I ride the elevator up, then knock on the door. I expect one of her parents to answer, steeling myself for the standoff. The last thing I want is a bad relationship with my son’s grandparents.
Ava answers the door, wearing a hotel robe. I clench my jaw. Yesterday, I was focused on the wrong things. Focused on her body. Her ample and gorgeous curves…
Instead of her heart. Her understandable and justified inner conflict.
“Can I come in?” I ask.
“Mom and Dad are sleeping,” she murmurs, stepping aside.
“I’ll try to be quiet.”
“That must be tough for a big guy.”
“I’ve had practice,” I grunt.
I regret saying that straight away when she goes quiet, like she doesn’t want to be reminded of the bad things I’ve done. Sneaking around. Hurting people.
She leads me into the living room. Theo is asleep in his bassinet in the corner, by the window.
“He likes it there,” she says when she sees me looking.
“Perhaps he’s watching the city, planning how he’ll take it over one day.”
She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. Maybe she’s missed me as badly as I’ve missed her. I’ve been aching for her all damn day.
“Can I say hello?”
She nods, biting her lip nervously. I walk to the window, catching myself in the reflection. I look huge and tired and not like a warm, comfortable father figure at all.
I kneel and gently take Theo’s hand. He murmurs and looks at me with my own eyes, his lip twitching slightly like he’s trying to smile.
“I swear,” I murmur. “I will let nothing happen to you or Mommy. Grandpa or grandma. I promise, Theo. Okay? Ipromise.”
I stand, turn to find Ava staring at me with her mouth slightly open. That flush from earlier has returned, disappearing into her nightgown. It’s open at the top slightly, showing a tempting sliver of her chest.
“I should…”
“Do you want a drink?” She quickly cuts in before I can finish.
So, she doesn’t want me to go?
My blood stirs at the possibilities, until she adds, “I need to tell you something.”
I try to drag my mind out of the gutter as she walks to the kitchen. She takes out a jug of water and pours two glasses, handing me mine.
I place it on the marble counter and look at her, waiting. She swallows, cutely nervous.
“I told my parents who you really are,” she says.
I sigh, running my hand through my hair.
“I had to tell them something,” she snaps.
I say nothing.
“Well?” she demands. “Or are you going to give me the silent treatment?”
I walk around the counter, slowly grip her hips in my hands, and pull her roughly against me. Her gasp is fuckingmagic, shock, and hunger, and that conflict she can’t shake.
