Page 92 of Pure Abandon

Not too long ago I yearned for a day when I would get out of the house, go back to work and become the successful woman I once set out to be. I wanted my son to be raised by a strong, independent woman. To show him that you can achieve anything in this world if you put your mind to it. I wanted to be his greatest role model.

This is not the life I’d want my son to be proud of.

“I have to go!” I practically jump out of my chair and throw the cover-up over my head and grab my purse before storming off toward the hotel.

“Kathryn!”

I leave a stunned pair of golden eyes in the cabana as I race through the hotel grounds and inside, making it into the elevator just as the doors are about to close.

Seconds before they shut, I see Asher darting through the lobby.

“Kathryn!” he calls, but the doors shut tight and the car rises up to my floor. I need to pack. Pack what? I need to change and get the hell out of here.

I get to my room door and go to open it. My key! I need a key. It’s in my bag.

I’m searching for the key when I hear the elevator ping. I gather the key out of my bag as Asher darts down the hall.

I open the door and enter the room, marching straight to the closet. I need the clothes I came in. Crap, where are they?

Asher is right behind me. “Where are you going?”

“Home.” I grab the suit off the floor where I dropped it last night.

“Shit!” he swears, placing his hand on the back of his neck, rubbing hard. He’s wearing nothing but his trunks. “I knew we should have never left this room.”

“I’m sorry, Asher, but I have to go home.” I slip my skirt on over my bathing suit. I’ll pay him for it when I get back.

“Please, don’t go,” he pleads.

Stretching the button-down over my arms, I make sure not to look at his eyes. They’ll force me to stay, I know.

“Asher, please…”

“Asher? What happened to…?” He fumbles over his words. “Just stay the day. We’ll leave together in the morning.” He approaches me, trying to make contact.

“I have to see Jackson!”

He looks at me, aggravated, agitated, confused.

“Who is Jackson?” He nearly screams the question at me.

Holy. Fuck.

My hands stop buttoning my blouse and I look up see his gorgeous face pleading, desperate.

“Jackson is my son,” I whisper. How does he not know this?

“You have a son?” He makes it sound like he’s just swallowed a bitter pill.

I take a step back. How does this man not know I have a son? We’ve talked about this. Haven’t we?

FUCK!

“I have a child. You know this.” I continue buttoning my shirt.

“I had no fucking clue you had a kid.” He turns from me and rubs the back of his neck with his hand. “How old?”

“A little over a year.” My voice is low and my head is down. What have I done? I slide my jacket on.