Page 24 of At the Edge of Surrender

No.No. No. No.

Sickness turned in my insides, and I was worried the alcohol I’d consumed last night might come back up. My stomach churned in a fit of nausea so severe there was a chance I might have to toss the door back open and lose it right there on the ground beside the car.

As if all of this wasn’t humiliating enough.

I did my best to keep it at bay as I threw the car in reverse. The tires peeled out on the gravel as we blazed backward, then I shifted into drive and gunned it down the long driveway.

“What’s going on? Was that not him?” My mother wheezed it in her own turmoil as she shifted to look over her shoulder through the back window.

My heart ravaged violently at my chest. My blood thick and slogging through my veins. Head spinning at finding the man who’d touched me in a way I didn’t let anyone do standing in the doorway. A man I’d already convinced myself I was going to hate.

My natural enemy.

Kane Asher.

How hadn’t I known?

“I’m just not ready.” I had to force the craggy whisper out through the rocks clogging my throat. I clutched the steering wheel, my palms so sweaty I could barely hang on as I struggled to see through the blur of moisture coating my eyes as I sped down the dirt lane.

“I reallyfinkwe should go back and talk to him, Auntie! Did you see him? He ranawwthe way down the stairs to come say hi.”

I could see Maci’s tiny hands wave through the air with the embellishment, and my chest nearly burst with the force of it.

Or maybe it was caving.

Imploding.

I didn’t know.

Still, I was unable to stop myself from lifting my gaze to the rearview mirror.

Dust billowed behind us, a heavy plume that rose to the sky, but I could still see him in the midst of it.

At the base of the stairs of the gorgeous old house.

The man shirtless and barefoot and so ridiculously attractive that the lingering vestiges of pleasure that still tickled through my body flared.

What a cruel, sick joke.

I could see that his chest was heaving with his own surprise.

With his questions.

Questions that clawed their way toward the car to get to us.

My hands quivered against the steering wheel as my attention flicked to Maci.

Maci who was trying to turn around in her car seat to get a better look.

Regret billowed through.

I shouldn’t have brought her with us. It was a mistake. She didn’t understand the full scope of what was happening.

How could she?

She was four.

Four years old.

---