Heaven and hell.

Laire had heard these words said together in contrast at least a few times in her life, but never, before this morning, did she truly, personally understand the chasm that lay between them.

The heaven of it was that her first love—her only love—had been suddenly and miraculously restored to her last night. To learn that Erik Rexford—the Governor’s Son—was still and had always been her Erik made her shake her head with disbelief, even as a smile of bliss spread across her face and tears of gratitude burned her eyes.

He’d never cheated on her.

He’d loved no other but her.

And, reading between the lines, from what he and Hillary had told her, despite everything, he still loved her.

Such bounty was foreign to Laire, but when she remembered the fire in his eyes last night, she knew it was true: he still belonged to her if she wanted to claim him.

And she did.

She’d never stopped loving her Erik either, turning down countless dates with fellow students, and even Patrick, the sweetest, kindest man in the world. She hadn’t been ready to give up the dream of Erik Rexford, even though he’d eviscerated her heart. Part of her must have still wondered, must have still hoped that one day, someday, he could be hers again.

She grinned, taking a sip of the coffee she’d made in her room and savoring the bitterness as it slipped down her throat. But as she turned her face toward the just-rising sun outside the windows, her buoyancy took a dip. 

Heaven and hell.

The hell of it was that she had borne his child and kept her hidden from him for six years. Her beautiful, incomparable Ava Grace, who slept like an angel in the bed beside hers, was still a secret from Erik. A secret that never should have been kept from him.

She sighed, placing her mug on the bedside table and rolling onto her side. Outside, the colors of the sky lightened steadily from lavender to orange, but her mood remained heavy.

Would he be angry with her for not telling him about Ava Grace? But how could she have? When she’d gone to Utopia Manor to tell him, his mother had misled her and threatened to call the police if Laire didn’t leave. What if she told him what had happened with his mother? Would he believe her? Blame her?

Though he was very good with Ava Grace from what she’d seen so far, did he even want a child? What if he did? And what if he couldn’t forgive Laire for keeping Ava Grace from him? Would he try to take her away? To get custody of her? Laire’s circumstances had changed in six years but not enough to win a legal battle against the North Carolina Rexfords.

On the flip side, what if he felt burdened by the sudden responsibility of having a daughter? What if he rejected her claim that Ava Grace was his and washed his hands of both of them?

Obviously he knew that she was a single mother, and he’d still said, I want another chance to be with you, last night. Tears welled in her eyes as she remembered it because it was one of the best and sweetest moments of her entire life. It was exactly what she wanted too: another chance. A second chance to be together. A first chance to be a family.

Were he to withdraw those words, even now, when their reunion was so fresh and new, her heart would surely break all over again.

I have to tell him about Ava Grace.

Before things got much further, she owed him the truth about everything: about finding out she was pregnant and how her family would have disowned her were she to have a baby out of wedlock, about going to Utopia Manor that Thanksgiving to tell him, about his mother telling her that he and Van were engaged and threatening to have her arrested if she didn’t leave, about being completely out of options. She would tell him that she walked the long way from his house to the Pamlico House to find Judith that terrible, terrible night, and she would tell him that—by the grace of God—Judith had been her guardian angel and taken Laire under her wing. And that she’d turned out to be a surrogate mother to Laire and the very best nana Ava Grace could ever know.

And maybe—maybe, please maybe—he would see things through her eyes and understand why she’d kept Ava Grace a secret, and why she would have kept her a secret indefinitely if fate hadn’t thrust them back into each other’s arms.

Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she grabbed her cup of coffee as she walked to the window and pulled back the sheer curtains to watch the sunrise over the ocean, desperately hoping for the best.

Biting her lower lip in thought, she winced, reminded that it was bruised from two hours of kissing last night. He’d put a chair in front of the roof door to jam it closed, and when he returned to the couch, Laire straddled his lap, pulling the shearling blanket around them as they kissed. More times than she could count, his wandering hands had plumped her breasts over her shirt or slipped into the crevices of her thighs, touching her intimately over her jeans. Because she was a mother, no doubt he believed she was far more experienced than she was. She’d given birth, but all her sexual experience, without exception, had been with him. And it had been so many years ago that being with him again last night felt scary and new.

Except.

She twitched her nose and took a sip of coffee.

Except not all scary and not all new.

She wasn’t as inexperienced as she’d been the summer they first met. She’d loved Erik that summer—learned about his body, touched him, been touched by him, and lost her virginity to him, even if they’d stopped the act prematurely. In their time apart, she’d read books and met different men, and although she’d never been intimate with any of them, she had matured, and her desires were those of a grown woman, not a coltish teenager.

