Page 28 of Promise

He sounds contrite, but his actions . . . they always speak differently.

“And I want to come home.” He blinks hard and drops his gaze.

Time seems to freeze as I process what he’s asking.

“You aren’t suggesting you stay here, are you?” I finally state, my voice trembling. My emotional state matches the quiver.

“I’m not suggesting it, I’m stating a fact. I’m here to stay. I’m home.”

His forearms flex on the table surface. Forearms I do not need to distract me, with their ink and their raised veins, and their overall strength.

Why the hell are his forearms so attractive?

Those arms that once held me. Looped over my shoulder as we sat somewhere or circled around my back when we danced. He’d drape his arm over my waist when we slept and brace himself on those arms when he was over me, entering me, moving in time with my heartbeat.

And dammit . . . I do not want to think about those arms.

“Absolutely not,” I counter, unable to pull my gaze from his forearms.

“Absolutely.” His smile grows larger, catching me staring at his arms. He makes fists, forcing the strength in them to pop just the slightest bit.

Our eyes lock on one another, and the tension between us heightens, like a thick fog, heavy and blinding.

I should be afraid of what I can’t see, and yet, an electric current exists within me. A pull to give in, to push through the opaque veil and seek the sunshine behind it.

I clench my thighs beneath the table, squirming a little bit. Like my body recognizes something I don’t. I cross my legs to stop the sudden pulse, but the position only heightens the thumping rhythm. I clutch at the sides of my seat, mentally willing my body to stop responding to Dart’s gaze. A gaze where he quirks one eyebrow, like his body reads mine. He senses my unease, and the lion in him is ready to pounce.

A sharp squawk turns both our heads.

Mirabelle.

Through the mesh sides around the bassinet, I see her legs move. A synchronized lift within the swaddling blanket around them. She lets out a second squeak, announcing she’s awake and needs me, and I’m so grateful for the distraction.

Shoving off my chair, I watch Dart move just as quickly, beating me to the bassinet.

He gazes down at Mirabelle, and I pause for some reason, giving him a minute to admire her.

Does he see what I see in her? Love. Hope. A future.

Hesitantly, he reaches into the bassinet, running the thick pad of his finger over her clenched knuckles. Mirabelle opens her fist, and Dart slips his finger into her tiny palm.

She wraps her fingers around his single one. The response is natural. An instinct to grasp. And yet the way Mirabelle appears to focus on Dart, matching the surprised stare he gives back to her, something in my chest cracks.

“She’s so beautiful,” he whispers, his voice rough with awe. “Just like her momma.”

I swallow thickly, licking my lips as well, knowing she’ll never look like me. Maybe she’ll have similar features one day, but she’ll always have her own special, unique beauty.

“Can I hold her?” His tone is still thick, his eyes fixed on her, like he can’t look away.

I reach into the bassinet, causing him to step aside, and I pick her up, but then hand her to him.

“Hold her head,” I gently warn.

Dart cups the back of her tiny head, using his other hand to hold her butt. Mirabelle continues to watch him, blindly trusting that he won’t drop her. He’ll keep her safe.

Slowly, he lifts her and presses a kiss to her forehead, closing his eyes a second before springing them open and glancing at me.

The well of those whiskey eyes is so deep, I don’t have a clue what he’s thinking or feeling. Only that he swallows hard once more and tugs her to his shoulder, like he’s seen me hold her.