Chapter 18
eighteen
CIAR
Ciar had to swallow bile that threatened to spew from his throat during the taxi ride home to Gray’s townhouse. He held her hand, but she was stiff and refused to look at him.
He could feel her body shaking. He had hurt her. Actually, he’d been hurting her since the day he’d found out about Marie and the baby.
All these weeks, and he’d never discovered a way to explain that would allow him to keep Gray and the child. A girl.
A daughter. His daughter.
Day after day, he’d prayed for a miracle. He feared nothing so much as losing Gray, and he would lose her.
Time was almost up, the constriction of loss closing his throat, worsening his nausea. The cabbie called out that they’d arrived. He paid and exited the car, helping Gray pull free after him.
He let them into the darkened house, his feet leading them to Gray’s bedroom, where an open duffel awaited him on the floor. He’d stopped unpacking weeks ago as Marie’s doctor’s appointments had become more frequent.
Once he’d agreed to allow his name to be put on the child’s birth certificate, an instinct to protect the unborn bundle kicked in, and leaving his daughter for longer than forty-eight hours was intolerable.
Leaving Gray was equally as debilitating. Yet here he was.
A liar living two lives.
A coward.
He only told his dad two weeks ago when he’d ambushed Ciar outside Gray’s house and threatened his health and manhood if he didn’t come clean. Gray hadn’t been the only one to notice his odd behavior.
Ciar told him everything while his dad drove him to the airport. His dad was furious that he hadn’t explained what was happening to Gray, but finally agreed to let him handle it in his own time.
Now here he was, two weeks later, and still lying to Gray. Marie texted to let him know that she thought she was having contractions and was going to the hospital to get checked out.
She had gotten checked, and she was in labor.
He knew from the doctor visits that he took Marie to, that first-time moms could be in labor for many hours. He had a window of time to try to patch the hemorrhage in his and Gray’s relationship.
Gray walked in behind him a moment later, her accusing silence pummeling his back. He could at least be man enough to look at her. To see what his decisions had cost him and what they were costing her.
He approached where she was leaning against the doorframe. Her face was white, and her pale gray eyes were nothing more than pools of pain.
He didn’t speak. There was nothing to say. He did touch her. There was nothing in that moment more necessary than feeling her against him—perhaps for the last time.
He dipped his mouth and firmly pressed their lips together, not seeking entrance but begging for it with every ounce of his being.
Gray’s shaking hands fisted his t-shirt in what might have been equal parts anger and wanting.
Her mouth opened, and Ciar fell into her body. His tongue and hands were frantic and needful. While their tongues dueled and breath became less of a necessity, he worked at stripping their clothes.
He lifted her in his arms until the bed was close enough to drop her on the edge, his body already stepping between her legs. Her body hadn’t finished a single bounce before he’d grasped her hips and lifted her high enough to watch his sex push into her tightness.
“Fuck,” he groaned, “nothing is better than being inside you, Gray.”
He pulled her long legs over his shoulders to switch up where he struck inside her body. Her keening whine let him know she was close.
“Come for me, baby, Christ, come now,” he panted, before pinching the bundle of nerves crowning her sex.
She set off like dynamite, causing a chain reaction. The second he felt her body tighten and pulse around him, Ciar’s own release roared up his legs, tightening his balls until there was nothing left but to fill her body with everything he had.
Other than sucking in a deep, shaky breath, she didn’t change her position or speak. Her gray eyes watched him intently. Her quiet was unsettling.
He pulled free, groaning again at the sensitive glide of separation. She looked like a goddess stretched out before him, her lips swollen from his kiss, her body glittering with a sheen of sweat, and her golden waves standing out proudly against the white of her bedsheets.
Time was ticking by. No matter how badly he wanted to stop the clock or how badly he needed to be in London watching his daughter be born, there was no turning back the minutes and hours.
Time. He’d fucked it off, and it was fucking him.
She carefully sat up, crossing her legs before pulling a rumpled sheet under her arms to cover herself.
Gritting his teeth at her silence, half wishing she would scream at him, he pulled on his discarded clothing and began repacking his bag.
When he stood at the door, bag in hand, he watched as Gray stood from the bed in all her breathtaking, wounded glory. She watched him. Waiting.
And waiting.
Waiting for him to be a man.
Waiting for him to be a man who didn’t hurt women—that didn’t hurt her.
He watched as his body’s essence slipped from between her thighs, slowly trekking down her leg.
Gray was gloriously heartrending.
“You promised in Colorado to stick by me in the good and the bad. It won’t be bad forever. Will you stay by my side?
“I will never leave yours, Gray.” He hated himself for asking, but he was too desperate not to.
She briefly glanced at the bag clutched in his hand before finally dropping her eyes to walk to the bathroom across the room.
Her heart-shaped ass, lean back, long legs, and all that wavy hair moving like ocean waves with every sway of her hips. A siren who stopped singing.
“Gray,” he barked.
She stopped and grasped the door’s frame without turning around, the lowering of her head the only indication that he was crushing her.
He acted monstrously but saw no way to explain his actions or their reason without causing the same outcome.
Losing her.
She never said a word before softly shutting the door behind her.