On one hand, she was scared to move too fast, but on the other, she couldn’t bear to keep herself from him physically after missing him so desperately. After years of such poignant and painful loneliness, she wanted the warmth, the heat, of his body on hers.

She reached up to touch her lips and sighed with longing, craving so much more than their deep, passionate kisses from last night. For years, her deepest and hottest dreams had been about Erik finishing what he’d started the night they conceived Ava Grace. And now? Now that her Erik was returned to her? She wanted to make those dreams a reality.

She flicked a glance at the ceiling, whimpering softly, wondering how long she’d have to wait until they were naked in bed together, and—oh, please—she hoped it wasn’t too long.

As the sun cleared the horizon and made its bright ascent into the sky, she crossed the room and opened her laptop, placing her mug on the desk. As her computer rebooted, she turned to look at the perfection of her baby’s sleeping face in repose. Slack pink lips, long dark lashes and ginger-colored hair. Her heart swelled with a love so pure, it took her breath away.

More than anything—more than anything else in the world—Laire wanted Ava Grace to have the family she deserved: a mother and a father who loved each other, and loved her to the moon and back. And now that that once-unlikely dream felt almost possible, she could only clench her eyes shut and wish, with every fiber of her being, that it would actually come true.

***

After their epic make-out session last night on the roof, before they’d said good night, while she was still straddling his lap, Erik had asked Laire if he could spend New Year’s Eve, tonight, with her and Ava Grace. She’d accepted with a smile, her lips slick from his attentions, her eyes dilated and dark.

“What did you have in mind?”

He’d chuckled lightly, keeping his hands on her hips, his erection straining his jeans uncomfortably. “Darlin’, what I have in mind is impossible with Ava Grace in the same room.”

“What if she was asleep . . . and we were in the room next door?” she’d murmured, her heavy-lidded eyes locked with his.

Fuck. This was a different Laire.

And part of him was fucking grateful for that, because he wanted her—he wanted her bad, hard, and as soon as possible—but part of him hated it. Who had she been with since him that had given her this new confidence? It slayed him to even wonder.

“I’m sure that could be arranged,” he’d said, leaning forward to press a kiss to her chest, just above the edge of her shirt, on the soft, warm skin over her breasts.

“Then arrange it,” she’d whispered as her fingers threaded through his hair, keeping his head tilted down and his lips pressed against her skin.

First thing this morning, he’d called down to the front desk and asked for room 206 which was, blessedly, available. He’d be moving as soon as he packed up his belongings. It was only when Kelsey had asked how many nights he’d need the room that a sudden wave of panic washed over him. Today was December 31. He needed to be back at work in Raleigh on January 3. Which meant leaving Laire in two days.

He’d muttered his response to Kelsey, then hung up the phone, his brows knitted, his good mood souring.

First of all, after waiting years to reconnect with Laire, he wasn’t interested in leaving her again so soon. Not to mention, he didn’t like the message it would send her. For years she had thought him a cheater. He wanted time with her to solidify the fact that he wasn’t. Also, he didn’t particularly like his job so he wasn’t exactly returning to a career he loved. He’d been managing his father’s law firm for the past three years, but it was dry, boring public policy work that had never truly interested him. And now? Balanced against spending time with Laire? It felt almost unbearable.

He didn’t want to leave her.

But he had fifteen employees—his father’s partner, who mostly looked to Erik to run things, three other junior attorneys, paralegals, and office staff—waiting for him to return. He couldn’t just ignore that commitment either.

Grumbling with annoyance, he slipped out of bed and stretched, rolling his neck and padding to the bathroom in bare feet. First he was going to shower, then pack, then move downstairs, then meet Laire and Ava Grace for breakfast. He had two more days with them before he had to leave. He wouldn’t spoil them ruminating about his job when he’d have to return to Raleigh soon enough.

An hour later, he was sitting beside Ava Grace in the bright dining room with Laire across from them.

“Ava Grace,” asked Erik after Kelsey had taken their order, “what grade are you in?”

“Kindergarten,” she answered. “But a different one.”

“A different one? What do you mean?” asked Erik, looking up at Laire, who was stirring creamer into her coffee.

“We just moved here,” said Ava Grace.

“What?” asked Erik. When he’d checked in, Shaw Leatham had mentioned a mother-daughter pair who had a place in Hatteras. That was Laire and Ava Grace, right? He certainly hadn’t seen another mother-daughter pair at the inn. “You live in Hatteras.”

“Now we do,” said Ava Grace. “Or sorta we live here. In this hotel. Right, Mama?”

Laire looked up from her coffee. “We just moved here from Boone.”

