My jaw locks.God, no.But I can’t call it more. Not yet. “If that’s all it is, I wouldn’t have risked everything to be here. But I don’t know how to define it beyond that.”
Her eyes glisten. She blinks fast, then tucks into my chest, trusting me in ways I don’t deserve. My hand finds her hair, stroking slowly.
The questions hang in the dark, unanswered, unanswerable. Blake. Her parents. The five years she hid my son. Every obstacle is waiting to break us.
But I can’t walk away.
So I hold her, knowing I’m clinging to something that could ruin us both. And for tonight, that’s the only answer I’ve got.
TWENTY-FIVE
Janie
Warmth. That's my first sensation. Sunlight spills through the curtains, painting golden stripes across the tangled sheets.
Warren's arm lies heavily across my waist, his steady breathing brushing the back of my neck in a rhythm that makes me want to sink deeper into the mattress.
I don't move. Not yet. This moment is too fragile, like it might shatter if I disturb it.
I press my body into his, savoring the warm skin on skin, the smell of him in my bed. Without waking him, I study and catalog.
His body curls around mine, protective even in sleep. My mind drifts back to last night, the fire crackling, his hands gripping my hips, the way he pressed me against the rug without caring that we might burn.
I remember how he whispered into my ear while he washed my hair afterward, and the low reassurances as his fingers traced patterns on my skin until I drifted off.
My body aches in the best way. The tender spots where the rug burned my back only make the memory sweeter.
This is exhilarating and terrifying at the same time.
The thought slices through my contentment. We're playing with fire, and not just the kind in my fireplace. Blake. My parents. The damage I did by keeping his son from him.
But what if it could? What if this isn't just stolen moments and secret touches? What if?—
The distinct crunch of tires over gravel cuts through my thoughts.
My heart lurches into my throat. "Shit!"
I bolt upright, nearly falling as I scramble out of bed. Warren stirs, but doesn't wake.
I rush to the front of the house and peek out of the window, pushing the curtain aside just enough. My stomach drops as I spot Blake's SUV in the driveway. He's not out, but he's in my fucking yard.
I run to the laundry room, grab the first clothes my hands find, which are inside-out leggings from yesterday's hamper and wrinkled T-shirt I wore to Beckett's soccer playdate. It smells ripe as I inspect it, but I don't have the luxury to go clothes shopping at the moment.
The doorbell chimes. Fuck.
The fabric stretches painfully across my raw back as I yank it over my head.
The doorbell chimes again. Three times in rapid succession.
"Beckett's signature ring," I mutter, fumbling with my wild hair, twisting it into a knot that won't stay. "Shit, shit, shit."
I glance in the hallway mirror. I look like I've been electrocuted. Or thoroughly fucked. Both true.
"Coming!" I call, my voice too high.
I pull my bedroom door shut, closing Warren in. He'scompletely oblivious to the Spanish Inquisition I'm about to face.
The moment I unlock the front door, Beckett crashes into my legs like a tiny cannonball.