Page 28 of Secret Baby for the Bad Boy

Not this time, I promise myself. Not this time.

“It’s a nice place,” Lark says from behind me, his voice too close for comfort.

“Corporate standard.” My words are clipped as I swallow, fighting the fluttering in my chest. I concentrate on unpacking my suitcase, lining up my toiletries with military precision. Anything to avoid the gaze of – and desire for - the man watching me from where he leans on a doorway like a Greek statue.

I sense him moving, and I stiffen, bracing myself for whatever he might do next. But he only heads to the windows, drawing back the curtains with a casual sweep of his hand. “Good view.”

“Sure.” My voice sounds distant, even to my ears. I can’t let him in, I can’t let him get close. I can’t risk everything. My heart won’t calm down in my chest, and my mouth is so dry I feel like a dying man in a desert.

Lark wanders out of my room and I exhale, trying to breathe normally. Which is impossible with him around.

My phone rings, the sound startling me. Why now? I snatch it up, thumb swiping the screen with a tremor no doubt left over from my frayed nerves with Lark so close.

“Hey, sis!” It's Damon, but his usual cheer is missing and there’s a note of fear in his voice.

“What's wrong?” I'm already imagining the worst, my body frozen in fear.

“Win… he climbed the fridge. Took a spill. I guess the nanny has never seen anything like it and wasn’t paying too much attention when I told her to keep an eye on him so I could use the restroom.”

Panic crushes my throat. “Is he okay?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Put it on speaker,” Lark's says, his voice calm and steady.

I do as he says without thinking, holding the phone between us.

“My son climbed the fridge and fell,” I say, catching him up.

“Did you guys call nine-one-one? Or are you taking him to the emergency room?” Lark says into the phone, his tone even, controlled.

“Damon can’t drive,” I say.

“Alisha can,” Damon says.

“The nanny,” I tell Lark, since I know he has no idea who she is.

“Is he awake?” Lark asks.

“Yes, but he’s hurting.”

“Baby, are you okay?” I ask, worry winding around my heart like briar bushes, poky, painful, and tight enough to cut off blood flow.

“Uh-huh. It hurts.”

“You’re being really brave. Did you hit your head, bud?” Lark asks.

“Yes,” Win responds.

“We're coming home.” Lark is already grabbing bags, taking charge.

And it’s a good thing, because I feel frozen in place. What if my son is really hurt?

“Home,” I whisper, all thoughts of work leaving my mind as I worry about the safety and wellbeing of my child. “We’re coming home, Win.”

“Okay, Mommy.”

I end the call after making my brother promise to keep me updated, and the nanny, too. Lark's eyes flick to mine, a question forming. But questions will have to wait; our son needs me.

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