Never Say Forever

I promised myself at Lulu’s birth that if my child can flourish without a father, I could do the same without a man. And I want so much to prove to Rose that the reason I’m in New York for the next twelve months hasn’t changed. That I’ll give it my all while I’m here. That my focus, outside of my child, will be all for my job. Rose has created such a wonderful legacy with her inheritance. She’s dedicated it and much of her life to the care and advancement of women, and I include myself in that. I could’ve trained anywhere in the world, stayed in France, yet she knew I had a childish yearning to experience life in New York, and that’s how I find myself here.

I won’t have her believe I’m not giving this opportunity my all.

I owe her more than that. I owe my child, too. But most of all, I owe myself.

“Believe me.” His voice brings me back from my mental morass. “I’m not about to discuss any of that with Rose.” He picks up his glass, studying the play of light against the dark wine. “But the truth is, if she finds out I’ve been here, she’s more likely to ask questions. And if she found out you left suddenly, she might even jump to conclusions. And by the way, I did mean what I told her before you arrived. You’re welcome to stay as long as you need. The place sits empty most of the year anyway.”

“But you’re here now,” I answer quietly.

“About that.” He pauses, his countenance turning suddenly serious. “I have something I wanted to discuss with you.”

10

Carson

Fuck. Fuck!

I swallow back the words balanced on the end of my tongue, a proposition, a moment of madness. I was about to offer her the apartment for as long as she has need of it, that I could be gone in the morning, leaving her to her life.

Or that I could stay.

Stay here. With her. For tonight. For tomorrow. For as long as it takes to explore this thing between us. This thing that twists my gut, filling my head with impossibilities. I know she feels it. I saw it in the kitchen and felt it in the rise of her chest against mine. I could stay until we’re both sated. Stay until we’re no longer greedy for more. Stay until she finds out how I live my life, how wrong I’d be for her and the girl. Stay until she hates me like I deserve.

“Carson?”

I come back from my dream world with a bump, not a bang, as the ways she says my name tells me it’s not the first time but a repeat. I force my hands into my pockets to hide how they’d curled them into fists, the phantom of her ponytail almost real between my fingertips.

“I’ll be gone by morning, and the place will be all yours again.” That’s the way it has to be. So I don’t hate myself and she doesn’t hate me.

“What? No, I can’t do that.”

“For as long as you need,” I continue, cutting off further protestations. “And I’m sorry about last night. If I’d realised who you were, I wouldn’t have teased you.” No, if I’d realised who you were, I wouldn’t have teased at all. I’d have taken. And you would’ve given because I know I read the signals right.

“Apology accepted,” she replies evenly. “Though I suppose it begs the question exactly who you thought I was or where I came from.” Her cheeks immediately turn a delicious pink, almost as though she can’t believe what she just said.

I bite back the sly grin. Does she really think she can hide behind her wine glass?

“You really want to know? Curiosity killed the cat, so they say.” And this is a little kitty I’d like to kill by orgasm overload, even if my second thought isn’t as compelling. If I tell her, her cause of death would more likely be shock.

“You’re right,” she answers just quickly enough. “I really don’t need to know.”

“That’s probably sensible.” Maybe sensibility is something I should learn. “Where’s that accent from, anyway?” That’s it, do the right thing. Move the topic away from where your cock leads.

“England.” Like I hadn’t worked that part out already.

“London, right?” I tap my finger against my mouth as though thinking. This time she nods, though she gives nothing else away. “What part?”

“North.” The look she sends my way is almost withering. “North London.”

“Hackney? Haringey? Should I keep guessing? It’s not like I plan on stalking.”

“Camden,” she replies eventually and with a roll of her eyes. “Stalk away. In London, I mean. I haven’t lived there since I was eighteen.”

“So I should stalk you in France?”

“By all means,” she mutters. “Given I’m not there, either.”