The ultrasound picture stared at her from the fridge.
A tiny, flickering lie. Or a tiny, flickering truth.
She didn’t know which was worse.
Cole spent the evening on a victory tour. He called his mother. He called his sister, Jenna. He texted photos of the grainy image to his friends.
“My son,” he kept saying into his phone, his chest puffed out. “Future CEO.”
Audrey felt like a ghost in her own home. She showered, the hot water doing nothing to wash away the feeling of Cole’s hands on her, of his claims on her body, on the life inside her.
She changed into jeans and a soft, anonymous grey sweater. Armor.
He found her standing by the massive living room window, staring down at the city lights.
“Feeling better?” he asked, coming up behind her. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her back against his hard chest. He kissed her neck.
She went rigid.
“You’re still tense,” he murmured. “You need to relax, Audrey. For the baby.”
Every word was a cage. Every touch was a lock.
“I… I need some air,” she said, her voice thin.
“It’s late.” His grip tightened slightly. A warning. “I’ll come with you.”
“No.” The word was sharper than she intended. “I just want to walk. Alone. Please, Cole. I feel smothered.”
He was silent for a long moment. She could feel him weighing his options. Pushing her now might break the perfect image he’d constructed all day.
“Fine,” he said, releasing her. “But take your phone. And don’t be long.”
It wasn’t permission. It was a leash.
She didn’t grab her purse. She didn’t grab her keys. She just walked out the door, her phone in her pocket. In the elevator, her hands shook. She felt Cole’s eyes on her from the window above.
She walked a block, then two, turning a corner out of sight of the condo. Then she started to run.
She hailed a cab, the name of a bar on her lips before she’d even thought it through.
“The Crow’s Nest. Near the port.”
The driver grunted. The city flew past in a blur of neon and concrete. Audrey stared at her own reflection in the glass. A pale, hunted face.
The cab dropped her on the familiar, gritty street. The salt and diesel smell of the harbor filled the air. It smelled like freedom. It smelled like him.
She didn’t go into the pub.
She pulled the receipt from her pocket. The one from the day before. His handwriting was stark, functional. A series of numbers.
His real number.
She dialed. Her heart hammered against her ribs. It rang once. Twice.
“Yeah?” His voice was a low growl. Rough. Real.
“It’s me,” she breathed. “Audrey.”
A pause. The sound of a distant foghorn. “Are you okay?”
“No.”
“Where are you?” The question was sharp. Protective.
“Outside The Crow’s Nest.”
Another pause. Longer this time. “Don’t move,” he said, and hung up.
She stood under a flickering streetlamp, hugging herself against a chill that had nothing to do with the night air. She waited. Every passing car made her jump. Every shadow was Cole, coming to drag her back to her beautiful prison.
Five minutes later, his old Bronco rumbled around the corner and pulled up to the curb. He didn’t get out. He just leaned over and pushed the passenger door open.
An invitation. A choice.
She got in.
The cab of the truck was warm and smelled faintly of coffee and him. He just looked at her, his dark eyes taking in her pale face, her trembling hands. He didn’t ask what was wrong. He didn’t ask why she’d run.
He just put the truck in gear and drove.
He took a series of turns through dark, industrial streets, past silent warehouses and stacks of shipping containers that loomed like giants in the dark. He parked in front of a narrow, three-story brick building that had probably been a chandlery a hundred years ago.
This was where he’d brought her after the first night. The one she’d tried so hard to forget.
He killed the engine. The silence was absolute.
“Cole…” she started, needing to explain.
“Don’t,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “Don’t talk about him here.”
He got out of the truck and came around to her side. He opened her door and held out a hand. His touch was warm, solid. He led her to a side door and up a flight of worn wooden stairs.
His apartment was on the second floor. One room. A bed in the corner, neatly made. A small, functional kitchen. A worn leather armchair and a single bookshelf crammed with novels and histories. It was sparse, clean, and masculine. It was the complete opposite of her life.
It was a sanctuary.
She stood in the middle of the room, feeling like an intruder. A trespasser.
