Page 176 of The Billionaire's Baby
“Promise.”
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Epilogue 2
Ava
"Each blossom still blooms in its field; each child still clutches your hand; each friend still lingers in your heart. And that…is where time goes."
I glance at the words I’ve scrawled out in my notebook.
My heart stutters. The hair on my forearms rises. Time... Why am I so obsessed with time? I am only eighteen; I have my entire life in front of me. So why do I often ponder how quickly time goes by? How it could all be over in the matter of minutes... Blink, and it’s gone. A mother playing with her son as an infant one second, the next, he’s all grown up and she’s shooting a movie with him as her subject. The son who is the mirror image of her first and only love, the man she fell for, her soulmate...who turned out not to be. And now she has him… The son, who is the father of the man. Stop it… All these thoughts that meld and flow and turn my brain to mush. EvenTwilightwas more cheerful than this.
I hear a splash from the pool, glance around from my perch on the chair in the far corner of the pool area. I am at my friend Summer’s townhouse in Primrose Hill. It’s February and freezing in London. Which is why I had grabbed my book and my blanket, then crawled over to the far end of the pool area. I’d hidden behind the wide trunk of the oak-tree, then settled down to read.
People hate the cold. Me? I thrive on it. Darkness is my friend, my companion. It clothes me, hides me from sight of the world, like this blanket that I’ve wrapped around myself. If I glance down, I can see the slope of Primrose Hill fall away below, the grass an undulating carpet that stretches down to the canal. This early in the day, it is quiet, except for a few joggers… And the man who’d dived into the pool and is now swimming laps.
From my hiding place, I can see his massive shoulders flex as he cuts through the water. He propels forward, leaving ripples in his wake. He’s moving so fast, he’s almost a blur as his powerful arms slice through the water. He hits one end of the swimming pool, then pushes away and begins to swim toward the other side. He zips forward, flings out an arm, thrusts the other back so his body shoots ahead. He lunges onward, keeps going until he hits the other edge of the pool, then turns back. I watch as he does five more laps of the pool… Hell, is he training for the triathlon or something? My entire body hurts, thinking of the punishment he’s putting himself through. What the hell is he trying to prove anyway?
He hits the edge of the pool, throws his arms over the rim and holds on. Then he presses his hands down on the ground, hauls himself up. He pitches his leg up and over. The corded muscles of his thigh tauten as he raises himself up and over the side. Water streams down from his sculpted chest, the cut planes of his back, and pours down the sides of his thighs. He raises his arms, throws back his head and stretches. For a second, he stands poised. The first rays of the sun hit his skin, and he seems to sparkle. My throat dries. All of my nerve endings pop. Moisture pools in my core. A shiver runs down my spine.
He turns, giving me a full-frontal view and I draw in a breath. I saw him at my friend Karina’s wedding, a few weeks ago. Only difference, he had more clothes on…and he wasn’t this wet. Nor did he have his thick hair slicked back to outline the contours of his scalp. Nor did the hollows under his cheekbones seem this prominent. I trace my gaze down his hooked nose to his thin upper lip, made all the more prominent by his full lower lip, which seems soft, pouty enough for me to sink my teeth into and suck. My belly clenches. My core softens. I squeeze my thighs together, watch as he moves toward the deckchair and picks up a towel. He drags it down his massive chest, across that ripped stomach, down the crotch of his black swimming trunks, which outline what he’s packing. I bite down on the inside of my cheek. Is that man packing or what?
Is he some kind of athlete? He has that strength and confidence that comes with someone who works a physical profession. Or else, he’s trained a lot. As had been evident from this morning’s work out.
He loops the towel around his neck, straightens, then meets my gaze.
I pull back. "Shit, shit, shit." Did he see me? Of course, he’d spotted me. He seems like the kind of man who wouldn’t miss a thing in his surroundings.
Go on, get out there and wave at him or something. Tell him ‘Hi.’ "Hi." I wiggle my fingers in the air.
"Hello, there." A gruff voice sounds above me and I scream. My heart pounds in my chest as I glance up, straight at eye-level with his gorgeous crotch—now clad in his jeans. He’d managed to pull those on before heading over, apparently. Not that it does anything to hide, but rather, reveals the gargantuan proportions of whatever it is that it encloses.
Jeez, get your mind out of the gutter, bitch.
I raise my gaze and hell, if the view doesn’t get even more serious. Dense muscles, packed one on top of the other, moving, slipping, sliding as he draws in a breath. An intricate design inches over one shoulder, and damn, if I don’t want to jump up and peek around to find out how it continues across his back.
He folds his arms across his chest and his biceps bulge.
Heat sears my blood. My thighs clench.
I tilt my head back, and further back… The sun chooses that moment to shine on him again, shadowing his features. This guy is a sun trap; that’s for sure. The golden glow folds about him, caresses him, so sparks of amber flare in the air around him. I blink, and his face comes into view.
"You okay?" He tilts his head.
"Of course." My voice cracks, and I clear my throat. "Why wouldn’t I be?"
"You seem like you saw something...unexpected?"
"Uh, you’re not a vampire, are you?"
He blinks, then chuckles. A full-throated, deep reverberation that sucker-punches me in the gut. My thighs tremble. My toes curl. I watch as those full lips of his quirk.
"I’m Edward." He holds out his hand.
"Wha—" I gape, "you’re kidding me, right?"
He frowns, "Excuse me?"
