“Shut up. I can’t believe you bought her a sandbox.”
“Yeah, yeah, I got that. Now shut up and let me build it before she wakes up again.” He tugs on my hair and walks past me. His security guys come through, high-fiving him, and I look on.
When the hell did he have time to order a freakin’ sandbox?
I run out to the yard. “You’re buildin’ it?”
He waves a hammer over his head. “I’m a regular handyman now.”
“Conner, putting the baby gate up wasn’t rocket science. I’m sorry, but I did it in my apartment. And if you wave that hammer about anymore, you’re going to knock yourself out! Conner!” I shriek when he waves it too vigorously.
He laughs, putting it down and slicing the box open with a penknife. “Calm down, princess. I promise not to hurt myself.”
“Oh, that’s comforting. I see this arrangement is off to a fabulous start.”
Seriously, a few days in this house with just me, Mila, and Conner? What the hell was I thinking?
Oh, that’s right. I wasn’t.
We aren’t a happy fucking family, and it’s only going to hurt Mila in the end. What’s she going to do when he goes home? Hell, what’s she gonna do when he goes back on tour for two months?
No. I ain’t even gonna think about that right now.
“You’re insane,” I repeat in a mutter, sitting on the bench swing and crossing my legs.
“So Mila gets her attitude from you and her insanity from me. It’s a great combination.”
“Who’re you tryin’ to kid, Mr. Rock Star? It’s a hellish combination!”
He smirks at me. “Hell is fun.”
“Oh yeah, I forgot those horns poking out the top of your head.”
“Only one thing pokes out of me.”
“Yeah, I think I’m acquainted with that, if the two-year-old upstairs is anything to go by.”
“The poking is the fun part.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be mad at me?”
Why am I asking him that? Oh yeah, because I’d rather him be mad than us be all . . . comfortable. Comfortable reminds me of the past and makes me want him too much.
“I am. I’m just a really, really good actor. My talent’s wasted behind a mic, I tell you. I should be in Hollywood.”
I roll my eyes. “Maybe you should go to Hollywood and whip out them there lickable abs of yours.”
He pauses, the hammer hovering above a nail, and raises a suggestive eyebrow. “You agreein’ that my abs are lickable, princess?”
“It’s called sarcasm, Con.” I try not to roll my eyes again. Damn, he’s so eye-roll-inducing my brain hurts from it.
“Okay, you stick to your sarcasm, and I’ll keep my abs.”
“Were you planning on giving them away?”
“These lickable babies? No way.”
“Can you stop with the lickable?” I rub my temples with my fingers. “Cryable, yes. They’re very cryable abs. Lickable? No. Just no.”
“But I—”
“I swear if you say that word one more time, I’m gonna smack you upside the head!”
His eyes spark and he grins. “Lickable,” he whispers.
I lean forward, reaching my hand toward the back of his head. He drops the hammer and tackles me, grabbing my lower legs and pulling me so I fall on top of him.
“Conner!” I laugh. “Get the hell off of me!”
“Admit they are,” he breathes through his own laughter, “and I’ll let you go.”
“Never! It’s a freakin’ terrible word!”
He rolls me over onto my back and leans over me, pinning my hands to the ground. I laugh breathlessly, looking up at him, and shake my head.
He meets my eyes and tries for stern, but it falls flat. His knee is settled between mine, and my hands are pinned above my head, and his face hovers inches above mine. When he exhales, his breath flutters my bangs with warmth. His own hair is flopping down around his face, blocking the sun out from both of us. He moves, slightly, and my breathing speeds up.
I swallow, my chest rising and falling. My mouth is dry, waiting, for what I don’t know, but waiting for something, anything.
His eyes search mine, exploring every millimeter of my gaze. “I should finish the sandbox,” he whispers huskily, the low sound going right through me.
“Yes. Yes, that’s a good idea,” I reply, taking a deep breath as he releases me. “I’m going to go tidy up.”
He turns away from me and nods. I close my eyes briefly as I head for the door.
This is never going to work. Having him here, always here, it won’t work. He’s too tempting and alluring and too fucking Conner for it to stand a chance.
By the time he leaves, I’ll either kill him or fuck him.
Both are appealing, depending on my mood.
Right now, with my heart racing, my palms sweating, and a dull ache starting between my legs, it’s definitely the latter. If we didn’t have so much past between us, I probably would be fucking him right now.
Because the way I need to feel him against me is almost overwhelming.
I shake my head to banish those thoughts and bend down to pick up Mila’s scattered toys. This isn’t going to work unless we draw lines. He’s here for Mila, to protect her, to keep her hidden for as long as we can. He’s not here for me, in any way at all.
I don’t need protecting. If one of those dimwits comes at me with a camera around their neck, I’ll damn well strangle them with it. Mila does, though. She’s young and she’s vulnerable.
The media will eat, and are eating, this up. They’ll run it to death, plastering it across the Internet and magazine stands, probably even on TV.
It’s a scandal, right? Heartthrob Conner Burke is a daddy—to a baby he had no idea about, no less.
My decision to keep her will be splashed everywhere, for everyone to see.
I’ll be hated for being the mother of his child and for keeping her from him.
It scares the ever-loving shit out of me, because I know how ruthless the media can be. Last year, when someone pretending to be Tate got caught up in a drug scandal, it went on for weeks. There was no reprieve, no break for him.
And almost worse than the media will be their fans. They’re rabid, almost lethal. They would tear me apart. They will tear me apart. No doubt about it.
And I’ll take it. I won’t have a choice. They’ll probably trend it on Twitter, like #ConnersBabyMamaIsABitch or something, I don’t know.