Page 42

Mark arrived in a sleek black town car, courtesy of the firm’s private driver. I rode with him to an upscale restaurant near the art museum. Candlelit tables, plush red booths, a hushed ambiance that made even the clink of silverware sound elegant. He guided me in with a hand at the small of my back, offering a polite but warm smile.

Everything about him was polished and controlled.

We settled into a corner booth. The soft glow of chandeliers bathed his neatly parted hair. A waiter appeared, rattling off specials. Mark ordered a bottle of fine wine for himself. I discreetly asked for water, citing an upset stomach, and we perused the menu. My appetite was nonexistent, but I managed to nibble some bread.

“You look stunning,” Mark said, his eyes sparkling. “That dress suits you perfectly.”

I mustered a small smile. “Thank you.”

He reached across the table, lightly brushing his fingers against mine. “How are you feeling this evening, Lexi? Any… trouble with Marciano’s men?”

An icy chill ran through me. He always did that, bringing up the mob so casually. “No trouble. I’ve been left alone, actually.”

Aside from the ominous knowledge that they’re only leaving me alone because I signed my freedom away.

He nodded, a satisfied smile on his face. “Good. I want you to be able to focus on your career. I’ve recommended you for that big corporate case next month. We’ll be working side by side, if you’re interested.”

I swallowed. “Oh. That’s… good news.” If I could keep this pregnancy under wraps.

The waiter arrived with our orders, mine delicate salmon, Mark’s a rare steak. As we ate, Mark steered the conversation to the firm’s upcoming deals, dropping hints about potential promotions. He even joked about me possibly joining him and his father on some high-profile client negotiations.

Meanwhile, my mind was a drift.

I was pregnant with the baby of a man I once believed could be my future, and here I was playing perfect date to my boss, which would be a problem in itself if Mark didn’t also own the firm with his father.

After dinner, he led me to a small private lounge tucked behind the bar, ordering dessert drinks. I declined the rum cocktail, opting again for water. He didn’t question it. We talked about law school memories, sharing anecdotes about clueless professors and late-night cram sessions. He laughed easily, leaning in closer with each exchange, his knee brushing mine under the table. He was charming, in that smooth, practiced way.

I kept seeing Maverick’s face in my mind, sudden flashes of his crooked grin, the rough stubble on his jaw, the warmth of his calloused hands. Every time I compared him to Mark, my stomach rocked with guilt. Mark was refined and considerate.

Maverick was raw, passionate. And gone.

“You okay?” Mark asked softly, noticing my distant gaze.

I forced a smile. “Yeah, just tired.”

He offered me his hand. “Then let’s head to my place. I have a big comfy couch, if you want to crash, or a bed.” His tone teased. “Up to you.”

My heart fluttered. This is it, I realized. He was inviting me to cross that line. Should I do it? Some part of me insisted I needed a stable partner if I was carrying a baby. Another part screamed it was wrong, that I still loved someone else. But that someone else had vanished into the wind.

He’s not here, and I’m alone.

“All right,” I said quietly. “Let’s go.”

Mark’s mansion sat in a gated community on the upscale side of town. Massive wrought-iron gates swung open at our approach, revealing a winding driveway lined with sculpted hedges. The house itself was a three-story modern affair, all glass and concrete, with an interior courtyard lit by artfully placed spotlights. My mouth went dry.

This was wealth on another level, like something out of Luxury Living magazine.

The car pulled into the circular driveway, and the driver let us out. Mark opened my door, taking my hand to help me out of the back. The front door opened onto a marble-floored foyer, high ceilings, a sweeping staircase with a glass banister. Modern art pieces stood on pedestals. The entire space felt cold, echoing our footsteps.

“Welcome,” he said, dropping his keys on a sleek console table. “Make yourself at home.”

I hovered near the entry, strangely intimidated. This place was too perfect. “It’s… beautiful,” I managed.

