His Little Secret

My instinct is to keep arguing, but I came here to play the long game, the forever game, and that’s exactly what I plan to do. As long as it takes. “All right, sweetheart.” I pull her into my arms, pressing my lips to her temple. “That’s fine. But I’m not budging until you do know that there is no one else for me. No other life I want but the one I can have with you. You’re the breath in my fucking lungs, Ripley.”

Her tearful eyes blink up at me, but I don’t give in to the hope that I’m finally getting through to her. Instead, I kiss her forehead softly, leave the room and move the heavy shit in off the lawn.

Patience.

7

Ripley

It’s pretty surreal to be on a date with my Uncle Mase.

We’ve had plenty of meals together at my house and celebrated a few milestones at various restaurants back home, but this is different. For one, he’s sitting on the same side of the table as me with his arm propped along the back of the booth, his fingertips brushing up and down my bare shoulder. As if that’s not making me breathless enough, our thighs are pressed together and I can see the outline of his bulge. I mean, it’s just sitting there like a ticking time bomb, all stiff and thick. How am I supposed to eat my sandwich?

I tried to get Alana to come along with us to the café located in a small square just outside our housing complex, but she wanted to explore the neighborhood with her camera. My best friend has been kind of pensive since the night in the brothel—and frustratingly tightlipped. I’m sure she’ll open up eventually about what happened with her customer, but for now, I have to let her process. And that leaves me alone with Mase.

Right where I’ve always, always wanted to be.

He’s holding me like I’m his girlfriend, daring every man that passes to glance in my direction. His bottle of beer sits next to my pink milkshake, probably making our age difference even more obvious to everyone in this restaurant. Not that I’ve ever cared about the age gap.

No, I have much bigger concerns now.

Like whether or not Mase is courting me now out of a sense of duty.

It hurts to think that might be the case.

That my pregnancy is forcing him to step up and do the right thing.

More than life itself, I want to believe the adoration I see in Mase’s eyes, but I already trapped him once. I refuse to do it again.

“You have to try and eat, sweetheart.” His lips brush my ear. “For our baby.” The words our baby make my core clench. I try not to let my breathless reaction show on my face, but he must notice, because he chuckles. His laughter dies, however, when a thought seems to occur. “You aren’t feeling sick because of the pregnancy, are you? I could ask for some ginger ale—”

“No, it’s okay.” To appease him, I pick up a French fry and chew on the end. “I keep waiting for the queasiness to hit. But maybe it’s too early.”

He relaxes somewhat. “So why can’t you eat?”

I swallow. “You’ve just given me so much to think about.”

“Good.” Determination flares in his face. “Keep thinking. Take as long as you need. I’m not going anywhere, Ripley.”

Relief floods me, despite my best efforts to keep it dammed. How long am I going to keep my resolve when he’s determined to prove he’s committed? “What about the shop?”

His eyes run down the front of me, lingering on my breasts. “I thought I’d spend tomorrow looking at garage space around here,” he answers gruffly, not so subtly adjusting the ridge in his jeans. “I’ll be back in time to pick you up from class.”

The very idea of Mase sitting on his Harley with his black, windswept hair when I emerge from the lecture hall makes my pulse clamor giddily. Still, he might just feel obligated. Or protective since I’m pregnant. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Have to?” He shakes his head. “I don’t think you get it, Ripley.”

“Get what?”

A beat passes. “That I would trade my last breath to have you climb onto the back of my bike.” His voice resonates with such intensity that I can’t help but hold my breath. “To have you put your arms around me, knowing I’ll keep you safe. Knowing I’ll be there again tomorrow.” He turns toward me in the booth, sliding his hand up my inner thigh, stopping just beneath the hem of the skirt I changed into for dinner. “To have Ripley depend on me, trust me, smile when she sees me. What else could a man want out of life?”

“Oh, Mase…” I whisper, letting him nuzzle our mouths together.