“Boone?” asked Erik, his mouth dropping open.

Boone was on the other side of North Carolina! It was about as far northwest as you could go and still remain in the state. All this time he assumed she’d lived here, in Hatteras, on the Banks, near her family. When had she gone to Boone? And for how long?

“Laire, when did you—”

“Boone.” Ava Grace nodded. “That’s where Nana lived. Afore she died.”

“Nana,” said Erik, scrambling to figure out who Nana was. Laire’s mother had died when she was a child, so Nana must be the mother of Ava Grace’s father.

“Uh-huh.”

“Is that where your daddy lives? In Boone?” he asked Ava Grace, shifting in his chair to face the little girl. Since he and Laire had found each other again, she’d been reluctant to talk about Ava Grace’s father. Maybe this way he’d get some answers.

“Nope. Boone’s where Uncle Pat and Aunt Sam live.”

Pat and Sam. Hm. Her father’s siblings, maybe?

“My daddy’s a prince,” said Ava Grace matter-of-factly, pulling her juice to the edge of the table and sipping from the straw.

“A prince,” he repeated dumbly, shifting his eyes to Laire and waiting until she looked up from her coffee. When she did, her face betrayed nothing. She just stared back at him, her sea-green eyes concealing whatever was going on in her head. Frustrating.

“What kind of prince?”

“Dark-haired,” said Ava Grace.

“What else?”

She shrugged. “I dunno.”

“Sure you do. He’s your dad,” said Erik.

“That’s enough,” said Laire, her voice holding a warning.

“Nope.” Ava Grace shook her head. “I never seen him. But since he’s a prince, I’m a princess. That’s for sure. Right, Mr. Mopples?”

Wait. Ava Grace didn’t know her father? So who was her father? A one-night stand? His heart cracked a little at the thought of his modest girl giving herself away so cheaply. Had she even known this guy? Or was he some unknown sperm donor? Had he been kind to her? Gentle with her? Loving? He hadn’t used protection, that’s for damn sure. Had he stuck around long enough to help her during her pregnancy? Had he been there when she gave birth, holding her hand, telling her that everything was going to be okay?

Fuck. If Erik ever got his hands on him, he’d—

“Here we go!” said Kelsey, arriving with pancakes and bacon for Ava Grace, oatmeal for Laire, and two eggs over medium for Erik.

He stared at the plate but couldn’t eat. His appetite was gone.

“Erik,” said Laire, her voice soft as Ava Grace spoke animatedly to Mr. Mopples about “the best pancakes in the universe.”

He looked up, his expression surely shattered by his train of thought, by what she’d gone through alone—all because she’d believed that Vanessa was his girlfriend. How he wished he could go back in time and take his chances in telling his mother the truth. How he hated that his deception, meant to protect Laire, had hurt her instead.

He focused on her eyes and found them soft and gentle, almost as though she knew what he was thinking and wouldn’t let him blame himself. “It’s okay, Erik.”

“It’s not,” he bit out.

Laire reached across the table and took his hand, lacing her fingers through hers. “It is now.”

He could see it in her face, in her expression, that she was at peace with whatever had happened. And if she, who had gone through it, could bear it, he would bear it too.

“I’m sorry,” he mouthed.

“It’s not your fault,” she said. Her glance flicked to Ava Grace, and her eyes softened further. “I wouldn’t change anything.”

He tightened his grip on her fingers, his heart throbbing with love for her.

“Mr. Mopples,” said Ava Grace with a giggle. “Mama and Oscar are holdin’ hands.”

And suddenly whatever sad spell had overcome him was broken, and he pulled Laire’s fingers to his lips, kissing them as he grinned at Ava Grace over the back of her mother’s hand.

“You okay with that, little miss?”

She shoved a forkful of pancakes in her mouth and nodded. “Yup.”

He looked back at Laire, who was watching them thoughtfully, her lips turned up, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears.

“Me too,” she whispered.

***

After breakfast, Erik headed out to Utopia Manor to meet his parents’ insurance adjuster while Laire and Ava Grace took a ride to Judith’s condo. Because it was on the second floor, it hadn’t suffered any water damage during the storm, and the last Laire heard, the power would be restored by the third. Just three days. She and Ava Grace would be able to move in—move home—soon.

They moved some boxes from the back of the Jeep up the stairs, placing their small pile of belongings in the living room so they’d be ready to unpack once the power was back on. While Laire checked e-mails on the complex’s functioning Wi-Fi, Ava Grace and Mr. Mopples visited with her other stuffed animals. Then Laire locked up their new home and drove them back to the Pamlico House to get ready for New Year’s Eve.

