He doesn’t know why he stops there. Why he doesn’t say more. It would be so easy to tell her about Serena. But tell her what? That he became a hermit after she died? That he was celibate for seven years until he met Tessie? That her death was his fault? What would she think of him, learning how far he’d sunk?
“I love dogs,” Tessie says, picking up the dropped conversation. Her expression says she won’t press. “You know, I used to have a dog. Mr. Bones. He was the best. A ratty little troublemaker we got from the pound. Scruffy, kinda like this.” She puffs a laugh, leaning forward to rub a hand over Solomon’s disheveled beard. “My mom trusted me to take care of him. And one day, he ran off. I was so nice to that dog. As a kid, I never understood why he left. Now, of course, I realize he probably got hit by a car or picked up by someone else.” Gaze drifting to the sheets, she wets her lips. “Dogs leave. People leave. And they especially leave me.”
She doesn’t say it in a sad way. She says it in a this-is-how-it-is way.
Like a snap of realization, Solomon gets it.
This.
This is why she’s a wall. Why she’s so dead set on him being all in or all out. Because she was hurt. Because every time she trusts, every time she brings someone into her life, they show her she’s better off alone.
The thought leaves Solomon with a hole in his heart.
“I don’t run off, Tessie,” he says, nudging her chin up so he can search her soft brown eyes. “I don’t leave. Especially you.”
A little shrug. “That’s true. You haven’t.”
Only Solomon hears the unsaid. Yet.
Because tomorrow, he has to go.
Gaze drifting, he takes in his duffel bag on the dresser.
Misunderstanding where his mind has gone, Tessie scoots out of the bed, the covers slipping off her slender body. All tan lines and bronze flesh. “I’m going to shower.” The smile on her face drops. “You should pack.” Her voice is high, strained.
“Tess—”
“Come join me when you’re done?” she offers, her smile tepid.
With a stiff nod, he watches her shimmy off toward the shower. The wiggle of her supple ass, the sway of her hips have him hardening, the hand on her belly has him softening.
Christ.
He’s fucked.
Once again, Solomon’s gaze drifts to his duffel bag. When the sun comes up, they’ll part ways. He got what he came to Mexico to get. An arrangement that works for them both in regards to his son.
His heart pounds in his jugular.
But it’s not what he wants.
Forty-eight hours ago, he was so sure that everything—with the exception of his son—was temporary.
Only, he doesn’t want temporary anymore.
He wants Tessie.
The bright sunlight and the hard thumps in her belly call Tessie awake. She blinks, unable to move.
She looks around for the cause of her stranglehold, only to see that it’s Solomon. His arm wrapped high around her waist in a protective, claiming embrace, pressing her tight against his muscled body.
A smile tugs at her lips. It’s nice. Being held. This is so much better than wrapping herself up in Solomon’s stolen shirt at home, the one she hides beneath her pillow. She sighs and, unable to help it, snuggles closer to him. So much better. The real deal.
Which is why he needs to go.
It was during a middle-of-the-night pee break that she came to this conclusion. She wants him to stay, which means he should leave. Because she’s getting attached. It’s getting harder and harder for her to keep her distance. The way he took care of her yesterday. . .
Her body ignites every time she’s within two feet of him.
Still. . .
He’s nice to look at.
Silently, she examines Solomon Wilder. In sleep, he looks like a calm, slumbering giant. With gentle fingers, she traces the sun on his tan skin, the glance of light lingering across his brow. She angles in to huff his wiry black beard. Then she lifts the sheet and ogles. Damn right, she ogles.
“Got something you want to tell me, Tess, or are you just gonna stare at me all morning?” The deep rumble of his voice shakes her.
She jumps and grabs his shoulders. His grip on her tightens.
She scoffs. “You sleep like a predator.”
He cracks an eye. A smile.
Her heart flips.
A broad hand slides over her bare hip as he says, “You just tell me where you want me to prowl.”
Swallowing, she imagines Solomon prowling around her like a growling forest creature. Her gaze flits to the clock. Her jaw drops. She gasps. “Solomon.”
“What is it?” He leans up on an elbow, his concerned gaze flying to her stomach. “Tessie?”
“It’s ten. We slept in.”
He raises his stunned face, smearing a hand across weary eyes. “Fuck. First time in a goddamn long time.”
Sighing, she flops onto her back and stretches out her limbs, enjoying the freedom, the slice of warm sun. A lazy decadence she’s never allowed herself. She smiles at the ceiling.
This. This is what she came here to do.
A loud pounding on the door has Solomon’s face screwing up. “Did you order food?”
“No. Maybe it’s coffee,” she says hopefully, scooting out of bed. If there’s one thing that will get her moving, it’s that bright kick of hope that is caffeine.
He tries to reach for her. “Stay. I’ll go.”
She slips on a robe. “I got it.”
Eagerness a bright bubble in her step, she makes for the front door. But what she sees through the peephole has her mouth dropping.
Holy shit.
What the hell is he doing here? One thousand miles away from LA.
Heart pounding, Tessie adjusts her robe over her bump and wipes her face, wishing she were in her go-to heels and pencil skirt. Greeting her boss with bedhead and dried drool on the corner of her mouth isn’t exactly a career-making moment.
Another pound on the door.
She pulls it open.
“Atlas, what—”
Without waiting for an invitation, he strides in. “What am I doing here?” He spins on his heel in typical dramatic fashion. “I am here, Truelove, because after your little email yesterday, I figured I’d need to come and talk some sense into you personally.”
She frowns. “So you flew down here to what? Scold me?”
“I flew down to bring you back.” Glancing over his shoulder, he scans the room. His lips curl up. “Glad to see we pay you too much.”
She resists the urge to snort. To search for a high heel to throw at his stupid, smug face. That’s the fucking lie of the century. Pays her too much. She had to beg for a raise even with her promotion.
“Truelove.” Atlas claps, the sound echoing in the quiet space. “We are swamped. Like I told you, Ben Moreno wants to redo his Beverly Hills restaurant. He’s requested you. Personally.”
She blinks. It’s an honor, but it isn’t going to happen. She inhales, steels her spine. “And like I told you, that’s wonderful. And I will do all that when I get back to LA. Right now, I’m on vacation.”
“Then consider your vacation request denied.” The dismissive flap of his hand has her blood boiling.
She grinds her teeth, presses hands to her belly to steady herself. “But—”
“The client doesn’t wait. You know that.”
“Then he’s not my client,” she says with a bitter laugh. “This is my first vacation in years, Atlas. Years. I need this.”
He sneers. “I need you, Truelove. You’re my best designer. Even if you are—” And then he waves a hand in the vicinity of her stomach.
Oh.
Oh hell fucking no.
Anger worms its way inside her. Suddenly, Tessie’s seeing her future at Atlas Rose Design bright and clear. Unrealistic expectations. Late hours. Working every weekend. In the past, she was willing to overlook the demands of the job to build her career, but this is not what she wants anymore. At all.
If he’s asking this of her now, what will he ask when her son has a baseball game, when she has to pick him up early from daycare? God, what about when she’s on maternity leave and breastfeeding and weepy and leaking from every orifice? The answer resounds, loud and clear: a big fat no.
Sure, she can work hard, be a single mother, and raise a child. Her mother did it; she can do it. But if she stays at her firm, she’ll be wrecked. She doesn’t want to just survive a job; she wants to thrive. To have a life with her son. To put him first.
To put herself first.