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“My dad is the founding partner at the most prestigious corporate law firm in Portland. His father started the firm and family is supposed to continue that path. It’s always been expected of my brother and me.”

I stumble over what to say next, mindlessly running my hand over Lucy, and face Braxton. He’s holding his glass in his lap, leaning forward slightly, like he’s paying attention but only against his will. Memories of Jimmy flood me and I choke down the emotion that always follows.

It’s not the hormones this time. I really miss my brother.

“Anyway.” I shake my head and blink harshly to clear the burn of tears. “My brother is the prodigy in the family, the one who always did what they wanted, and not because it was expected, but because he truly enjoyed it.”

“And you?” He takes a sip of his drink, and it’s hard to see with the ink on his hands, and peeking out above the collar of his shirt, but I think he’s tensed.

“I’m not that.” I shrug slowly and look behind Braxton’s inspecting dark eyes to the dark skyline beyond. Lights flicker off close buildings, other high-rise condo buildings have their windows wide open and I can see into their buildings like a fishbowl. “I’ve always disappointed them. I quit school, I moved out, I moved to my own apartment and threw myself into making a success of my art, oils mostly, sometimes acrylics, landscapes but I love the urban streets too.”

My cheeks burn and I wipe my hand across my mouth. I haven’t meant to say so much, but it’s so easy to get lost in my dream and my passion.

“It sounds like your parents are assholes for not appreciating you as you are, Cara, but why are you telling me this?”

“Right.” The burn in my face spreads and I readjust my position on my couch. Lucy moves with me, almost burrowing into my lap even though she’s still on the floor. It’s like she senses my stress and is comforting me. I can’t help but watch Braxton’s gaze fall to the dog and his thick, black brows furrow.

“Well, the truth is, I’ve never had a one-night stand. I didn’t mean to say or imply sleeping with you was a disaster, I more meant I’m the disaster, because I had no idea what to do afterward—”

“Never?” Those furrowed brows are now arched high and the surprise is evident. “You’ve never?”

“Not like that, no.” I squeeze my eyes close as memories assail me. Powerful ones. Passionate ones. That night was filled with more passion that I’d ever experienced. So no, I’ve never experienced anything like that night before. “I didn’t know what to do afterward. Stay? Go?”

“Waking me up and kissing me would have been my preference.” A smirk tugs at his lips and he takes a swig of his drink. “And the fucking-disaster part?”

“I meant I was a disaster.”

“Funny, because I don’t remember there being anything disastrous about that night, Cara. And trust me, I’ve remembered it a lot. Often. On repeat.”

Thump. Thump. Thump.It’s my heart, threatening to escape my chest. At his words, the heated look in his eyes as he’s leaning forward. He’s taken control of this conversation and tossed us on the expressway in the wrong direction.

I clear my throat. Multiple times. He has to sense my unease because that smirk of his is on full blast. Goodness. This is why I jumped into bed with him, why it was my idea. All he has to do is set his intense expression on me with a mirthful look in his eyes and I’m a goner.

I fight it back, brushing my hands down my thighs. They’re sweaty. Clammy. I’m losing control of everything I wanted to say to him and I can barely bring myself to regret it.

Pretending to ignore everything he’s said to me, I say, “I just wanted you to know I didn’t regret it. I’m sorry if me walking out that morning hurt you.”

His smirk widens to full-out grin and he leans back in his chair, arms on the rests, knees spread wide. His head tilts to the left and his simple, controlled movements almost do me in. I imagine clamoring across the couch to sit in his lap so he can hold me, comfort me, slide his hands to my backside or up beneath my shirt.

It’s a disturbing visual, one I can’t shake, and by the way my breathing increases, I know Braxton can tell. I’m doing a poor job of hiding my attraction to him.

I could blame it on hormones except I think it’s likely to be a complicated case of lust.

“Forgiven,” Braxton says. “And for what it’s worth. I’m glad you’re keeping the baby. Even more happy you came to tell me about it.”

His words are a balm to all my nerves. He’s implied it, he’s shown he’s a man who takes care of the mess we’ve made, but to behappy? My frazzled nerves pop, loosening all the tightness I’ve been holding for weeks while I debate what to tell him,ifto tell him.

“Thank you,” I breathe. My hand slides to my stomach, my swollen area that is pressing against my barely held together jeans. His gaze drops, eyes narrow, one hand curls around the armrest until the white knuckles are definitely visible beneath his ink.

“You should get some rest,” he says, and this time, I can’t argue. Something odd and fiery is in the air, something I remember, but even thinking something can happen between us now is ridiculous.

I’m just the girl he knocked up, the new responsibility, and while I’m thrilled he wants to be a part of this baby’s life, Braxton and I are not awe.I need to remember that.

“Good night,” I whisper, standing and giving Lucy a final ear rub as I move. “Sleep tight, Lucy.”

She makes a purr that sounds more like a cat than the large and fierce-looking dog she already is, and I swear, as I head to my bed, I hear Braxton call Lucy to him and say, “You like all that attention, sweet girl? Yeah, I would too.”

Chapter 6