Page 27 of Secret Baby for the Bad Boy

“At least the traffic is light,” he says, glancing my way. “We'll make good time.”

I’m not going to study the square shape of his jaw or notice the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, or think about how we’re going to be in a hotel room together. Sure, it’s a multi-room suite, but that’s still too close for comfort.

“Great.” My response is terse as I fix my attention on the passing scenery. I can't shake the discomfort boiling within me and I still regret telling him about my son. Why did I tell him about my son? I’d felt bad about the hurt in his eyes when I put him in his place in the elevator. So I reached out with an olive branch of sorts, but it was a stupid choice.

“Is something on your mind?” he asks, his voice taking on a softer edge.

“Nothing important.” The lie tastes bitter, but it's necessary. He can’t know what I’m stressing about. And if he ever meets my son, sees those familiar mannerisms, those eyes too much like his own... No, I can't let that happen. I shouldn’t have said anything.

“Okay.” He doesn't push, and I’m grateful that he’s letting it go.

The miles stretch on, and with each one, the tension in my shoulders winds up tighter. I hate being away from my son and there’s a pull, an undeniable attraction that I've spent years trying to ignore. It's there in the way his jaw tightens when he concentrates, in the subtle scent of his cologne that fills the car, those powerful forearms and hands.

“Beautiful day, isn't it?” His attempt at small talk almost makes me smile, mostly because it’s like he knows I’m wound up tight and stressed, and he’s trying to find any way to get my head out of my thoughts.

“Sure is.” But I’m blind to the beauty of the day. My reality is split – at home with my son and in this car with him much too close for comfort. We should have brought a driver; this feels too intimate. But my thoughts lock on the man beside me who is unknowingly the father of my child.

“Shana couldn't make it, huh?” he asks, breaking the silence with another attempt at small talk.

“Her sister needed her.” I shrug, feigning indifference. Shana's the one who tends to do the out and about meetings and conventions. She’s better with people, and I prefer to bury myself in work… just not this kind.

Lark nods, and we fall back into quiet. I wrestle with the urge to reach out and touch his arm, or to speak up and have a conversation, anything to bridge the gap between us. But I can't. Not when there's so much at stake.

“Hey.” His voice pulls me from my internal battle. “You're doing that thing again.”

I glance at him, confused. “What thing?”

“Chewing your lip.” He points it out casually, but I swear I can hear concern in his tone, too.

“Oh, yeah.” I stop immediately, pressing my lips together into a flat line both to stop myself from biting them and to keep my secrets locked inside. I thought this would be easy. I thought wrong.

“Look, Lara...” He trails off, glancing at me, and the question in his eyes leaves my heart beating too fast.

I glance at the road, indicating for him to watch where he’s driving because I want to get home to my son safely. “Let's just focus on the meeting, okay?”

“Okay.” He nods, his full attention on the road. Somehow, that’s not a relief. I know the conversation is going to come up at some point, and I’ll have to tiptoe because too many details will tell him the whole story about who Win’s dad is… him.

I lean back against the seat, closing my eyes. I will fight this pull, I have to. For my son, for our lives that are better off separate. This is just a business trip, nothing more. I repeat the words in my head until they lose meaning, and all that's left is the thumping of my heart.

I unlock the door and offer him a slight smile over my shoulder. The bellhop trails behind with our luggage as we step into the room. It’s as luxurious as the images led me to believe. There’s not a single white wall in the place; over our heads, wooden slats create a warm, inviting ceiling.

The living area boasts plush, velvet sofas in deep jewel tones, and a grand chandelier hangs elegantly from the center of the room, casting a soft, golden glow. Floor-to-ceiling windows offer a panoramic view of the city skyline, the lights twinkling like stars against the night sky.

To the right, a white marble fireplace makes for a cozy, intimate, even romantic feel and a sleek, modern kitchen gleam with stainless steel appliances and granite countertops. The bedrooms, separated by sliding glass doors, feature king-sized beds with the whitest of white plush blankets that look like laying on them would be like sleeping on a cloud. I’m not even tired, but I can’t wait to go to bed.

I walk over to the windows, drawn by the view. “It sure is beautiful,” I say, before turning to him. He smiles, joining me at the windows.

“It’s perfect,” he says, standing a little too close for comfort. But I don’t want to move away.

The bellhop discreetly places our luggage by the door and leaves an extra key card with them. “If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to call,” the bellhop says with a polite nod before leaving us.

I want to beg him to stay, because with every second that passes, the thought of being alone with Lark in a hotel room – even one as large and spacious as this – seems like a worse and worse idea.

I spend the next few minutes exploring the suite, marveling at the attention to detail. He seems to also feel the need to separate, because he begins to hang his neatly-pressed shirts.

The bathroom is spa-like with a deep soaking tub, a rain shower, and plush robes hanging near the door. A bottle of champagne chilling in a metal ice bucket and a tray of chocolate-covered strawberries grace the dining table, a welcome gift from the hotel.

As we settle in, I can’t help the rising uneasiness. I don’t like being away from Win. And being alone with Lark seems like a mistake. A big mistake. Especially since last time we were in a hotel room together… well, I wound up pregnant.

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