He knew what lay beneath the clingy active wear she wore. Had imagined the jagged scars carved by betrayal, had felt the weight of the empty space where their child had been cradled and loved in her mother’s womb.
He should’ve been there to protect them. Should’ve fought harder. Acted faster. Called the police five minutes sooner. If he’d done something—anything—differently, maybe their baby girl would’ve been born. Taken her first breath, let out her first cry, felt the warmth of her parents’ embrace.
Seven years of firsts had been taken from all of them. First smiles, first steps, first words. Birthday candles, scraped knees, bedtime stories. Seven years of memories stolen before they could ever be made.
And he wondered—who would she be today? This child of his heart. Would she have her mother’s soulful eyes, wide and full of wonder? His curly black hair and stubborn determination? Would she have danced barefoot in the grass, spinning in circles of sunshine until she fell into their arms, joyful just to be alive?
He’d never know. Becca would never know.
And that silent pain, that aching absence, was a cross they’d carry with them forever.
His chest constricted with a fresh round of grief, and Becca’s grip on his hair softened. Turned into a soothing caress. He could feel the tremors in her breath through the vibrations in her flesh, and he knew she felt his emotions right down to her cellular level. Deep and raw.
Still, she let him touch her, let him love her, despite the hurts lingering beneath the surface. She’d broken him when she’d left, but she healed him now, and as he wrapped his arms around her waist to hold her tighter, he swore he could feel the ghost of tiny fingers curl around his own.
“Jay—” Her hand smoothed a path behind his ear and over his jaw until she cupped his chin and lifted it higher. Their eyes met, and he saw her.
Perfect. Strong. Extraordinary.
A phoenix rising from the ashes of a past that had tried to break her, she was more than a survivor. More than a grieving mother. More than the product of their circumstances. She didn’t exist in the storm—she was the storm—a testament to her resilience.
And easily, the most breathtaking thing he’d ever seen.
“Kiss me.”
Two words gave him the strength to get to his feet.
And when he stood facing her, eye to eye, he placed his palm over her heart and felt its steady beat echo in his chest.
Three lives. One heart. One body. One soul.
Their daughter lived because they did.
And come hell or high water, he aimed to keep it that way.
Anchored to the earth by Jay’s palm against her chest, Becca managed to stay on her feet despite the full-body tremble testing the limits of her endurance. His steady hand radiated his warmth, his passion, his life-force through her veins, and she felt him there, in the chambers of her heart, his unwavering presence growing and glowing.
His breaths grounded her. His inner strength supported her. His arms cradled her. His love sheltered her. And in the depths of his eyes, she recognized the man he’d always been.
The fighter.
The champion.
The father of her child.
God! She needed his kiss like she needed her next breath, and when he finally fused their lips together, the crack he made in her defenses felt permanent. Her emotions rushed to the surface, embracing his until they were one and the same.
Love. Joy. Sadness. Anger. Fear.
And underneath it all—fierce determination.
His tongue owned her. Stripped her of control. Stole her heartbeat. The problems of the world shrank into insignificance with the press of his body against hers. Nothing existed beyond the way his hand traced the curve of her waist and the lines of her ribs until he cupped her breast.
Her pussy clenched. Hard. The orgasm he’d already given her still echoed as a new ache of longing unfurled. She moaned, and he deepened the kiss. She tasted herself on his lips and craved more.
His fingers squeezed, and she felt the bite of pleasure zing from her rock-hard nipple. Her back arched, pressing her into his hand, and he left her mouth ruined, swollen, wanting as he kissed his way to her ear, down the side of her neck, and over her collarbone.
She tangled her hands in his hair. Pulled him closer. Her pulse pounded, and when he slid his hand between her legs, his fingers going straight to her clit, she bucked against him. A demand and a plea all at once.
