Page 17 of One Last Chance

So much for this being more than a hookup.There’s no helping this now. As much as I want to talk and get to know him and laugh at his jokes while he looks at me with that charming smirk, something powerful is drawing us together. Something I don’t want to fight.

“Day,” he whispers, making my name resonate in my ears. Rowland’s voice is husky, almost desperate. Suddenly, the short hairs of his beard tickle my neck, followed by hungry kisses he places right against my pulse. Rolling my head back and closing my eyes, I moan, wrapping my hands tightly around his neck. He smells so good. So rich.

When is he going to sense my pheromones? I feel so good it’s probably all spilling out. When will he recoil and push me away?

Somewhere in the corner of my mind, I hear his glass cling on the table. He doesn’t pull from me as I’d expect. Instead, with both his hands free, he moves in closer and trails his fingers across the opening of my collar.

“I…didn’t invite you here for this,” he whispers shakily, voice marked with guilt.

I know,I think to myself with a smile, and reach down to meet his lips.

“Why did you then?” I ask playfully, even though I know the answer. Daring, I run my fingers up his nape and into the neatly faded short hair at the back of his head. He huffs his hot breath into my face, shuddering.

“To get to know you. Get close…” As if he’s losing his own constraints, and realizing that is exactly what we’re doing, his hand grips at my thigh harder, and slides to the inner side of it, drawing out a moan out of me. There is no way I can stop this now. No amount of perfume is going to hide my reaction to what he’s doing to me.

I’m just about ready to let loose, to beg him to touch me more, when the sound of the main door clicking stops both of us cold.

Jerking, we jump away from each other, sharing a wide-eyed look. “Wh—”

“Oh, shit,” Rowland murmurs, panic washing over him, and before I can orient myself, the door opens, letting the sounds of the street spill in.

“For god's sake, Mina, I said stop! I told you that your dad—”

Like I’m in some dreamy blur, I stare at the young girl standing in the middle of the hallway. She is maybe in her early teens and has this strangely vacant but intense glare. I judge those blue eyes, deep-chestnut hair, and her clean, sharp features, seeing clearly what is in front of me. Seconds later, an older woman whose voice I just heard catches up to her.

She too sees us and has an expression of pure dread on her face. “I-I am so sorry, Rowe, she j-just ran in even though I told her to—”

“I wasn’t feeling well, Daddy. I wanted to come home,” the girl says, staring right at Rowland. An icy wave of sweat passes over me, stiffening my spine.

Daddy? He really is— Ah, fuck.

The woman blinks. “What? You said you just needed me to pick up one of your—”

“I’m going to my room now,” she cuts her off and turns on her heel, marching up the stairs with a playful spring to her step.

Rowland and I still stare at each other, speechless. Dazed. He opens his mouth, eyes bulging from his head, before glancing to who I assume is his mother and then back at me. The intimate, playful energy we’ve been building up is gone, washed away like a sandcastle. Crushed into nothingness by a rogue wave.

“You have kids?” I finally manage to push something out, though I barely heard my own words over the overwhelming pounding of my heart.

“I’m sorry, I…I wasn’t trying to hide it from you.” Rowland darts his eyes over me. His voice trembles.

It’s not the fact he has kids that rattles me so much. I don’t even know what exactly I feel, but what I know is that I need to get out. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask, standing sharply. Rowland shadows me, lifting his hands in a calming gesture, wanting to touch me, but I step back.

Why couldn't this have been perfect? He was so honest. We got along so well—why couldn’t he have told me about it instead of blindsiding me like this?

“It didn’t come up, so I just—” he blurts, and the desperate way he draws his brows together tugs on my heart, even though I know I can’t let myself get reeled back in. “I was going to tell you. I swear to you, I was going to tell you tonight, but there wasn’t the right opportunity, and…” The moment his gaze slips toward his mother behind his back, I feel another wave of nausea.

I need to get out of this situation. I need air.

“I have to go,” I murmur and nearly run out. The woman moves out of my way, looking mortified, but I do my best to avoid her eyes. Dashing across the driveway, I jump into my car. The warning for my seatbelt dings over and over as I start it and drive out of the driveway. I don’t care—I just need to get out.

As I’m opening the windows to get some cold air into my face, I notice a car parked by the sidewalk right next to the entrance. Passing it, I meet eyes with a boy sitting in the back, waiting. It must be Rowland’s mother’s car. And the boy…must be his son, because his features also bear an uncanny resemblance to him, though his hair is lighter, almost dirty blond. The kid, who can’t be older than six, raises his brows and stares back as I pass. He is cute, with a curious, lively expression on his face.

Squeezing the wheel, I try to ease my breathing. The wind slashes my cheeks the faster I drive, and Rowland’s distressed expression stays in my mind when I close my eyes.

I ran away again.

Dammit.

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