Page 58 of Every Beat of My Heart

“I want to help.”

I let out a breath. “And I want to let you.”

“I know how big this is for you, and I don’t want to hurt you.”

“So don’t.” I had fantasies about this being the start of something amazing and permanent. But the practical side of me knew that Jameson probably wanted to start a family with someone who didn’t already have a child. He wanted someone without all the baggage I came with.

He kissed me softly this time. “I should go before Owen walks in on us.”

He let go of my wrist, and my hand fell away. “Thank you for dinner.”

“Anytime.”

I watched him turn and jog down the stairs. He didn’t ask for his sweatshirt back, and I wasn’t going to offer it. I’d be sleeping in it tonight, and I hoped I’d dream about him.

CHAPTER 13

JAMESON

I wasn’t expecting to kiss her. She was cold, and without much conscious thought, I took off my sweatshirt and pulled it over her head. It made me feel all sorts of things I’d worked hard to push down over the last few weeks: tenderness, protectiveness, and pure lust.

Before I could stop myself, I’d cupped her cheek, and she drew me in with her scent, her warmth, the expectation in her eyes. I couldn’t say no, not when everything inside of me was screaming yes.

It felt like I was part of their tiny family. Like I could do this every night.

I didn’t have any illusions about things being perfect. Because Owen was twelve, there’d be drama and probably a lot of complaining, but the illusion of coming home to them was nice.

The kiss was unlike anything I’d ever felt before. It was explosive. As if we’d only touched the tip of the iceberg of our potential.

Everything was brighter and more in focus. I was clear because I knew without a doubt that Claire liked me too. This wasn’t a one-sided thing, a younger guy lusting after an older woman. When we kissed, the three years between us disappeared.

I sent her a text when I got home.

I want to do that again.

Me too.

Then she sent an image of her in bed, her body covered in my sweatshirt. Yet all I could see were her bare legs. Was she wearing anything underneath? Fuck. Now I was hard and aching for her.

Sorry. I won’t be giving this back. Hope you don’t need it.

You look better in it anyway. Just tell me something.

What’s that?

Tell me you aren’t wearing anything underneath—

I’m not wearing anything underneath.

Fuck. That’s hot.

I’m feeling a little hot and bothered though.

Is Owen asleep?

It was late. Well after he should be in bed, but I didn’t know much about twelve-year-old boys’ sleeping habits.

He’s dead to the world at this hour

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