The Billionaire's Touch (The Sinclairs #3) (14 page)

Evan had way overcompensated for his disability.

“You’re dyslexic?” It was almost an unnecessary question. After Evan had stated accurate facts and she’d pieced things together, she was certain of her conclusion.

He nodded slowly, never taking his turbulent eyes away from her face. “I am.” He nodded his head toward Matt as he asked, “Did you know he is, too?”

She swallowed hard before answering. “Yes. I have a master’s degree in education with a certification to teach children with learning disabilities.”

Matt was looking up at Evan, his eyes wide. “You have the problems I have?” he asked curiously.

Evan sat next to Matt at the table, both of them seated across from Randi now.

“I do,” he told the child honestly. “We’re different, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be successful. Lots of famous people are dyslexic.”

“I know,” Matt chattered enthusiastically. “Randi told me. But it gets hard to read, and sometimes I get my numbers mixed up.”

Evan nodded solemnly. “Your brain will figure it out in a different way. Just remember you’re special and not stupid. You have ways of figuring things out that nobody else can.”

Randi’s hands were shaking as she closed the book they’d been reading and listened to the honest conversation Evan was having with Matt. It was hard to fathom that Evan had dyslexia, but after thinking about it for a moment as he chatted with Matt, it made sense.

He’d tried to make up for his weaknesses by riding hard on his strengths. He was anal at times because everything had to be perfectly organized for him to function optimally. Sometimes he really
didn’t
understand when someone was teasing, so he said nothing at all. He’d probably never ignored her on purpose. Hadn’t he mentioned that he didn’t know what to say? So he hadn’t said anything. If he’d never had much of a chance to be around people who joked around, it was natural that he still might not always be completely comfortable with someone who teased him.

Every child with dyslexia had their own path to success and learning. She was willing to bet Evan’s road had been long and hard, with his background of abuse. But he’d still made it, still achieved a level of success that most people could only dream about.

Yes, he’d been
born
wealthy, but his partnerships in megasuccessful businesses almost from their inception had made him even richer.

“Mom’s here,” Matt exclaimed happily, shaking Randi out of her own thoughts.

Randi saw Matt’s mom standing near the door with her son’s jacket in her hand. Luckily, his mother was a caring parent who understood Matt’s disability.

“Go,” Evan told Matt as he clapped the child gently on the back. “And remember what I said.”

Randi was sad that she’d missed part of the conversation because she had been lost in thought.

Matt nodded at Evan with a cheerful smile and an expression of hero worship on his face. Randi watched her pupil leave, and turned to Evan, uncertain what to say.

Finally she found her voice. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He shrugged. “I don’t tell anyone.”

“Why?”

“I know I’m not stupid, lazy, or slow, so why should it matter to anyone else?” Evan remarked, raising a questioning eyebrow at her.

“Is that what your father thought? He thought you were lazy and slow. Is that why he beat you?” Randi clenched her fists on the table, hoping to God he’d deny her suspicions.

He didn’t.

“Yes. That’s how it started,” Evan explained, looking away from her probing eyes. “I was expected to excel in school. I was the Sinclair heir apparent. Anything else was unthinkable to him. I wasn’t supposed to have defects.” Evan released a long breath. “I was my father’s greatest disappointment. I was slow to read and I had a problem with numbers, an inconceivable problem for a Sinclair. Sometimes I still do mix up numbers. I need my staff to make sure what’s in my head is on paper properly. I dictate reports a lot so they can be properly put on paper to avoid mistakes.”

The way he hid his disability when he should be proud of all he’d accomplished tugged at Randi’s heart. She rose and moved around the table, hefting herself up to sit on the table right next to his chair. “How did you learn?” He still wasn’t looking at her, and she wanted to weep for the boy he once was. Evan was brilliant, but he’d been made to feel less than smart by an insensitive idiot.

