Don't Speak (A Modern Fairytale, #5)(108)

“I love you,” he whispered, the words rushing forth uninhibited. “I never stopped.”

Her cheek rested on his chest, over his heart, under the throbbing pulse in his throat, and he heard her breath shudder, felt it hitch in a soft gasp.

“I love you too,” she murmured, her voice breathless but certain. “Even when I hated you, I still loved you.”

Drawing back, she looked into his eyes, then dropped her glance to his lips, leaning forward until their mouths met, hungry but sweet, sealing their words with a kiss. He swiped his tongue along the soft seam of her lips, and she opened for him like a flower, letting him taste her, explore her, claim her as his once again. Sliding his hands down to the hem of her dress, he slipped his hands to the bare skin of her thighs, then to her silk-covered ass, which he cupped, lifting her onto his lap. Winding her arms around his neck, she used the leverage to slide herself forward, flush against his body, arching her back to crush her breasts against his chest as he loved her mouth with his. His fingers continued their journey upward, under her dress, finally resting on her waist, the skin soft and warm under her dress.

“Erik,” she whispered, pulling away to suck his earlobe between her lips, loving the soft pocket of skin, then using her teeth to raze it before letting it go.

“What, baby?”

“We have all night,” she said, grinning up at him. Her lips were slick and delicious, and he wanted so much more. “Isn’t that strange?”

“Why?” he panted softly, grinning at her in the candlelight. “Because it was so hard to find time alone that summer?”

“We only had that one night,” she said softly, the light in her eyes dimming at little, “and it ended in disaster.”

He nodded. “I wish I’d known what happened with your dad. I wish . . . I wish you’d come to see me that Thanksgivin’. I know you thought I was with Vanessa. But . . . did you ever consider showin’?”

She tensed in his arms, reaching for his hands and dragging them from her waist, withdrawing them from under her dress before replying in a grave tone, “We need to talk.”

Oh, fuck. That didn’t sound good.

She paused, climbing off his lap and crossing to a small sitting area with two chairs. She sat down in one and gestured to the other, looking at him meaningfully.

“Let’s sit for a bit, okay? There’s a lot you don’t know, Erik, and before we go any further, you need to know everything.”

***

Laire watched him stand and cross the room like a man being led to his execution, but she didn’t comfort him or try to soften the blow of everything she was about to say. What he was about to hear was going to change the entire course of his life in the space of a few minutes—it would be dishonest to minimize it with platitudes before she even started talking.

She pointed to a bottle of bourbon on the desk. “You want a glass?”

He furrowed his brows. “Do I need it?”

“Maybe,” she answered honestly, and the lines on his face grew deeper.

He picked up the bottle and uncapped it. “Do you want some?”

“I don’t drink bourbon.”

“There’s Champagne,” he reminded her.

She shook her head no. If, after she’d told him everything, he didn’t throw her out of his room and threaten to call Child Protective Services, she would have a glass then.

He poured himself a glass of the amber liquid, then sat down across from her, his eyes worried, his posture stiff.

Laire took a deep breath.

“I haven’t been with many men,” she blurted out.

“Um . . .” His glass was halfway to his mouth, and it froze in midair as he stared at her. Slowly, he lowered it. “Okay . . .”

“I mean . . . at all.”

“Great! That’s great to . . . I mean . . .” The worry lines on his face lightened as he nodded. “Can’t say I’m sorry to hear it, darlin’.”

Her heart was racing as she rubbed her forehead with her thumb and index finger. Tell him. Just tell him.

“So,” he said, “just me and . . . Ava Grace’s father?”

“Well . . .”

It’s time, thrummed her heart with every beat, and she gulped over the lump in her throat. Do it. Tell him now.

“Just you,” she said, holding his eyes with hers.

“Right. Just me and Ava’s—”

“Erik,” she said gently, scooting to the edge of her chair and looking into his eyes with all the love that hadn’t died inside her and all the love that had been so recently reborn in her heart. “Just. You.”

She watched his face as he made sense of her words, as he figured them out and added them up.

“I don’t . . . What are you sayin’?”

It took courage—so much courage—for Laire to share her baby with Erik, but he’d never cheated on her with Vanessa. He’d been true to her, and her heart ached with longing for him and for the years they’d missed together. Erik was a good man, worthy of their child, and it was time for him to know the truth. She lifted her chin.

“I’ve only been with you. You’re the only man I’ve ever been with. Ever.” She stood up abruptly, plucked the glass of bourbon from his hands, took a long swig, then offered it to him again.