Page 30 of Secret Baby for the Bad Boy

Lark nods, but he doesn't move to leave. Instead, his eyes fix on Win, studying him with an intensity that makes my stomach churn. Win, oblivious to the tension, wiggles to get comfortable.

“Mommy, look!” Win attempts to reach for the toy car on the coffee table, but as he twists, I see him wince. “Oopsie.”

“Careful, honey.” My fingers brush his hair back, my heart contracting at the sight of his small face scrunched up with pain.

“Does it hurt?” Lark's question is directed at Win, but his eyes never leave mine.

“Just a little,” Win says in his bravest big boy voice.

Lark steps closer, the polished marble under his feet making him look taller somehow. He squats down to Win's level and holds his gaze. “You're pretty tough, huh?”

“Uh-huh.” Win nods, and I can’t help but smile at how dang cute he is.

“Win has always been adventurous.” The words slip out before I can stop them, my attempt at trying to keep things normal in this charged moment.

“Yeah?” Lark's eyebrow arches.

“Like his dad,” I add softly, instantly regretting the comparison.

“His dad must be brave too then.” Somehow, the words feel more like an accusation than a statement, but I’m not ready to hear that.

“Something like that.” My throat tightens. I hate lying to him. I hate this secret I’m keeping. Now that he’s here, the whole situation feels… slimy. I know why Damon took off in such a hurry – I bet he wanted nothing to do with the uncomfortable tension in the air.

Lark stands, looking down at Win with an expression I can’t read. Then his gaze shifts back to me, searching for a truth I’m not ready to share. I feel naked under his intense stare, exposed, even. It's as though he's sifting through my memories, picking out the pieces that fit together too neatly.

“Is there anything else you need?” Lark's tone is steady, but his eyes betray him. I can feel the doubt and suspicion rolling off him like mist of early-morning mountains.

“No, really, you've done enough.” I could kick myself for my choice of words, but it is what it is. I wrap my arm around Win, pulling him close.

“Alright.” Lark hesitates, then gives Win a gentle ruffle on the head before walking toward the door. “Take care of that arm, buddy.”

“I will. Bye-bye!” Win waves with his good arm, and Lark offers a small smile in return. Then his gaze shifts to me and my gut twists up tight. What I’m doing, keeping his son from him… it isn’t right. I’ve made a huge mistake.

I can't tell him the truth. I just can't. But as I hold my son, the secret feels heavier than ever, a planet pressing down on my shoulders with so much force I might just be crushed under the weight, because I sure as heck can’t breathe.

Chapter Fourteen

Lark

One week later…

Why did she want me to come to her home to talk to her? I swallow hard as I step out of the elevator and into her world.

Her penthouse is like walking into a magazine spread – one where you can't afford anything on the page, but you're drawn to the beauty anyway. The air smells faintly of vanilla, and soft light spills from floor to ceiling windows, creating a warm, inviting, and safe-feeling atmosphere.

I loved her place the first time I visited, and I love it this time, too.

“Thank you for coming,” she says in a soft voice that instantly has me hard. Then again, she does that to me more often than not, so it’s a low bar to set, I think.

“Of course.” My gaze forgets that her beautiful home exists, because now she is all I can see. Her smile. The way she tilts her chin up. Those incredible legs that haunt my dreams. The sparkle in her eyes that warns me she’s a fighter. Everything about her pulls me in, even though I know I should be fighting against the current.

“Come in, make yourself comfortable,” she says, gesturing toward a sleek, inviting sofa.

I look around, hoping to hear the pitter-pat of little feet, but Win is nowhere to be seen.

“Thanks,” I say, taking a seat and wondering what she needed to tell me so badly she was willing to bring me here, to her home, possibly alone.

“Drink?" Lara offers, already gliding toward a bar that’s modern and carefully hides away a collection of alcohol bottles, all looking top shelf, because, of course, they are. She doesn’t do anything in halves, and I admire that about her.

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