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CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

"Good afternoon, Lazarus," my mom says as I remain frozen in shock. "Hi, sweetheart," she continues, kissing the top of my head before turning to Sedric. "How’s Grandma’s handsome little guy doing?"

When LJ didn’t come back to the apartment for a few days after discovering he was a father—settling instead for formal phone calls asking how I was and, mainly, how Sedric was—I fooled myself into thinking I’d have more time to prepare for another confrontation.

Even after I learned the reason for his absence: he’d had to urgently treat the Italian Prime Minister, who suffered a heart attack while visiting Manhattan.

The distance gave me the illusion that I still had some control over my life, even though I knew from the moment I saw the way LJ looked at Sedric that he would demand compensation for the time he’d lost with his heir.

Our son, now filthy from the mess he was making with his soup, starts clapping when he sees his grandmother—and ends up splattering food all over LJ’s immaculate suit.

More to occupy my overwhelmed mind than out of real concern for him, I get up and head to the sink to grab a cloth to clean him off, and behind me, I vaguely hear Mom say she's taking her grandson to get changed.

Suddenly, silence falls over the kitchen.

"Alexis."

I don’t turn around yet—and moments later, I feel strong arms wrap around me, trapping me against the sink.

Aside from the kiss at the hospital and the moments when he had to examine or help me—like when he carried me to the wheelchair—LJ has never gotten this physically close. The sensation of having him near is both intoxicating and terrifying.

I know the weakness I feel now has nothing to do with the surgery. I heard it from not just my son’s father but the rest of the medical team: my recovery has been nothing short of astounding.

To my horror, my knees buckle slightly—and LJ’s arm immediately supports my waist. I want to push him away, but my treacherous body relaxes instead, as if it instinctively feels safe with him.

"There’s no other solution," he whispers against my ear—but his voice isn’t aggressive, it’s persuasive.

I turn in his arms and try to hate him the way I did from a distance for almost two years, but I can’t.

I tell myself it’s just guilt for keeping father and son apart, but deep down, I know I’m lying.

Unexpectedly, without planning, I realize my feelings for Lazarus haven’t changed at all.

I’m just as in love with him as I was during that weekend we spent together.

No—since the second I first saw him on the beach, at the beginning of that morning.

I study his face, trying to stay cold and distant, but instead, I’m flooded with memories of our short time together, especially at his cousin’s house.

Passion. Physical attraction. Desire.

Those I can handle.

And then I remember what Mom said about emotions and love.

Love stays.

Love is dangerous. It takes root without permission.

"I don’t want this," I say, and honestly, I don’t know whether I’m protesting the idea of a marriage between two people who have nothing in common but a child, or the realization that despite all my efforts to hate him, I’ve failed and my feelings have only deepened.

Without responding, I watch as his mouth approaches mine in slow motion.

I could push him away, stop him, but the intensity in LJ’s eyes, like I’m the oxygen he needs to survive, pins me in place.

And I can't run from something I’ve been secretly craving since the moment he kissed me at the hospital.

Lazarus

This wasn’t why I came. I spent three days away, dealing with an emergency, and all I could think about, outside the operating room, was her and my son.

I also remembered the conversation I had with Athanasios and William. Both are good counselors in situations like this—having almost lost the women they love.

Love.

Do I love her?

No, I’m not capable of love.

The second I think it, I know I’m lying. What else could you call the feeling that exploded inside me the moment I held my son for the first time?

And what about his mother—the woman who’s never left my thoughts? The one whose memory kept me from touching another, no matter how badly I missed sex these past two years, because none of them were her?

Love? Is that what never let me forget her?

With a low growl—one I know comes from me because Alexis stays silent like prey frozen in front of a predator—I crash my mouth down on hers in a furious kiss.

At first, there’s a lot of anger in it. I still haven’t forgiven her for keeping my son a secret. But when she welcomes me instead of pushing me away—grabbing the lapels of my blazer just like she used to when I was inside her, unwilling to let me go—I lose myself.

I feel my heart pounding, my brain shutting down. I’m like an animal whose sole purpose is to recognize and claim his mate.

There’s no tenderness, no restraint—only hunger and desperation, like a dam bursting after being held back for too long.

When we finally pull apart and Alexis opens her eyes, I see the same confusion there that’s raging inside me—and it calms me somehow, knowing we jumped into this abyss together.

"I forgive you for hiding my son from me," I say, and I know I’m not just saying it to ease her guilt. I mean it. "I tried to hate you—but I can’t."

"I don’t want to trust you again, LJ."

"You want me."

"Wanting isn’t the same as trusting. I’m still really hurt."

Instead of arguing, I pick her up and leave the kitchen. I’m not surprised that Marla is nowhere in sight. I suspect the grandmother of my son is on my side in this.

"Where are we going?"

"You can’t stand for long yet. And we need to talk."

I choose a guest bedroom instead of the one she’s been using and close the door behind us. I sit down with her still in my arms.

"I’m not made of glass. You can put me down. It’s not proper to stay in your lap."

"Proper has never been our thing. Now stop reacting the way you think you should—and start doing what you want."

"I don’t know what I want right now."

"Liar. You want me."

"Physical reaction isn’t love."

"Physical attraction doesn’t last two years. What we have is passion."

"An overestimated chemical reaction."

I kiss her again. Just like in the kitchen, Alexis doesn’t resist, but this time, she’s the one who pulls away first.

I close my eyes and lean my head back against the chair, feeling certain I’m handling this all wrong.

If I gave in to my temper, I’d push harder, impose myself on her—but that’s not what I want. What caught my attention about Alexis from the very beginning was her unique spirit. I don’t want submission. I want to see the look she gave me that entire weekend at Morrison’s house.

"I want a chance to fix what I broke, Alexis."

"What?"

"You heard me. I want you and Sedric."

"To put your life back together?" she asks, standing up, and I let her go. But once she’s on her feet, she looks regretful. "I’m sorry, LJ. I didn’t mean that."

"Yes, you did. You’re still hurt, and I get it. I’m going to tell you everything that happened that weekend and afterward."

"I already know what happened."

"No. Up until now, you’ve only heard other versions. You haven’t heard it from me . I’m not doing it to make you choose me. I’ll never give up on you or Sedric, Alexis. I’ll tell you because you deserve to know exactly what you’re getting yourself into."