“After my father discovered that beating me senseless wasn’t going to miraculously make me smarter, he got me a tutor. The teacher was a bastard, but it worked. Repetition and phonics helped; memorizing the words that connected to a tangible object or person was easier. Bigger concepts came later. I worked with a tutor every night of the week and on the weekends when I wasn’t in school.”

“You’re amazing. You know that, right?” Randi reached out her hand and turned his head toward her.

“Not really. It was the way I was wired. I had to deal with it.”

Evan was so nonchalant that her heart melted. It
had
hurt, and it had hurt badly when he was a child. Obviously, it had made him all the more determined to find a way to conquer his problems, and he had. Dyslexia was never cured, but he’d found his own way to understand.

She’d studied examples of how children with dyslexia saw written words or books, and how best to conquer the problems. It had opened her eyes to children with learning disabilities and made her want to be able to teach them to cope. Plenty of famous people were dyslexic, including some of the brightest and most creative minds in history.

“I disagree,” she commented, trying to get him to look at her by keeping her palm on his face.

“So you teach children with learning disabilities?” he asked huskily, obviously trying to change the subject.

Randi shook her head. “No. I teach a regular class of third graders. I volunteer here for special needs. Amesport doesn’t have an organized program for gifted or special-needs students.”

“So you’re overqualified?”

“Not really. I just can’t use all of my skills in my current position. I don’t mind volunteering here.” Usually it was the best part of her day. “It makes me happy. Do you know what it’s like to be happy, Evan?”

Randi wondered if he’d ever been able to step out of his comfort zone in the past. He considered himself a caretaker of his siblings, responsible for their happiness. But what about him? He had a brilliant mind that functioned uniquely, and he’d compensated by being solemn and ultra-organized. Okay . . . he was majorly anal, but he had a reason to be. His learning disability didn’t explain his arrogance, but Randi figured that was all Evan. He’d gained confidence over the years, and he wasn’t shy about sharing his lack of insecurity about his intelligence.

He got to his feet and finally looked at her, his nostrils flaring and his eyes flashing blue fire. “I think I do understand happiness. Maybe I didn’t last week or last year, but I think I’m beginning to get the concept now.”

Randi drew the hand she had on his face to his shoulder and met his intense gaze. “Why now?”

“Because I think I’m happy when I’m with you and watching you come,” he growled, his hand moving at lightning speed to grip the back of her neck, so he could lower his mouth to hers.

CHAPTER 13

Randi lost herself completely in his kiss, the power of the embrace all-consuming and fierce. She steadied herself by gripping his powerful shoulders, and let her senses drown in Evan’s dominant assault.

She lost all of her will to fight her untamable attraction to him.
This
was Evan. Powerful. Indescribably sexy. Completely irresistible when he was this out of control.

Panting as he tore his mouth from hers, Randi looked at him with wide eyes.

“Did I hurt you when I told you that I didn’t want you to be pregnant?” he asked in a graveled voice.

She nodded slowly. “It’s not that I wanted to be pregnant. It was just the fact that you were so horrified that it might happen with me.”

“You know that dyslexia is hereditary. It runs in families. I was afraid for Grady when he had problems early in school, but his issues turned out to be completely different. And once I left for college, things got even tougher for him. I hated that.”

It wasn’t like it was Evan’s fault that he’d had to go away to college, but she’d learned enough about him to know he took the problems of the world onto his broad shoulders. He didn’t see it as a burden; it was simply his responsibility. “So?” Randi challenged. “Would you see any child of yours as defective if they had your condition?”

“Of course not,” Evan denied vehemently. “But it isn’t easy.”

“Evan, you’re not your father. He doesn’t define you,” she told him softly. “You’d be a good parent and your child would be special. Dyslexic children can learn, and they can be incredibly intelligent and creative like you. You talked to Matt brilliantly.” Okay . . . she hadn’t heard the whole conversation, but he’d made Matt happy.

He shook his head. “He told me he wanted to be a shark like me.”

Randi chuckled at the child’s reference to a popular television show. “Are you a shark?”

