’s menacing exterior was a man with an endless supply of smiles and good cheer. Make no mistake—Seth Masterson was not a teddy bear. He was the big bad wolf, and damned if she was going to let him make her his next meal.
“What about you?” Seth asked. “Did you do any rebelling of your own?”
“I got pregnant at eighteen—what do you think?”
He chuckled. “So how did it go down? Strict parents, curfew, a million rules that you eventually decided to break?”
“Not exactly. I lived with my father and grandmother. Neither was strict. Neither acknowledged my existence.” Even so many years later, she couldn’t control the bitterness that rushed to the surface.
He furrowed his brows. “What about your mother?”
“She died three months after giving birth to me. Drunk-driving accident—she was the drunk driver, by the way, and the only casualty in the huge pileup she caused.” Miranda offered a grim smile. “Dad got stuck raising a baby. I have no idea why he didn’t just put me up for adoption.”
“Maybe because he loved you?” Seth said in a surprisingly gentle voice.
“He doesn’t love anyone but himself,” she retorted. “He was hardly home during my entire childhood. Sometimes I wouldn’t see him for weeks.”
Seth frowned. “What does he do for a living?”
“Gamble.” She barked out a laugh. “I have no idea what he does now—I haven’t seen him since I left home—but back then he worked odd jobs, manual labor, landscaping, whatever he could find. Then he’d take his paycheck and cash it at the casino. And then he’d lose every penny, come crawling home and beg my grandmother for money.”
“Is your grandmother still alive?”
She shook her head. “She died a year after the twins were born. Stroke.”
“Shit. I’m sorry. What was she like?” The cushions shifted as Seth leaned forward to put his beer on the simple pine coffee table.
After a second, Miranda did the same, then brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. “She was…tired. She worked as a cleaning lady up until the day she died. She made sure I had clothes on my back and food in my belly, but she didn’t show me much affection. My dad was a huge disappointment to her, and I’m the spitting image of him.” Sorrow rippled in her belly. “I think she gave up on me without ever even giving me a chance.”
“I’m sorry,” Seth said gruffly.
“The one thing she did do was pay for my dance lessons. To this day, I’m still baffled by it. Maybe she wanted me out of her hair four evenings a week. And she left me some money when she died, which I also don’t understand.”
“Maybe she cared about you and that was the only way she knew how to show it,” he countered.