Page 37 of Secret Baby for the Bad Boy

“Is this okay?” he asks, his voice rumbling.

I nod, because “okay” doesn't even begin to cover the chaos boiling away within me. My heart beats like a wounded, wild animal, and I’m hungry for something other than food. But above all, I’m hyper-aware of the spaces where our bodies meet.

“Good.”

We dance on, and I let myself a moment of fantasy. We could make this work. Maybe we are right for one another. Maybe I need to just let go and let him into my life – clearly he’s meant to be here.

“Remember this?” His voice is low, intimate, and I instinctively know he’s talking about his touch, the reaction he stirs within me.

“How could I forget?” I whisper.

“Then why fight it?”

“Because...” The truth claws at my throat, and I swallow hard. “...it's complicated.”

“Isn't it always?” His chuckle vibrates through me.

I rest there, against him, thinking all the thoughts I should be saying. That we can’t do this. That we work together. That the past was likely just a fluke. That we’re both very different people than we were back then. That it would be difficult to explain to Win that his dad and I are back together when he’s only meeting his dad for the first time.

I should leave. Run. But instead, I promise myself just a few more minutes. We can stop anytime – just not yet.

I've missed him. The laughter, the lightness, the reckless abandon. But it’s foolish for me to think there’s anything beyond our crazy chemistry.

“Tonight was unexpected,” I say, feeling grateful because I am enjoying myself and have been, even if this is all a mistake.

“Good unexpected, I hope,” he says, stepping closer, his warmth radiating over me.

“Very good.” It's the truth, even if I regret all of this later.

Our dance slows, and he draws me in, his hands firm on my waist. The floral scent of the nearby blossoms mingles with his scent and our meals, a mouthwatering combination. His eyes search mine, and whatever he finds there seems to embolden him.

“I want to kiss you,” he whispers, his breath a caress against my skin.

“So do it,” I say.

A slight smile tugs the corners of his lips and he leans down. His lips meet mine, soft and full, sweet and filled with heat. For a fleeting heartbeat, everything is perfect—the hurt, the past, the uncertainties—they all dissolve.

The waiter comes by, and we regretfully pull apart. Lark walks closer to him, murmuring something to him, and I catch the words “to go” and “for two” before he comes back to me, a satisfied smile playing on his lips.

“What did you do?” I ask, feeling curiosity.

“Ordered something for the road,” he says, leaving me more confused, not less.

I frown, about to ask more questions, but he continues, “For our son and your brother.”

My heart skips. He remembers, cares enough to think of not only our son, but my brother, too. “You didn't have to do that.”

“Maybe not.” He shrugs, but there’s a tenderness in his eyes that wasn't there before. “But I wanted to.”

The drive home is silent and all I can think about is our closeness earlier. Dancing with him. When we pull up to my door, the evening's magic feels like it’s coming to a close… and that’s a letdown.

I hesitate outside the car, the moment stretching between us as he takes my arm to walk me to my door.

“Thank you for tonight,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Thank me by enjoying it,” he replies, his tone low and smooth.

I expect him to kiss me—deep, hungry, desperate like before—but instead, he cups my face gently, leans in, and his lips brush my cheek with a feather-light touch.

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