Page 42 of Secret Baby for the Bad Boy

Something about his words leaves my heart thumping faster than it should and I wonder why I’m having a reaction to his protectiveness. I don’t need a man to keep me safe. I wouldn’t have hesitated to mace Mark if he got too bold. But still, knowing Lark’s deep-seated need to protect me… it’s exciting in all the wrong ways.

And in that moment, with rain trickling trails down the windows and the quiet hum of the room, I see something more in Lark's eyes. Something that tells me this isn't just about my safety. This is about us.

Lark stays put, his presence filling the room in a way he has no right to do. My heart races, each beat a drum echoing through the quiet office. I catch my breath and try to steady myself.

“Thanks for stepping in,” I say, needing to fill the silence between us and tell him how I feel about the whole situation.

“It’s my pleasure,” he says, the words resonating through my body and leaving me thinking about the nights we spent together. With this man, pleasure is a trigger word that unleashes memories that could drown me if I let them.

I want to dismiss him in some desperate struggle to keep things professional, though I know I’ve been failing pretty spectacularly at that. But there's something between us, some pull I can’t quite fight against. Maybe I don’t want to fight. And the words just won’t come. I swivel my chair slightly away in a delicate attempt to put some distance between us and hopefully break free of this intense tug trying to pull us together.

“Late nights are part of the job,” I say, keeping both my words and tone casual, though I feel anything but. “You know how it is.”

He nods, but his gaze doesn't waver. “Doesn't mean you have to face them alone.”

That’s an offer if I’ve ever heard one. I can feel the weight of the necklace around my neck, the one he’d given me, and I see his gaze travel down to it between the lapels of my deep purple blouse. His gaze meets mine and I resist the urge to reach up and touch the pendant. It’s special to me. Like him. Like our past. Like our son. But just because something is special doesn’t mean it’s worth risking everything for. Right?

“Thank you again,” I say, as if that’ll shoo him off. Of course, it doesn’t work, and his offer still stands between us like a whole other person, tempting, dangerous. We're colleagues, we're friends—no, not just friends. The shift between us is obvious, and I know we’re both aware of it. But that doesn’t mean we can do anything about it.

Spending time with him has been fun, but that’s where it has to end.

“Maybe,” I say, finally addressing his offer, hoping that’ll be the ticket to getting him out of my hair. “But some things can't be shared.” There, I said it.

“Like what?” His voice drops lower, oddly intimate despite the very real possibility that some other late-stayer might pop into my office to make my world more bizarre.

“Like... certain responsibilities.” My answer is weak, and I don’t have a stronger one. So I turn back to the screen, pretending to focus on the words in the report that are still blurring before my eyes like the traitors they are.

“Everyone needs help sometimes and there’s nothing wrong with that.” He leans closer, his scent flowing around me.

I stand abruptly, turning to face him. “And some of us need to learn to manage on our own.” There’s a place I can go that he won’t follow, and I’ll go if I have to.

His brow furrows with either confusion or concern—it's hard to tell. “Lara...”

Nope, I’m not doing this right now. We’re not doing this right now. Not tonight.

“Look, Lark,” I cut him off, my voice stronger now. “I appreciate it, really. But this,” I gesture vaguely at the space between us while meaning the tension, the attraction, the deepening need between us, “it's not what I need.”

He studies me, searching for answers to questions he’s not asking out loud, and I’m not sure if he finds the responses or not. But he gives a nod and straightens up, his posture suddenly so closed off I have to wonder if I’ve just broken this delicate thing between us. But if it’s that fragile, then it wasn’t meant to be and it’s better to cut my losses and run anyway. “Okay,” he says.

“Okay,” I say, though my insides twist with the effort of trying to make him think I don’t care what happens next, even though I very much do.

He turns to leave, and every fiber of my being screams to reach out, to call him back. But I don't. I can't.

This, this thing we’re doing – whatever it is, I have no idea how to quantify it – it’s dangerous. And I know if I don't step back now, if I let him sweep me off my feet, I'll lose more than my balance—I'll lose myself.

As he walks out the office door, a shiver runs through me. I'm safe, yes. But at what cost? And why can’t I shake the feeling that I’ve just broken something that might not be able to be fixed, no matter how hard I try?

And if I’ve broken it, why is it so hard to remind myself that anything so fragile isn’t real anyway?

Besides, the more concerning part of all of this is how much I wanted him to pull me into his arms, pin me between my desk and his powerful body, and take us both to the past and those scorching hot nights spent together.

I squeeze my eyes closed, the memories of his hands, his body, the pleasure that he unleashed in me…

Opening my eyes, I breathe out and tell myself I did the right thing. Back then, being with him, I knew we’d wind up out of control. I’d lose myself. And I know now that the same will happen if we take this leap.

And I can’t afford to lose myself in a relationship with a man. Even if that man is my child’s father. I have too many plans, too big of dreams, too much ambition to be held back by someone, even if that someone makes me feel alive.

Chapter Eighteen

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