Climbing from the truck cab, I ignore the boxes and crates of wedding supplies in the back and stomp over to where she stands, arms crossed and foot tapping as the garage door lifts.
“Hey! We’re not done yet.” Not with this conversation. Not by a long shot. I don’t know what comes over me. Or why she looks so damn good when she’s this mad. But I close the space between us with quick strides, crowding her personal space.
She spins at my approach, fury in her eyes. Only she must not expect me to stand so close and the gasp that escapes her parted lips sounds exactly like the sounds she used to make when we made love. “I’m not doing this right now,” she threatens, taking a step back. Her spine hits the wall. Her gaze drops to my lips.
Fuck.
“Alicia,” I practically growl.
“What do you want from me?” The question leaves her lips a whisper. Taunting. Tempting. Pulling me into her universe. I can’t fight it, but really, I don’t even try. When it comes to her, I’m both lost and found.
My lips crash to hers, swallowing her next gasp. She tastes good. Her lips just as I remember. The anger inside my chest is still there, but with every brush of my lips it morphs and fades to a different feeling. Passion. Heat. Desire. My hands grip her waist, my fingers digging into her flesh through the fabric of her jeans. I press her harder against the wall, capturing her moans and savoring this moment.
Because I know it won’t last.
She’s going to shove me away.
She’ll run again. She always will. Only this time I’m prepared for the rejection.
Fuck. What the hell am I doing? I have a girlfriend. My fingers release her as if they’ve been burned and I stumble back, my chest heaving with each inhalation.
“Chase . . .” Alicia lifts her hand to her lips, her eyes wide.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have . . .” I shake my head, shame filling my chest with the realization of what I just did. I’m not a cheater. I’m not that man. Not anymore. I’ve changed. Fuck, I’ve spent the last three years committed to deep and meaningful transformation. Yet one afternoon with Alicia and I throw it all away.
“Why?” she asks, hurt in her big brown eyes.
“Why?” I parrot, unable to grasp what she means.
“Why do you care who Matthew’s father is?” she asks softly.
“I think I deserve to know if I have a son in the world.” My heart cracks a little that I even have to explain this. That she must view me unworthy of the role. And maybe she’s right. But damn, I think I deserve a chance. “I’d do right by him. And you.”
Pain flashes in her gaze before it darts away. “I thought I could do this. See you again.” She blinks as if she’s holding back tears, and pushes past me. “But I can’t.” She marches toward the truck.
“Alicia, wait!” I follow her back to the truck.
She opens the passenger door, grabbing her purse from the front seat. Before she can shut the door, I’m there caging her in with my body. Only this time I won’t be distracted by her mouth.
“Chase. Move.” A frustrated exhale leaves her lips as she brings her hard gaze to mine.
“He’s mine, isn’t he?” I know he is. Damn it. But I need to hear it from her.
17
Alicia
I cross my arms over my chest, my chin lifting with challenge. “And why do you automatically assume he’s yours?” I’m being a brat. I know so. But it doesn’t stop my defensiveness from taking over.
“Because,” Chase practically growls, his gaze flashing with something I can’t quite read. He leans in, one arm braced above my head as his body draws dangerously close.
I hold my breath, my body stilling. The anticipation for his lips on mine has me frozen in place. I want him to kiss me again. Even though it’s a horrible idea. Even though we shouldn’t.
But Chase doesn’t reach for me. He slides past my body and reaches into the cab. His fingers slide along the glove compartment, releasing the latch. He heaves out a sigh, taking something out and then stepping back before handing it to me. “Here.”
“What’s this?” I ask, but my question is answered without explanation. Gripped in my fingers is a stack of photographs.
My heart stops.
Time stands still.
These are of Chase, they have to be, because the resemblance to Matthew is uncanny. They might as well be twins. “Oh, Chase.”
“That’s how I knew.” His jaw is tense, his gaze unreadable as he holds my stare.
“He looks just like you.” The admission flies from my mouth as I flip through these captured moments of my child’s father.
“Keep them.”
I lift my gaze from the photos. The sincerity of his offer catches me by surprise. “You don’t want them back?”
His lips press together, his face somber. “Matthew should have them.”
“Chase. I . . .” I’m at a loss. How do I make him understand? Why I left. Why I stayed away.
“Were you even going to tell me?” The hurt in his gaze cuts straight through my soul. He takes another step back, almost as if he can’t stand to be near me. “Jesus, Alicia. Why now? Why disappear if you weren’t going to stay away? Or is this part of your plan? Come back here. Fuck with my emotions. Fuck up my life.” He runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back in frustration. “Don’t you think our son deserves to know his father?”
His words hit like an arrow in a space where I’m most insecure. That I’m not enough for my son. That I made the wrong choice when I
