The doors slid open, and Mycah rushed out of the elevator, and though he braced himself for what the next few minutes would bring between them, he soaked her in. The sensual explosion of curls that graced her shoulders and framed her beautiful face. The long, cream wool coat that opened over a dark purple sheath dress. The color reminded him of the one she’d worn the night they first met. And he tried not to let that strike him as an omen. Because he couldn’t determine if it would be good or bad.
“Achilles.” Breathless, her lovely mouth twisted down at the corners, her espresso eyes dark with worry, she crossed the floor to him. She slid her hands over his waist, clutching his hips and tipping her head back to gaze into his face. “I’m so sorry. God, I’m so sorry.”
“What are you apologizing for?”
She frowned. At the question or his even tone, he couldn’t tell, but her grip tightened on him. “Don’t pretend we both don’t know who’s behind that story being leaked to the media,” she said, voice grim. “Who else could it be but my parents? I don’t know how they found out about the pregnancy, but it’s them. Since I started at Farrell, they’ve been on me to cozy up to Cain. Maybe this is their twisted way of doing it, of forcing us together.”
“If that’s true, then you shouldn’t be apologizing for them. These are their actions, and they need to own them. Not you.” When would she get tired of doing it? Anger sparked inside him, but he tamped it down. That wasn’t his battle to fight; he’d gladly wage it for her if he could, but he couldn’t. “But their actions have put us in a difficult position. And now we have choices to make.”
She stepped back, her arms dropping down by her sides, and he almost reached for her, demanding she put her hands back on him. Let him absorb her warmth. Let him touch her when he dropped this bomb on her. Because physical connection seemed to be all they had—at least for her.
“What do you mean?” Her gaze searched his face. “What else happened?”
“I was with Cain and Kenan when the story broke. I had to tell them about us and the pregnancy.”
She exhaled, the gust of breath long and soft. Crossing an arm protectively over her stomach and palming her forehead with the other hand, she paced away from him, crossing the living room to the window. He followed at a slower gait, allowing her space and time.
“Okay,” she said after a couple of minutes. “I pretty much expected it had to happen. Especially since Cain and Devon are directly affected by all of this. I’m just so sorry they were dragged into this mess.”
“Mess?”
She pivoted, frustration suffusing her expression and voice. Waving a hand, she shook her head. “You know what I mean.”
“Yes, I do. And you’re right—this is a mess of our making. Because we’ve failed to be honest. With our families. Our coworkers. Each other. Ourselves.”
“What are you saying, Achilles?” she whispered, the barest hint of panic in her tone. A flash in her eyes.
“I’m saying we can only build a future on truth. No more hiding, no more secrets. Because they have a way of crumbling and leaving people broken.”
“Time.” She splayed her fingers wide over her belly, and this time there was no mistaking the alarm in her voice. It darkened her eyes to near black. “You promised me time to reveal this how I needed to...”
“That was before a hatchet job about my brother fathering my child hit the fan,” he growled, anger surging inside him, hot and possessive. The thought that people believed his baby belonged to Cain. That his brother had touched Mycah, put his mouth on her, seen what she looked like lost in pleasure... Dammit. He scrubbed a hand down his face, his beard abrading his palm. “Mycah, you can’t hide your pregnancy any longer. It’s impossible. And we have to address the misconception of Cain being the father. For him and Devon as well as for the reputation of the company.”
“I know, I’ve thought about this,” she said in a rush, the words piling up on each other. “I’ll make a statement confirming the pregnancy and debunk the lie that Cain is the father.”
“And when they ask who the father of the baby is? Because they will ask, Mycah.” His body stilled, everything in him waiting for her answer.
“I’ll tell them that information is between me and the father and we wish our privacy to be respected.”
Pain, anger, sorrow, regret—they crowded into his chest, squatters claiming room and shoving against his rib cage for more space. They filled him, the pressure so great, he breathed the emotions, tasted them, became them.
“You do know not giving them a definitive answer will only flame the fire, not put it out, right?” he asked, surprised at how calm he sounded when a storm raged inside.
She shook her head, curls grazing her shoulders. “Not if we handle it correctly—”
“Are you that ashamed to admit that I’m the father of your baby?”
Her chin jerked back as if his accusation had delivered a verbal blow. Shock widened her eyes, parted her lips, and she blinked at him as if slow to comprehend his question.
“Achilles,” she finally whispered, lifting an arm toward him and shifting forward. “That’s not true. I could never—”
“Be embarrassed by me?” He arched an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking. “Try again, Mycah. You forget, I’ve done this before. I’m familiar with the script. Intimately.”
“I’m not her,” she said, her fingers curling into her palm. “I’mnother.”
“I know that. I’ve known that for a while. Doesn’t mean history isn’t repeating itself.”
Accept me. Accept us.