He closed the door behind them. The click of the lock echoed in the small space. He didn’t turn on the main light, leaving them in the soft glow of a single lamp by the chair.
He walked to the small fridge, pulled out a bottle of water, and handed it to her. Her fingers brushed his. A spark. A jolt of electricity that shot straight through her.
Her breath hitched.
He saw it. His eyes darkened. He took a half-step closer. The space between them became charged, thick with everything unsaid.
“Why did you come here, Audrey?” he asked, his voice a low vibration that she felt in her bones.
“I couldn’t breathe,” she whispered. The truth.
His gaze dropped to her mouth. He didn’t move, but she felt pinned by the sheer force of his attention. This was it. The precipice. The point of no return.
She had run from one cage, straight toward a different kind of danger. A danger that felt like salvation.
She dropped the water bottle. It hit the wooden floor with a dull thud, unnoticed.
And then she was moving.
She closed the distance between them in two steps, her hands coming up to grip the front of his shirt. She went up on her toes and crushed her mouth to his.
It wasn’t a kiss. It was a collision. A desperate, frantic claiming.
It was everything she couldn’t say. I’m scared. I’m trapped. Save me. Ruin me. Anything but the life I’m living.
For a second, he was completely still, his body rigid with surprise.
Then a raw sound tore from his throat and his arms came around her, yanking her hard against him. His mouth answered hers with a bruising force that stole the air from her lungs.
This was no gentle comfort. This was a storm.
His hands were in her hair, tilting her head back. His tongue swept into her mouth, tasting of coffee and whiskey and a raw, male hunger that made her knees weak.
She clung to him, her fingers digging into the muscles of his back.
He broke the kiss, his forehead resting against hers. They were both breathing hard, ragged gasps in the quiet room.
“Audrey,” he rasped, his voice thick. A warning. A question.
She didn’t answer with words. She slid her hands from his shirt to the buckle of his belt. Her message was clear. Unmistakable.
His control snapped.
He swept her up into his arms as if she weighed nothing. He carried her the few steps to the bed and laid her down, following her, his heavy body covering hers, trapping her in the best possible way.
His hands were everywhere, pushing her sweater up, his palms hot against the bare skin of her stomach.
She arched into his touch, a silent plea for more. He tore his mouth from hers, his lips trailing fire down her throat, across her collarbone.
Clothes became an inconvenience, obstacles to be torn away. A zipper, the rasp of denim, the hiss of fabric on skin. Soon there was nothing between them.
He rose above her, his body taut and powerful in the dim light. He was looking at her, really looking, with an intensity that stripped her bare far more than the lack of clothes.
He was seeing all the cracks, all the fear, all the desperation she had brought to his door.
And he didn’t run.
He lowered himself to her, and when he entered her, it was a slow, deliberate claiming. A breath-stealing fullness that made her cry out. It wasn’t just physical. It was an anchoring. A connection so profound it felt like coming home to a place she’d never been.
He moved, and the world fell away. There was no Cole. No sterile doctor’s office. No tiny, terrifying picture on a refrigerator.
There was only this room. This man. This feeling.
His rhythm was hard, deep, relentless. He was pulling a response from her that was primal and wild. She met his every thrust, her nails leaving marks on his back. Her quiet, suffocated life was a million miles away.
Here, she was allowed to be loud. Here, she was allowed to feel.
She felt her release building, a hot, coiling knot deep in her belly. Her name was a prayer on his lips, over and over.
“Audrey.”
She shattered, crying out his name as the climax ripped through her, a wave of pure, unadulterated sensation that left her shaking and breathless. Her release triggered his, and he drove into her one last time with a guttural groan, his body shuddering as he poured his warmth into her.
He collapsed beside her, pulling her into the curve of his body, their skin slick, their hearts pounding in unison. He tucked her head under his chin, his arm a heavy, protective weight across her waist.
She lay there, listening to the sound of his breathing evening out.
For the first time in months, she felt safe. Completely and utterly safe.
And as sleep began to pull her under, her hand drifted down, unconsciously coming to rest on her still-flat stomach.
Protecting the secret she held.
Protecting the child that could very well be his.