“No. I just look at things differently, and probably some luck has been involved. I am an investor, and I seem to be able to look outside the box to decide what will be successful and what won’t. Sometimes it’s a talent, but sometimes it’s just a good gut instinct,” he admitted slowly. “Besides, I have more money than the typical shark.”

Randi wanted to laugh at his cocky mention of his superior bank balance, but she didn’t. She needed to address the rest of his statement.

“You’re brilliant.” Randi was stating the obvious, but she didn’t care. Even with the horrible trials that dyslexia brought to a child, the fact was that dyslexic children
were
wired differently, and it caused many of them to have creative talents others didn’t have. Obviously, the disorder affected Evan by letting him see an entire picture of a prospective business instead of focusing on one or two negatives that could be resolved. He had a special gift of picking the right businesses, no matter how much he tried to explain it away.

“I’m business-smart,” Evan corrected, apparently unwilling to believe he was brilliant. “And I have a natural instinct for what will fly and what won’t. I’ve picked up companies that nobody else will touch and made them work.”

“You sold your father’s businesses?” Randi knew he had. Evan had liquidated when his father had died and distributed the Sinclair wealth to all of the children equally. Then, he’d proceeded to build another huge empire of his very own.

“They weren’t really my father’s. They were actually started by my grandfather. He was a wily old coot who could sniff out a good business from the other side of the world. I sold them all when my father died so I could divide the family fortune.” He frowned as he continued, “To be honest, I
wanted
to get rid of them. I wanted to prove to myself that I could pick my own companies and make my own fortune. Obviously, I was lucky I had the money in the first place, but I’ve multiplied my initial inheritance several times over.” He wasn’t bragging; he was just stating a fact.

“What does it feel like to be that rich? I always wondered what it would be like to be wealthy,” she asked curiously. It didn’t matter to her that she wasn’t rich and never would be, but she honestly wondered what it would be like not to follow a budget every month.

“Not so different than what anyone else feels, I imagine. We have the same concerns, the same fear of failure. We just have nicer cars, nicer houses, and more zeros in our net worth.” Evan shot her a small grin.

“And does that make you happy? Is a lot of money ever enough?” Once a person was that rich, did how much they have really matter anymore?

“I told you what makes me happy, and it’s not all about the money to me,” he answered gruffly. “But I guess I’ve always wanted to prove that I could build something on my own. I wanted to accumulate more than my father.”

She knew what he meant. He’d been proving himself for years, trying to be better than his father to prove himself worthy and negate the labels his father had given him as a child. “More money doesn’t mean better,” Randi explained. She was sure people could be wealthy and absolutely miserable. “There’s much more to happiness than money.”

“I think I’m figuring that out.” He lifted a hand to her head and stroked over her hair gently. “I’m sorry I hurt you, Randi. It’s never been my intention.”

It didn’t escape her notice that he was still thoughtfully using her nickname, not wanting to remind her of her childhood. His sensitivity touched her like nothing else could.

She understood his violent reaction now to the possibility of getting
anyone
pregnant. It wasn’t exactly for the reasons she’d assumed. Honestly, it wasn’t even rational. Just because he was dyslexic didn’t mean his child would also have the learning disability. With his fortune, he could afford the finest schools to help his child, and dyslexic children were often at average or above-average intellect. But maybe in Evan’s mind, he didn’t want a child to suffer like he did. He didn’t consciously realize that the way the problem was handled made all the difference. “You could have just told me.” She gave him a fake punch to the shoulder. “I thought you were starting to like me,” she teased.

“I think I more than just started,” Evan said grimly. “Show me happy, Randi. I think you’re the only one who can.”

Her heart accelerated as she contemplated what he was asking. Evan thought in broad terms when he requested something he didn’t quite understand. It hurt her heart to think he’d never really experienced a happiness that could help him understand contentment. “You have to trust me first.”

“I do,” he shot back immediately.

