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I picked him up and put him in my lap. Stroking his hair, I mumbled, “Yes. I'm your father. I did go away for a long time but I'm back now. My name is Alexei Petrov, and that makes you Alexander Petrov. That's your name, my son. Feel free to use it for whatever you like. I like to think it holds a lot of power.”
“Really? Even for ice cream?”
A low chuckle rumbled in my chest. “Yes, son. Even for ice cream.”
He squealed and threw his arms around my neck. The act stunned me, and I took a second before responding. He was so soft. Fragile. Delicate. Just like his mother. We talked more about everything and anything he could think of. The amusement parks. Ice cream. A woman called Juliana. More ice cream. His love for hot dogs.
Then, he yawned, and his body sagged in my arms. I patted his back like I had watched Vanessa do, and he rubbed his eyes.
“Daddy?”
“Mm?”
He snuggled closer, the soft rise and fall of his chest resuming. “You can call me Alex.”
I felt my heart swell larger than the size of a volleyball. Tiny snores hit my ears and, carefully, I tucked him back into bed.
Soft footsteps from the door caught my attention, I didn’t know how long she was standing there.
With caution, I rose from the bed and followed Vanessa out of the bedroom, shutting the door behind me. Quietly, she walked to the kitchen, and I fell in step behind her.
Andthathad its advantages. The view of her juicy ass and smooth legs peeking from underneath the short, silky pink camisole had my thoughts quickly spiraling from pure, with Alex, to dark and dirty, with her.Mykitten.
Allmine.
We entered the kitchen and I slanted against the marble island, folding my arms across my chest, and quietly watching her promenade from the cabinet to the stove.
“Have you had dinner yet?”
A frown wrinkled between my brows. “You want to cook for me?”
She didn’t look at me when she said, “I’m hungry. Thought you might want something too.”
Warmth spread in my heart.
Considering the hell, I’d put her through, she didn’t owe me a single thing. Not even dinner. But here she was, throwing onions and carrots into a pot, with me in mind. She was like a light while I was the darkness. Rationally speaking, we could not exist together.
But I was selfish.
I’d force her into my world or would try and blend into hers if it meant keeping her. I won’t let her slip through my fingers again.
I arched a brow. “What is it?”
“Chicken soup. Nothing fancy.”
I raked my eyes from her legs to the hidden curve of her ass, and up to her bare shoulders with nothing from tiny straps holding the silk on her body. “I’d rather eat something else.”
The temperature in the room rose a notch, and the way her hand stilled over the pot, we both knew the flames under the pot were not to blame.
She stayed quiet and I watched her move around until the food was done. After a few sprinkles, she returned the lid and moved to the fridge. She took out a bottle of water and an ice bag.
“You gave him a Russian name. One similar to mine,” I stated.
She walked up to me, standing only inches away with the bag of ice cubes in her hand. Her eyes met mine and I lifted a brow. “Why?”
She made minimal movement with her shoulder and frowned at my busted knuckles. “I guess, deep down, I wanted to keep a part of you.”
Wanted to keep a part of me,her voice resounded in my brain. Why would she want to do that when she ran away in the first place?
