Page 21 of One Secret

Cyrus is so very close now. His lips are practically brushing mine. He only gives enough space between us to look me in the eye as he asks:

'Why are you pushing this?' I open my mouth to repeat myself but he cuts me off. 'Immigration isn't enough,' he says, frowning and puzzling me out. 'There's something else going on.'

Okay, maybe I jumped the gun when I said Cyrus was the worst choice for a paternity donation. The guy is hot as hell, incredibly built... and annoyingly perceptive. That's a pretty good hand as far as genetic material goes.

But right now, it's damned inconvenient.

A man as powerful as Cyrus shouldn't also be intelligent. It's not fair on the rest of us.

He can be as smart as he likes... I think, reclaiming my determination. I'm not telling him anything. Not about what happened back home. Not about the pregnancy.

The moment that stick turned pink, my life changed. My decisions are no longer mine but my child's; those my baby can't yet make for herself.

I'm the only advocate she has.

Or he has, I add quickly. Somewhere along the way, I've gotten used to thinking of my baby as a girl.

A little girl with one blue eye and one green.

A little girl who deserves a life of peace and security.

And here her father is, telling me I can't join him for a weekend away in paradise because his profession of choice has him summer schmoozing it with gun-toting gangsters.

Not the kind of security my baby needs.

Despite my earlier dig at him, I don't believe Cyrus to be wholly bad. Not yet dark all the way through, like those he works with.

In the months we've known each other, never once have I seen him look down on others. He tips well at the bar. He nods when someone holds a door for him. He might not smile, but he's never once been outright cruel or manipulative.

Not even now.

As Cyrus looms over me, he's using the space to his advantage. He's playing on the desire that rises in both of us when we're close. But he's not truly forcing me. No kisses, no outright seduction. He's determined to have me choose not to go to that island with him.

No man who's entirely lost his heart, lost his soul, to an ugly world lets a woman know her own mind.

Cyrus is no knight in shining armor. He's barely a mercenary in a tarnished breastplate. But there's still a small glint of chivalry burning in there somewhere. Something honorable. Something valiant.

But—be they knights or sellswords—men like Cyrus come with dragons.

And what kind of mother exposes her child to deadly fire?

'Darcy?' Cyrus leans in to whisper along the shell of my ear. 'Tell me what's going on...'

I can't.

Not only does associating with Cyrus bring danger… There's a darker threat than the world he inhabits. And that's Cyrus himself.

The truth about why I can't go home would only raise more questions. He'd then find out about the baby. And then the real damage would be done.

Because Cyrus will never want to be a part of our lives. Of that, I'm certain. A man who takes this much effort to keep his associations to sex and sex alone is not a man who wants commitment in his life. A man who's always vigilant about protection every time we're together doesn't want a family.

That small spark of chivalry might—might—lead to some financial support winging its way to me in an envelope every so often but, despite my dwindling bank account, that's the least of my concerns.

I know what it's like to grow up without a father. But at least I've had the comfort of knowing he was never aware of my existence. That he might have wanted me if he'd had the chance to.

To wonder is painful. But to know you were deliberately thrown away—or relegated to a mere financial burden—is surely worse.

My daughter can seek out Cyrus when she's ready. When she can handle any potential rejection. I can't save her from the pain altogether. But I can at least delay it until I've taught her how to be strong.

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