He smiled, shrugging off his suit jacket. “Thanks. My father’s taste, mostly. But I’ve added a few touches.” He gestured to a grand piano in a side alcove, a bar cart gleaming with top-shelf liquor. “You want something to drink?”

I hesitated, remembering my newly confirmed pregnancy. “Uh, no, I’m still not feeling… up to it.”

He gave me a curious look but didn’t push. “No worries. Let me show you around.”

We moved through an open-concept living area with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a landscaped backyard with an infinity pool. White leather couches sat around a minimalist fireplace. It reminded me of a high-end hotel, lacking any personal warmth. Then again, maybe that was what Mark preferred.

“You’re quiet,” he remarked as we strolled upstairs.

I forced a laugh. “Sorry. Just taking it all in. It’s… a lot. And, I guess, to be honest, I’m nervous about being here. With you. All alone.”

A knowing smile, he took my hand, guiding me into a large bedroom dominated by a king-sized bed with a gray upholstered headboard. Windows lined one wall, showcasing the courtyard below. He flipped a switch, dim recessed lighting glowing around us.

“Better?” he asked softly, drawing me to the bed.

I swallowed, nerves tangling in my belly.

I could do this. If I intended to pass off this pregnancy, or even maintain a semblance of normalcy, letting Mark close might be my path. But did I really want it?

He leaned in, kissing me gently. His lips were soft, his movements measured, polite, as always. Nothing like Maverick’s demanding urgency. I shuddered, forcing myself to focus on Mark, on his pleasant cologne and controlled caresses.

He whispered, “We don’t have to rush, if you’re not ready.”

I bit my lip, heart pounding. “I want to,” I lied. Or maybe I partly wanted to, needed to. My mind flared with images of Maverick, but I pushed them away.

He left. This was my life now.

Mark smiled, sliding his hands along my sides. He unzipped my dress slowly, laying it aside. I tried to relax, letting him see me in my lace underwear, conscious of every flaw I imagined. He didn’t seem to care, eyes gleaming with admiration. “You’re fucking gorgeous,” he murmured, pressing light kisses down my neck. “But what’s with the tattoo?”

“That biker forced me to get it.”

“Property of Maverick. He didn’t force you to do anything else, did he?” Mark looked properly concerned.

“No, he didn’t. Thank goodness,” I said. It was the truth, even if that wasn’t what he was asking. I let him think I never had sex with the biker.

“But you’ve been with a man before.”

I bit my lip. “Yeah, just one, just once. It seems like a lifetime ago.” That was all too true as well.

“Then I’ll be gentle.”

The bed felt firm under me as he urged me onto it, carefully removing his tie, then his shirt. His body was lean, not particularly as muscular as the biker, but fit enough from time in the gym. He moved with polished confidence, as if everything he did was scripted in a textbook on seduction. I kept my eyes closed, letting him undress me further. A pang of guilt twisted my gut.

This wasn’t passion. It was a transaction. But I obliged myself to let go, to respond, soft moans, gentle touches.

He tried to please me, murmuring sweet nothings, asking if I was comfortable, if I liked it. I tried to pretend I was into it. But the ache in my heart rendered it all meaningless. My mind drifted to a rougher, more urgent lover who’d once pinned me under him with raw need.

Stop thinking about Maverick , I screamed internally.

When Mark finally entered me, it was slow, careful, almost clinical. He groaned softly, pressing kisses to my shoulder. I clung to him, going through the motions, hoping maybe it’d spark something real. But the spark never quite came. My body responded in a mild wave of pleasure, but my soul remained numb. He’s not Maverick. Not my biker. The refrain haunted me, even as I moaned and arched for Mark’s benefit.

Afterward, he curled an arm around me, panting lightly. “You okay?” he asked, brushing my hair back.

I nodded, throat tight. “Yes. Thank you.” Thank you? My stomach lurched at how formal it sounded, but what else could I say?

