“What? Where’s Alex?” I whisper, my voice is barely audible.
Tate clears his throat. “He’s finishing his sandwich,” he says, running his hand through his hair. “I, uh, thought I could help you. So you can change your shirt.” Yeah, he absolutely sounds nervous. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard the great Tate Steele sound unsure of anything.
“Oh…” Now I’m the one nervous. I don’t know why I still feel like everything’s a game to this man.
“Just for a few minutes, right? You can change and then feed him. The way he’s sucking on his hand like that must mean he’s hungry.”
I glance down and notice he’s correct. Rowan is gnawing on his little fist, and it won’t be long before he realizes he’s not getting anything out of it. I could feed him first, but then I’m still sitting with a wet shirt and bra. The most logical option is to hand over Rowan so I can do a quick bra and shirt change.
Hand over my son.
To his biological father.
The one who told me to go away.
When I take in his appearance, his hair is a little wild from running his hands through it. There’s something in his eyes that’s both eager and nervous, but also sincere and hopeful. Why I’d even put myself in a situation requiring me to believe this man is beyond me. He’s proven he’s only out for himself and no one else.
Yet, for some reason, when he whispers, “I promise you can trust me with him,” I find myself carefully handing Rowan over to him so I can change my shirt. Tate’s stiff and tense as I help him adjust his hold. My son looks so tiny in his big arms and against his broad chest, but the sight does something to my heart. Unexpected tears burn my eyes, but I quickly blink them away. The last thing I need is to get emotionally caught up in this tangled web of uncertainty. It’s all smoke and mirrors. A mirage. The image he just created isn’t real.
I’ll do good to remember that.
Clearing my throat, I state, “I’ll be right back. I’m going to change quickly.” Then I’m gone, seeking the security and isolation of my bedroom.
Trying not to dwell on the picture of father and son, I rip off my top and bra faster than I ever have before, taking a few extra seconds to dry the moisture on my chest. I re-dress in record speed, not even caring which shirt I grab. At this point, I just want to get back to the nursery, back to my son.
That’s when another image of Tate and Rowan pops into my head. The chin dimple. I could see it on both father and son as he held him in his arms. How anyone wouldn’t see the resemblance is beyond me, but so far, no one has seemed to notice. Of course, no one has seen the baby actually in his father’s arms before like I have, which reminds me, I need to get to him before Alex goes in there.
Unfortunately, luck isn’t on my side as I slip across the hall and find my brother leaning against the crib, the smallest smile on his face. He grins widely when I step inside and find Tate sitting in the glider, Rowan contently gazing up at him.
“I never thought I’d see the day,” my brother whispers.
My shocked gaze flies to his. “What do you mean?” I ask, my throat suddenly thick and dry.
He nods to his best friend. “The day he actually holds a baby, for one, but also look slightly comfortable doing it.”
“I’ve held a baby before, asshole,” Tate mumbles, just loud enough so we can hear.
“Yeah? When?” Alex challenges, his grin growing wider by the second.
“Two years ago. I was at a restaurant when a woman who claimed her baby was mine came up and thrust him in my arms,” Tate replies, never taking his eyes off the baby cradled in his arms.
“Not the same thing,” Alex argues. “You held that kid for like four seconds, only long enough for the mom’s friend to snap that picture of you. They already had bidders lined up for that image.” There’s something in my brother’s tone I wasn’t expecting. Sadness.
“Does that happen a lot? Random women claiming you’re their baby’s father?” I find myself asking, even though I’m not sure I want to hear the answer.
“All the time,” Alex replies for his friend. “What are you up to this year? Two already?”
“Three,” Tate mumbles.
“But that’s only because he sleeps with everything with a vagina. He’s an easy target,” Alex says with a teasing laugh, though neither one of us returns the hilarity. In fact, it’s not that funny at all.
Tate blanches before he looks up and meets my eyes. I wonder if he’s recalling what got us into this predicament too. That one night that changed the course of our lives without us even knowing. “I don’t sleep with all of them. Just the ones I want to,” he says, his gaze locked intently on mine.
I swallow over the golf ball lodged in my throat.
Too bad he sleeps with them and refuses to take responsibility for his actions. Tate Steele might actually be a decent human being deep down, if only he weren’t such a selfish jerk.
Rowan lets out a squeal, letting me know it’s time to eat. Tate looks up, a slice of panic across his face, and asks, “What’d I do?”
I can’t help but smile. “Nothing. He’s ready to eat.”
“Can I help?” he asks, glancing back down at the baby in his arms.
“Not unless you’ve started lactating,” I shoot off at the mouth.
Realization settles in and his eyes dip to my chest. I don’t think my brother caught it because he doesn’t reprimand his friend for gawking at his sister’s chest. Her very large, very hard chest, I might add. In the last week, I’ve developed the boobs of a porn star, and if the way Tate keeps glancing at them is any indication, I’d say he’s noticed too.
“Come on, dude. We’ll go in the living room. No way do I need to see my sister’s boobs,” Alex says, making a quick retreat from the nursery.
“I wouldn’t mind,” Tate mumbles, only loud enough for me to hear.
“I think you’ve done enough,” I whisper, bending down to take my son.
Our eyes meet. His are soft and sincere, apologetic even, as he looks up at me. “We’re going to talk, Ash. Not with Alex around, but you and I have things to discuss.”
I swallow hard. “I’m not sure what about. You’ve said everything you needed to already.”
He’s already shaking his head in disagreement. “That’s part of the problem, Sweetness. I haven’t said anything yet.”
His words leave me mystified as he slowly lifts his arms for me to take the baby. I slide my hands through his arms, brushing my chest against him. In true guy fashion, his eyes dance with mirth and a wicked grin spreads across his too-handsome face. “Oh, stop it. It was an accident,” I chastise, as I grab Rowan and cradle him to my chest.
“Best accident I’ve experienced today,” he replies, grinning widely as he gets up to allow me to sit in the glider.
Tate lingers close by as I get positioned for feeding. I’m ready to lift my shirt when it hits me I still have an audience. Looking up, I give him a questioning look. He takes a step closer and crouches in front of me. Rowan is starting to squirm, getting more unhappy with each passing second, but the moment Tate sets his hand on his forehead, it’s as if a calmness washes over him. Rowan just stops and looks up, his attention given completely to the man right in front of him.