For the first time since moving into the cottage six months earlier, Lily wished it were bigger. She’d never felt that way before, when it had just been her and Jack. But Robert had a way of filling up a room. It seemed as if she couldn’t turn around without bumping into him, without touching him, without making eye contact. With the high-wire tension zinging between them like erratic electricity, she figured she’d be lucky to walk away from this encounter without getting burned.
She still couldn’t quite believe Robert was back, larger than life and full of questions she had absolutely no desire to answer. Worse, she couldn’t believe he was staying in her house. Of all the terrible things she could have faced in Rebelia, this was the one scenario she’d never anticipated.
She might still be attracted to him. She might even have feelings for him buried deep in the recesses of her heart. But there was no way she could ever give in to them. Letting him go all those months ago had been the most difficult thing she’d ever had to do. Hurting him had shattered her into a thousand pieces. Pieces she was still trying to put back together.
Lily told herself she hadn’t had a choice. Losing a giant piece of her heart had been a price she’d been willing to pay. A sacrifice she’d been willing to make. No matter how much she wanted to tell him the truth, she knew that was the one thing she could never do. To open her heart to him now would put him in grave danger, would put Jack in danger. She might have learned to live without Robert in the last months, but she would never be able to live with herself knowing his blood was on her hands.
She had Jack to think about now. Her son was all that mattered. They’d gotten along just fine without Robert up until now and would continue to do so long after he left.
After settling Jack into his homemade high chair, Lily started some water boiling on the stove, then turned to her son. “You have a piece of toast to finish, big guy.”
“Toh!” Jack squealed in delight.
“That’s right. Toast.” Smiling, she picked up the soggy bread and put it in a tiny outstretched hand. “Here you go.”
“Toh! Gah!” Little Jack kicked his chubby legs and clutched the flaccid toast with fat fingers.
“Okay, big bite,” she said and he chomped down on the bread with tiny, hit-or-miss teeth.
The kettle began to whistle. When Lily turned to pour water over oatmeal, she saw the toast sail across the small kitchen and smack into a lean, denim-clad leg. She looked up to see Robert standing in the doorway, felt her breath leave her lungs in a single, quick rush.
Oh, my, the man was something to look at.
“Kid has a hell of an arm. You ever consider putting him in little league?”
Horrified, she glanced at the jelly dribbling down his thigh. “Do you want me to get that?”
“You’ve got your hands full. If you’ll just point me in the direction of a towel.”
“There, by the sink.”
“Right.”
He walked to the sink, snagged the towel and began wiping at the jelly. His dark brown hair was still wet from a shower and combed straight back revealing thick, arched brows and a high forehead. The jeans he wore hugged lean hips and muscular thighs and…well, she wouldn’t think about the rest. The flannel shirt he’d been buttoning when he walked into the room had fallen open to reveal a dark thatch of hair and a lot more muscle than she remembered. For an instant, she could only stare and try not to remember what it had felt like to run her fingers over that muscled chest and those flat nipples.
When she looked up he was staring at her. The air between them shifted and thickened. Jack’s incessant baby talk faded to a pleasant hum. Lily knew she was staring, but she couldn’t seem to stop. Good Lord, she’d forgotten just how good Robert Davidson looked. And she’d definitely forgotten the effect he had on her.
Keenly aware of the blood suffusing her cheeks, she turned to the stove and twisted off the single burner to the off position. Behind her, she could hear Robert talking to Jack—something about the Cincinnati Reds—but she didn’t dare turn around. Not when her heart was pinging in her chest like beads in a baby’s rattle.
She couldn’t believe her composure had crumpled at the mere sight of him. She’d had nerves of steel when it came to dealing with Bruno DeBruzkya. But one look at Robert Davidson’s chest and those nerves melted like chocolate.
“Okay, slugger, whatcha got there?”