The Ten-Day Baby Takeover(29)

“Whatever you’re cooking, sign me up.” He strolled into the kitchen.

She had two glasses of red wine waiting. Was she the perfect woman? She was reading his mind. He wanted nothing more than to relax and put his afternoon behind him.

“Good. Because otherwise, it’s toast or a protein bar.” Her back was to him, and she was humming—something he’d noticed she did every time she was busy in the kitchen. He forced himself still, to keep from walking up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, leaning down and kissing the graceful slope of her neck. He wanted to bury his face in her hair, inhale her sweet scent, get lost in her.

But he had to be good. So he slugged back some wine. “What are we having?”

She turned and smiled sweetly. “Pasta. Almost ready.”

“Perfect. Thanks for opening a bottle of wine. If you hadn’t, I would have.” What was he doing? He’d been reprimanding himself moments ago about how Sarah had to stay a friend, and yet he couldn’t stop from talking as if he was in pursuit.

She dished the pasta into two bowls. “Sorry it’s not fancy.”

“If you want fancy, we could take this bottle of wine up to the rooftop when we’re done eating. It’s a beautiful night.” Was this a good idea? No. Did it sound like fun? Yes. “We’ll need to bring the baby monitor.”

“Okay, Dad.” She elbowed him in the ribs and flashed a flirtatious smile. That was it. She was going to kill him before the night was over.

They ate at the kitchen island, chatting about Oliver, squabbling about nanny candidates and whether or not there would be any more people to interview. It wasn’t long before dinner was done, the dishes were in the dishwasher and Sarah suggested they open a second bottle of wine.

“The terrace?” Stop encouraging this.

“I should grab a cardigan first. In case I get cold.”

I can keep you warm. He pressed his lips together to keep the words from escaping. “Okay.”

He waited for Sarah outside her room, then led her to the second-floor stairs at the back of the house that took them up to the empty third floor and finally up to the terrace.

The darkening night sky was streaked with purple and midnight blue, the city lights casting a glow across Sarah’s face. She rushed across the stone pavers, like a little kid who couldn’t contain her excitement. “It’s so beautiful up here. Like your own private park.” Holding out her arms, she turned enough to make her dress swirl around her legs.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” He smiled, admired her, wishing he could make everything in the world conform to his will—why couldn’t he have a free pass for a night, kiss her and have everything return to normal tomorrow?

“After meeting your mom, I think I understand why you need space.”

“Very perceptive. Although the physical space is nice for anyone, especially in the city.”

He led her to an outdoor sectional couch and lit a kerosene heater. She plopped down, tucking her leg underneath herself. He set the wine bottle on a low table and joined her, keeping his distance, staying in check.

“Do you want to talk about today?” she asked. “Maybe you’ll feel better about everything if you just get it out.”

He wasn’t much of a talker, especially when it came to things like this, but Sarah wasn’t like anyone he’d ever considered confiding in. She had no agenda, nothing to gain. And she had to be wondering what was going on. “I’ve suspected since I was eight that the man I called Dad wasn’t my biological father.”

Sarah pressed her lips into a thin line. “That’s what I thought. I didn’t want to eavesdrop on what you were saying to your mom, but it was hard not to hear.”

“I’m glad you were there. It made it far less uncomfortable.”

“It seemed pretty uncomfortable.”

He had to laugh. She didn’t shy away from the truth. “Honestly, that was nothing.”

“How does an eight-year-old arrive at that conclusion?”

“I was home from boarding school for Christmas break and I overheard them arguing about it.”

“Did you ever ask them about it?”

He took a sip of his wine, fighting back memories of standing in the hall of the Langford family penthouse apartment, late at night. He’d been unable to sleep and wanted to ask his mom for a warm glass of milk, but he’d instead heard her say something terrible. If I could take it back, I would. But I can’t change the fact that he’s not your child. “I never said anything to anyone until I was much older. You have to understand, Roger Langford was an imposing man. And he was never very warm to me. He was to Adam and Anna, but not to me. I didn’t want to give him another reason to push me out of the family.”