Page 34 of Secret Baby for the Bad Boy

And just like that, the future I'm trying to build crumbles around the edges. Another moment gone, another memory I won't have. It's torture, this waiting, this wanting. But I nod because what else can I do?

“Okay,” I agree, the promise feeling like shards of glass in my throat. “We'll wait.”

Lara’s eyes soften, and for a moment, I see a flicker of the woman I once knew.

The woman I started to fall for all those years ago when we share time and two passionate nights together on a vacation that’s still embedded in my mind as a memory I play on repeat.

I can tell by the trembling in her shoulders that this isn’t easy for her, either. Of course it’s not.

I take a deep breath, knowing that if she’s not ready for me to take my son for a night or to meet his grandmother, then she’s also not going to be ready for the other thoughts that’s been chasing its tail round and round my mind.

“Thank you.” She sounds so relieved I want to walk over and wrap my arms around her. But I know that if I dare touch her, this night will turn out very differently than what either of us intend. And I know she feels it, too, this impossible pull between us that even now whispers for me to close the gap between us and kiss her. To say the hell with our agreement and take what’s mine. What should be mine. What I claimed years ago. Her.

And as I stand there with my thoughts, I try to figure out the best way and time to tell her the whole truth. Because I guess I haven’t been totally honest with her, either.

She lifts her head and looks at me. “What do you want to do now?” she asks in a delicate voice.

My face must have given away the dirty thoughts in my mind, because she inhales, quickly looking away. “Should we talk more? Make plans? Set boundaries?”

Her amended question sounds a lot less fun than what sprang to my mind, but hers is more practical and necessary.

Because it’s not just about my son. It’s about her, too. Lara. I want her in my life, too, not just as the mother of my child, but as someone I care about deeply.

“We could do any or all of them, if you’re ready and willing.” The words ready and willing have an effect on her. She shivers and goose bumps break out across her arms.

I swallow hard. I want to be there for my son, to make up for lost time, but I also want to be there for Lara. I want to win her heart and make her mind. I want to convince her to spend her life with me. There’s no one I’d rather share in the joys and sorrows of life with.

“I think we should sleep on it,” she says, refusing to meet my gaze.

I nod, knowing full well that sleep isn’t going to change my mind or my plans. “Whatever it takes,” I say, and she stiffens, throwing an unreadable glance at me.

I know one thing for certain: I’m not going to give up. Not on my son, and not on her.

I’ll wait, as long as it takes. Because some things are worth fighting for. And this, this is one of them.

Chapter Fifteen

Lara

Candle flames dance like tall grasses in summer breezes, their soft glow illuminating the darkness of the upper level of the exclusive restaurant, Lux, Lark brought us to.

Overhead, the glass roof lets in the silvery moonlight and the quiet of the space is broken only by the delicate piano music playing from somewhere.

The place is like a scene from a dream, and we’re alone.

“How did you do this?” I ask, my voice tiny.

“I rented the whole place for a night and had them close it down so we’d be alone.” His intense green eyes stand out even more with his dark suit. He’s so handsome I could cry. Not that I’d want to smudge the makeup I’d applied with a careful hand. At least any mascara that landed on this dress wouldn’t be obvious; I’d chosen a little black number that’s a touch too short for my liking and shows off far too much of my thighs. But we’re alone, so I’m not too worried.

“For you,” he says, offering me a bouquet of yellow roses, baby’s breath, and pretty blue puffball flowers I don’t recognize with a gentle tilt of his hand.

“They’re beautiful, thank you,” I say, touching one of the blue flowers with a fingertip, only to discover the tiny flowers that make up the ball are fuzzy.

“Shall we?” He gestures to the table set for two, a private spot in the middle of the loft area.

“Sure.” My voice steadies as I follow him, my heels clicking on the floor.

We settle into our seats, the clink of fine china and the rustle of fabric filling the silence. I glance up, only to be caught in Lark’s intense gaze. It pins me, holds me captive. There's something unreadable there, a depth that invites and warns all at once.

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