Erik was joining them at five o’clock for pizza, cupcakes, Champagne, and apple juice, and by the time he arrived, knocking on the interior door that separated their adjoining rooms, mother and daughter were ready to welcome him.

They sat on the floor, having a picnic—Erik and Ava Grace picking the pepperoni off their slices while Laire took their extra pieces and heaped them on her own. This morning, when Erik was asking about Ava Grace’s father, she was tempted, for just a moment, to tell him. To give him a look or slide him a note across the table that simply read, She’s yours, but no matter how wonderful he was with Ava Grace, she still didn’t know how he would react to finding out that she was his. She couldn’t risk telling him in front of her. After their daughter was asleep tonight, Laire would tell him . . . and he’d either embrace the idea of them in his life, or not. Her stomach swarmed with butterflies as the minutes ticked by.

Finally, at six thirty, after too much pizza and a cupcake each, they all snuggled on Laire’s bed together—Laire and Erik side by side against the headboard, and Ava Grace in the triangle of space between their legs, her head on Laire’s lap—watching Up.

Certain that Erik had never seen it before, Laire surreptitiously watched his face in the beginning. She’d never been able to watch the first ten minutes of Up without crying. The story of a man and a woman who’d been very much in love had always hit home with her, and when the wife, Ellie, died, leaving the man alone, she couldn’t help the waterworks. To her immense satisfaction, Erik sniffled once, tightening his jaw when Ellie miscarried and again when she passed away.

Halfway through the movie, Ava Grace was fast asleep, snoring softly, and Erik turned to Laire.

“Want to watch the rest?” he whispered.

She shook her head. “I’ve seen it a million times.”

“You could’ve warned me about the beginnin’.”

She grinned. “Sad, huh?”

“So sad. Lovin’ only one girl and losin’ her.” He paused. “I know how that feels, Laire.”

“Pretty awful,” she murmured.

“Agony.”

Ava Grace stirred between them, and he looked down at her. “She’s wonderful. You’re an amazin’ mom.”

Judith and Patrick had always been forthcoming with supportive comments about Laire’s parenting, but after losing Judith and moving away from Patrick and Samantha, she felt the loss of that support. She was grateful for it from Erik.

“Thank you.”

“Do you want more?” he asked. “Kids?”

She nodded. “Someday.”

He smiled at her, a little sadly maybe, then looked back down at Ava Grace. “Should I carry her to her bed?”

“That would be great. She’s getting so heavy. We have more Champagne. Maybe we could . . .”

“. . . take it to my room?” he suggested, his dark eyes blackening.

She felt the sudden warmth in her cheeks and nodded. “I’d like that.”

“Me too,” he said, sliding off the bed, then reaching down for Ava Grace. He picked her up easily, cradling her in his arms as he walked around Laire’s bed.

Laire pulled back the sheets on Ava Grace’s bed, and Erik bent to kiss her forehead before placing her gently on the sheets. And Laire, who watched this gentle, beautiful gesture with her heart in her throat, couldn’t keep her eyes from watering. Please want us. Please, please, please want us. Please understand why I kept her from you. And please want us anyway.

He drew the covers back up over her sleeping form and turned off the bedside light, turning to Laire. “Ready?”

Now or never.

She nodded. “I am.”

***

Spending time with Ava Grace had been wonderful, and watching a movie, snuggled up on Laire’s bed like a little family, had been warm and cozy . . . but his body was on fire for her, and he was relieved when they decided to cut the movie short and spend some time alone.

Just as they approached the door to his room, she asked him for a minute so he went back to his room and lit the candles he’d borrowed from Utopia Manor today, then sat down on the edge of the high, Colonial-style bed to wait for her.

He didn’t know what was going to happen tonight, but he was wild with want and knew what he hoped for: one, to be buried cock deep in Laire’s sweet body five times before sunrise, and two, to hear her say that there was still a chance for love to grow between them—still a chance for them to be together.

He tried to temper his expectations and hunger with reality—they’d only just reconnected. It could take a while—days, weeks, months even (please, God, not months)—until they were comfortable enough to share themselves with each other again.

That said, if there had ever been a decision for Erik to make, about whether or not he would pursue Laire for the long haul, there wasn’t a shred of ambiguity in his mind now. In the space of two days, every ounce of love he’d kept on ice for six and a half years had thawed out completely until he burned for her. He was every bit as much in love with her now, today, as he’d been the day he arrived at the hospital to see her. They’d hurt each other, yes, but not on purpose, not with malicious intent. She’d been a frightened girl, scared of losing her only parent, lashing out at him for his share of the blame. And he’d been a foolish boy who lied to his mother instead of just telling her the truth and dealing with the consequences.