He smiled, snuggling me against his chest. I stared at the ceiling. It’s done , I thought. The final line had been crossed. Now maybe I could pass off the baby as his. Guilt and sadness warred in my chest. I willed myself to sleep, pushing away the image of Maverick’s face that threatened to break me all over again.

Time blurred. Mark and I fell into a routine of office flirtation and regular dates. I kept sleeping with him, though my heart never truly engaged. My body finally was, and my heart would open to him eventually. At least the arrangement seemed stable, no gunfights, no betrayals, just the everyday drama of big law. My belly started to feel strange, a faint swell I hid under looser blouses.

Finally, I couldn’t dodge the truth any longer. I was definitely pregnant, and I needed to tell Mark before he suspected something else. I couldn’t go to a doctor and leave a trail until he knew. The day I decided to break the news, we were in his office, a spacious corner suite with a view of the city, a much better view than my apartment had. He was wearing an impeccable navy suit, flipping through a contract. I stepped in, closing the door behind me.

“Got a minute?” I asked, trying not to wring my hands.

He glanced up with a smile. “For you, always. What’s on your mind?”

I drew a shaky breath, taking the seat across from his massive desk. My hands twisted in my lap. “I, uh… I need to tell you something. It’s serious.”

Concern flickered in his eyes. “Everything okay? Is Marciano pressing you for more?”

I swallowed. “No, not that. It’s… I’m pregnant.” The words dropped like a stone in a still pond.

He froze, blinking. “Pregnant?” Slowly, he stood, coming around the desk. “You’re sure?”

I nodded, my eyes watering up for all the wrong reasons. “Positive. I’ve taken a test. I… I haven’t been to a doctor yet, but I’m certain.” I exhaled erratically. “And before you ask, no, I don’t want to get married. I’m not trying to trap you.”

Mark’s face shifted from shock to something softer, almost relieved. “So you’re not… you don’t want me to propose?”

I managed a hollow laugh. “No. I’m not ready for that. Marriage is a big step, and we barely know each other. I just… thought you should know. Since we’ve been… involved.”

For a moment, he stared at me, his expression inscrutable. Then he reached out, brushing his thumb across my cheek. “Lexi, I’m… I won’t lie, I’m surprised. But I’m also happy, in a strange way.” He paused, lips curving into a small smile. “You’re carrying my baby?” The question lingered in his tone.

I swallowed. “Yes. We’ve been sleeping together for a month or so. It makes sense. I’m sure it’s yours.” The lie tasted bitter. But I stuck to it. “You could ask the mob if they’ve seen me with anyone else.” He didn’t need to know the truth, that Maverick had fathered this child a month before I ever let Mark into my bed.

Mark’s shoulders relaxed, and he moved closer, laying a gentle hand on my abdomen. I resisted the urge to flinch. “Nonsense. I know you haven’t been with another man. I’m just, I’m stunned. It’s hard for us, men in my family. That’s why I have a twin brother. You’ve met Max. My mother had to do IVF… I’m not demanding marriage,” he said softly. “But I do want to be a father, if you’ll let me. We can figure out the details as we go. I won’t push you away or make you do this alone.”

Tears welled, half relief, half guilt. “Thank you,” I whispered. “I appreciate it.”

He smiled, guiding me into a loose hug. “I’ll do whatever it takes to win your heart, Lexi. We can keep it discreet at the firm for now, if you prefer. No sense stirring gossip.”

I nodded numbly, leaning into his chest. “Yeah, let’s keep it quiet. I just… I need time to process.”

Time to bury the memories of the biker who truly fathered this baby.

He held me a moment longer, stroking my hair. Outside the window, the city glimmered, oblivious to my tangled secrets. As he whispered reassurances about co-parenting and we talked about setting up prenatal appointments, I felt tears slip down my cheeks, silent, salty reminders of a past that refused to be erased.

“I’m just so happy,” I said, explaining the tears away.

I was carrying Maverick’s child, passing it off as Mark’s. A fresh ache bloomed, but I let Mark’s gentle words soothe me. Because what else could I do?