Page 60 of Secret Baby for my Off-Limits Fiancé

“How could you have known? It’s not really something I talk about.”

I nod. “I understand. It’s hard to talk about things like that.”

Our eyes meet, and suddenly, everything shifts.

The air between us changes, charged with something neither of us were prepared for.

“But somehow,” I murmur, “with you, it’s easy.”

Her lips part slightly. And then, she leans into me.

I cup her face, tilting her chin up, and kiss her.

It’s slow. Unrushed. Intimate.

She sighs into my mouth, her fingers fisting the front of my shirt like she’s afraid to let go.

Something inside me snaps into place.

This isn’t just physical attraction. This isn’t just our deal. This is something else.

When we pull apart, Layla keeps her forehead against mine, breathing me in.

“Thank you for bringing me here. I think I needed this break.”

“You deserve it.” I press a kiss to her temple.

She exhales, pulling back slightly. “I still feel guilty, though. I keep thinking I’m being a bad mother by leaving Vincent for two days.”

“Layla.” My tone hardens. “Don’t say that. Vincent has a mother who loves him more than anything.”

She smiles, but there’s something sad about it. “Motherhood is complicated.”

I nod. “I don’t know much about it, but from what I see, you’re incredible.”

She bites her lip, then exhales. “Thank you.”

We continue walking down the trail, our pace slower than before. The silence between us isn’t awkward, it’s comfortable. Like neither of us needs to fill it with unnecessary words.

I glance at Layla as she brushes a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her eyes scanning the vast vineyard stretched before us.

There’s something about her that makes my chest feel… strange. Lighter. Brighter.

I’ve never felt like this before. Not with any other woman.

With Layla, there’s no pretense. She doesn’t fawn over me or try to impress me. She challenges me, calls me out, makes me work for her attention. She’s not intimidated by my name, my money, or the power I hold. She looks at me like I’m just a man.

And somehow, that’s the most addicting thing in the world.

I clench my jaw, my grip tightening around the basket I’m carrying.

I’m in trouble.

Because what happens when this arrangement ends? When she walks away?

Would she take this feeling with her, this unfamiliar, maddening sense of wanting something more?

I don’t have time to answer that question.

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