She grimaced, knowing she was committing herself to spending most of her free time the next few days with Evan. It was tempting, but dangerous. “It won’t be all about sex,” she warned him. Hell, she loved the sex as much as he did, but it wasn’t
all
there was to being happy and content.

His face fell, and Randi bit her lip to keep from smiling. Jesus, it felt good to have a man want her
that
much, but it wasn’t enough for Evan. He needed to learn that he wasn’t going to find what he was looking for by working every waking hour of the day. There was obviously little levity in what he did, or the people he worked with on a day-to-day basis.

“Okay,” he agreed, sounding reluctant.

“It won’t hurt a bit. I promise,” she assured him with a smile, her heart aching that Evan trusted her enough to let down his arrogant guard with her.

“Then show me.” He leaned forward and put his lips to her forehead.

His willingness to put his vulnerability into her hands had been her downfall. Randi was going to show Evan that there was more to life than just work and duty if it killed her . . . and judging by the sensual, hot look in his eyes, she decided that she just might not make it out of the whole experiment unscathed.

Dear M.,

What’s your favorite flower?

Randi looked at the short email from her pen pal, wondering what prompted him to ask that question. They threw out weird questions to each other, but it was usually relevant to something they’d been discussing at one time or another. This one was totally random.

Shaking her head at her laptop, she replied.

Dear S.,

I love calla lilies. My foster mother used to plant some of the huge, white variety down by the creek on her property every spring. Calla lilies in general don’t do well in the Maine climate, so she dug them up every year and preserved them inside for the winter so she could replant them in the spring
.

Randi had named her dog after the flowers, because their center was actually the same gold color as Lily’s coat.

She had a momentary stabbing pain in her chest remembering that there would be no giant, white calla lilies by the creek this year. Joan had been too sick to preserve them, and Randi had never learned how.

It will be sad not to see the giant white flowers by the creek this year.

Randi added the sentence to her previous message before S. could reply.

Dear M.,

Still hurting?

Randi answered honestly.

Dear S.,

I think I’ll miss her and my foster father for the rest of my life. It’s been way over a month now since she passed, but it still hurts so much sometimes that I can hardly breathe. I know I was lucky to have them in my life at all, but our time was too short.

Randi pressed “Send,” already knowing that her friend would understand. He always did.

Dear M.,

I wish I had the words to make everything right, but I think time will help. I can’t say I’ve ever been standing in your shoes. I can only imagine how much it would hurt to lose someone I loved that much.

Randi sighed. S. always made her feel better somehow, maybe because he had an uncanny ability to empathize.

Dear S.,

I guess you’ll just have to put up with my sulking for a while.

She’d been pouring out her heart to him since her foster mother died.

Dear M.,

You’re not sulking, you’re grieving right now. Is it helping to have a guy in your life?

Randi thought about his question for a moment. Evan wasn’t really what she’d call the man in her life, but they’d shared more deeply buried secrets with each other than they had with anyone else. She’d never shared her secrets with a man she cared about except S., and he was a fantasy. He didn’t know her background, and Randi had no idea what her email friend was like in person.

She was willing to bet Evan shared very little with anyone.

Dear S.,

I think it does help, even though it’s nothing permanent. It takes my mind off my own sorrow.

Thinking of the challenges Evan had been through made her determined to teach him how to be content and live in the moment for just a little while. Her mission did help to lessen her grief.

Dear M.,

It could become permanent. You never know.

She wrote two words back quickly.

Dear S.,

It won’t.

He typed back one word.

Dear M.,

Why?

There were a lot of reasons, but the fact that Evan was leaving was the biggest one.

Dear S.,

He won’t be around long. We’ll spend some time together this week and then he’ll be gone.

How are things with the new woman in your life? I think I’m a little bit jealous.

It was winter in Amesport, not the best time to be showing Evan how to have fun. But she’d manage something.

Dear M.,

Don’t be jealous. I had you first, and I think I really like her because she’s a lot like you.