The Saint (Notorious 3)

The baby kicked again, a wicked one-two combination, and I put my hand under my belly in comfort.

A move Savannah did not miss and I knew that under the white dress shirt, Savannah saw that I was pregnant. My eyes went wide and my mouth dropped open.

Shit. Again.

“You,” Savannah breathed to Carter, “have some explaining to do.” Savannah looked like an angry teacher about to give one hell of a lecture that I wanted no part of.

“The baby isn’t his,” I said.

Savannah’s eyes narrowed even farther. “Is it your husband’s?”

I stared dumbstruck and Carter laughed. “She’s not married, Savannah. You can retract the fangs. And there’s no need for you to pretend to be a prude. Zoe’s an adult. I’m an adult. And she was leaving.”

“You don’t have to say it like that,” I grumbled, glaring at him.

“Am I wrong?” he asked, one of those fine eyebrows arching, making him look like some unforgiving ruler. “You weren’t sneaking out of here without saying goodbye?”

Mortified to be having this conversation in front of a kid and Carter’s sister, I glanced sideways at Savannah, who held up her hands. “We’ll be in the kitchen. And for what it’s worth—I hope you stay.” She laughed and shook her head before picking up two big totes that wafted delicious smells and hustling her daughter through a far doorway. “I mean I really hope you stay,” she yelled over her shoulder.

And then they were gone and it was only Carter watching me, unreadable as ever. Bright sunlight flooded the room and illuminated every dark corner, making it impossible for me to ignore all those things I didn’t want to see. The pieces of him on display. Photographs on the wall of a trio of blond kids and an older woman around a giant cypress. Books in a book shelf—the man liked Mark Twain.

The running shoes, slumped by the door, earbuds tucked into them.

I wanted to close my eyes and clamp my hands over my ears, but I couldn’t. I’d gotten myself here and now it was time to get myself out.

“I’m going to have a baby,” I whispered.

Carter’s lips curled. “I know.”

I took a deep breath and put it all on the line. “It’s one thing to have a one-night stand—I can handle that. But if we keep going like this—dates and sex and meeting your family—it’s going to hurt when you leave.”

“Who said I was leaving?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “Maybe you’ll leave. You already seem halfway out the door.”

“Don’t be obtuse.”

“Then don’t be a coward.”

I glared at him, and he ran his hands through his hair, putting it all on end. It was adorable.

I glared harder.

My mother’s words came back to me, all her warnings about being a single mother, about the perils of following one’s heart instead of one’s head.

Only pain, my mother always said, is guaranteed.

“Look, Zoe,” he breathed, dropping his arms to his side and looking somehow deflated. “Last night…I didn’t bring you here and make love to you lightly. I knew what I was doing. Now my sister’s here and she’s brought food, and I’ll bet it’s sugar pie—which you will love. You can stay, see what happens, or you can go.” He shrugged as if all of this was no big deal, and it made me feel totally unreasonable. Foolish, for thinking we were walking into a disaster. But we had to be. Honestly, how else could this end?

I was a pregnant dance teacher without insurance, and he was probably going to be mayor by the end of next year.

“I would like you to stay,” he said, leaving me speechless and weak. All those reasons why making love to him was a mistake, why staying here with him was a catastrophe—were so far away. I couldn’t remember them so well anymore.

Carter turned, walking across the room toward the bright kitchen with the yummy smells and the sound of a kid laughing. Here in his house. I never expected it, would never have guessed this kind of scene could take place in this house. It was like finding caramel under rock—a sweet surprise where I never dreamed it would be.

And if I left, what else would I miss?

Besides sugar pie, which frankly sounded worth staying for.

But this man, this beautiful man with the filthy mind and the broken control and the niece like a firecracker—what other secrets would he show me, if I stayed? If I had the courage to stay?

Stay or go?

Head or heart?

I rubbed my fingers over the taut lines of my belly, felt the kick and flutter of the baby under my fingers.

I did not want to put my baby in the strange prison my mother had put me in.

Just the two of us. Forever.

And maybe there was no guarantee with Carter, but when had I ever needed one? I’d gone into dance knowing that one misstep, one injury, might end my career. There was never a guarantee with any man I ever dated—did I think there was going to be one now? Was I never going to date again, unless the man had some kind of feelings-back guarantee?