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Carrie had wanted to believe that the connection they’d shared was strong enough to override the negativity of her name, but that had been just another wish from her hopeful, foolish heart.
Like many others who’d passed through her life Damon, the moment he had discovered her name, had thought it was all that mattered. But unlike all those others who had wanted to use her because of it, regarding her as some kind of chip with which they could bargain their way into a better life, Damon viewed it as a plague that needed to be avoided.
As much as she wished it was different, she would not bruise her knees praying for him to change his mind and show up on her doorstep. She refused to wait and hope, even though she was feeling the pinch of every silent hour and day that went by the way she had with her father when she’d been a young girl. She had waited and waited for him, hoping with every breath and every beat of her heart that he would show up and show her how much he cared—only to end up crying disappointed tears into her mother’s shoulder.
There would be no more tears. She’d cried too many over men already. Her father. Nate. And now Damon. She was done with giving other people the power to hurt her.
And after yesterday she wasn’t sure she wanted to see Damon ever again anyway. What she had seen of him made her think that she and her baby might be better off without him in their lives.
‘Carrie?’ Marina, the bakery’s manager, popped her head around the door separating the café from the kitchen. ‘Are you almost done in here? There’s someone at the counter asking for you.’
Carrie frowned to herself as she helped the kids to box up the muffins she’d taught them to make. ‘I don’t have any appointments scheduled for this afternoon.’
She had deliberately been keeping her afternoons light, knowing that was when her pregnancy sickness and fatigue began to take their toll.
‘I don’t think it’s about a cake order. I think this is apersonalvisit.’
Her busy hands stilled, her spine beginning to tingle at her friend’s choice of tone. ‘Who is it?’
‘He didn’t offer a name. But tall, dark-haired, a little Latin-flavoured and heart-stoppingly handsome about sums him up.’
Damon.
Her heart thumped so hard that her chest momentarily hurt. Some crazy part of her was joyous at the prospect of laying eyes on him, even as she recoiled at the thought of facing him again.
But surely it couldn’t be him? He’d made his feelings painfully clear in his office, and when he hadn’t been roused enough by her impassioned plea to chase her down before she reached the exit of his building she had understood the chance of him changing his mind wasn’t just slim, it was non-existent. So it seemed highly unlikely that he had taken time out of his day to make the journey to Santa Barbara and was actually standing in her place of business.
Yet...who else could it be?
Heart hammering, Carrie took the few steps over to the doorway for visual confirmation, fully expecting it to be someone else. However, when she pressed open the door just enough to peep through she gasped as her eyes immediately locked on Damon. He was standing side on to her, so she could only see him in profile, but there was no mistaking him. No mistaking that proud and indomitable stance. Or the way her pulse fluttered and flipped in recognition of it.
In an immaculately tailored grey suit and a pale blue shirt that greatly enhanced the golden hue of his skin and the bitter darkness of his hair he looked frustratingly, mouth-wateringly good. Her heart caught as, even from afar, the impact of him pierced her sharp and deep, making her weak for him all over again, making her skin tingle with hunger to feel his touch. And she cursed herself for it. After yesterday, how was it still possible that her blood was singing at the sight of him?
Quickly Carrie released the door, taking a hasty step back from it as the tingles deepened to full-body tremors and her mind whirred. What was he doing here? Hadn’t he already said everything he needed to say? Hadn’t he inflicted enough damage upon her heart?
So what on earth...?
Unless...
Her frazzled mind could drum up only one reason for his unexpected appearance. But...surely not? Surely after everything he’d said yesterday Damon hadn’t actually changed his mind about being a father to their child...?
Damon couldn’t quite believe it. Not only had he voluntarily entered a business owned by a Randolph, but he also didn’t loathe it on first sight. The space, simply named The Bakehouse, was actually rather inviting. The pale walls, wooden tables and chairs and modern, warm lighting all combined to create a welcoming and comfortable interior that relaxed its occupants without their awareness, making them want to sit and while away a few easy hours.
Casting his assessing gaze around as he was made to wait, he recognised Carrie’s bright energy everywhere.
The gaggle of voices behind him had Damon turning sharply and eyeing the group of pre-teen youngsters emerging from what he suspected was the kitchen. Carrie was bringing up the rear, and as his eyes caught on her they stuck. She wore ripped jeans and a simple tee that highlighted her narrow waist, her slim legs and the generous curve of her breasts, which definitely had a new and welcome fullness, and the sight of her had him struggling against the instinct to reach out, pull her against his hard body and plunder her mouth until she was boneless and begging beneath him.
Seeing himself doing exactly that had him throbbing with agonising anticipation, even whilst simultaneously fighting a savage burst of annoyance. She was off-limits, and he couldn’t comprehend why his brain was having so much trouble computing that message or why his body was failing to respond with obedience.
Burying his hand deep in the pockets of his trousers, where they would be prevented from reaching out and grabbing her on the orders of a wayward neuron, he watched with mounting impatience as she exchanged a few smiling words with the woman who was clearly the youngsters’ chaperone before seeing them out through the door and waving them off with a promise for ‘next time.’
Slowly, she turned and met his waiting gaze, folding her arms across her chest as she did so. ‘You were looking for me?’ she asked, her clear olive eyes and smooth expression offering no hint as to whether she was happy to see him or not.
He found that neutrality disconcerting. Not that he knew why. He was not there for her, but for their child, he reminded himself.
‘Yes. I wanted to speak with you.’ He glanced at their surroundings with a small frown, at the patrons too close for comfort. ‘Is there somewhere private we could talk?’
Carrie led him to a small office. It was a bright and happy space, but she remained maddeningly neutral.