Now they were adults. All grown up and, he hoped, ready for forever together because he didn’t intend to live his life without Laire ever again. He’d already tried that, and it had been an unparalleled misery. There was life with her, or there was hell.

The door squeaked open, and he looked up to see that she’d changed from jeans and a T-shirt into a simple black cotton dress. It had a plunging neckline and hugged her slight curves—the swells of her breasts, the little belly and slighter wider hips that were new to him, probably left over from her pregnancy. She’d taken down her hair, which she’d worn in a ponytail during dinner, and it trailed, strawberry red and straight, down her back as she approached him.

He spread his legs so she could walk right up to him, into him, eye to eye, breast to chest, sex to sex. He held out his arms as she invaded his space, pressing her body against his, and he wound his arms around her, enveloping her in a strong embrace.

“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.

“Wait,” he said, his eyes searching hers wildly as she sat back down. “Laire, are you sayin’ . . . that . . . that Ava Grace is . . .” He shook his head, faster and faster. “No. That’s impossible.”

But she could see it—the way he was putting the pieces together:

The strange coincidence of her name.

That her hair color was a perfect mixture of theirs.

That her eyes were mirror images of his.

That her father was a “dark-haired prince.”

That he’d fallen hard—head over heels—for Ava Grace, when he met her only a few days ago, almost like his heart knew her heart, knew that the blood coursing through her veins belonged, in part, to him.

“Well, actually,” she said gently, “if you do the math, you’ll see that it isn’t impossible at all. She was born on May 10.”

“She looks like she’s about four.”

“She’ll be six this coming year.”

“Wait,” he said, lifting the bourbon to his lips and finishing what Laire hadn’t. “No. This can’t be possible.”

“She’s just petite,” said Laire, her voice breaking. She couldn’t read his face. She couldn’t read his voice. She couldn’t figure out what he was feeling. All she could see was stark disbelief, and she was starting to get scared.

He ran a hand through his thick hair, holding on to the back of his neck as he stared at her with wide eyes. “But we didn’t—”

“We did enough.”

“You’re sayin’ . . . Oh, my God, Laire.” He stared at her, the truth finally becoming clear to him. “You’re sayin’ she’s my . . .”

“She’s yours, Erik,” she gasped, her heart racing so fast, she wondered if she might faint. “Yours and mine. We’re her parents. Just . . . just look at her. You’re her father.”

“I’m her father,” he whispered, tears welling in his eyes, which he blinked away, staring down at the empty tumbler in his hands. “I’m her . . . father.”

“Yes.” Laire dropped to her knees, taking the glass from his hands and threading her fingers through his. “I swear I’m telling the truth.”

“Ava Grace is my daughter,” he said, looking up at her, a fierce, wild look in his eyes.

“Yes,” she confirmed, ignoring the tears that streamed down her face and down his.

He snatched his hands away from her and leaned back in his chair, his face contorting with anger, his nose flaring and his lips tightening.

“She’s almost six years old, Laire.”

Laire nodded, sitting back on her haunches, feeling wary.

“Six. Years,” he growled softly, his eyes furious.

“Yes,” she whispered, her heart in her throat as she knelt at his feet.

He pressed a hand to his chest, staring at her through watery eyes, his face a mask of anguish. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I tried,” she sobbed, her shoulders starting to shake with the force of her tears.

“What the fuck do you mean, you tried?” he demanded, lurching forward in his seat. “Here are the facts, Laire: I didn’t know because you didn’t tell me. So you sure as shit didn’t try hard enou—”

“I was there!” she cried. “On Thanksgiving. I was there, Erik.”

“No.” Erik stared at her, his chest rising and falling rapidly with each shallow breath. He shook his head, holding his hand up in refusal. “No. No, you weren’t. You didn’t come. Your boat wasn’t there. You didn’t—”

“I did,” she said, her voice breaking as more tears slid down her cheeks and she sat back on her bottom, raising her knees and clutching them against her chest. “My brother-in-law drove me over. Your mother . . .” She sobbed, then took a deep breath. “Your mother intercepted me by the pool, and we . . .” She raised her chin and nailed him with her eyes, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice when she remembered that terrible night, “talked.”

He narrowed his eyes, scanning her face as his attack posture relaxed, and she knew what he was doing: desperately trying to figure out if she was telling the truth.

Finally he flinched, holding his breath like breathing would hurt.

“Tell me what happened, Laire.” His voice was a mix of gravel and thunder, his eyes flinty—as dark and dangerous as she could ever remember them. “Tell me what my mother did.”