I’m lost in Zane’s kiss. It’s so soft and sweet, while still being passionate and pleasurable beyond measure. I’ve only ever experienced anything like it one time. Fuzzy memories flood my brain as I realize why it feels so wonderfully familiar to kiss Zane.
My palms push lightly on his broad, firm chest. He immediately takes the hint, pulls back, and helps right me on my feet.
I blink at him, feeling utterly stunned. My lips fall open and snap back shut as I frown and try to figure out how to make the swirling thoughts in my mind emerge coherently.
Zane’s gorgeous eyes are gazing at me as if I’m a decadent chocolate dessert that he can’t wait to devour. It’s tempting to let his warm look wash over me and make everything feel better, but I refuse to ignore the significant concerns that are making my heart hammer uncomfortably in my chest.
Glaring up at him, I say, “I remember that kiss… It was you.”
My palms involuntarily go to my abdomen to protect my baby as full realization ripples through my awareness.
I half-expect him to deny the accusation or claim he doesn’t know what I’m talking about, so when he doesn’t, I become even more convinced that my faded memories are accurate.
“It’s you. You’re the father of my baby,” I screech, not caring in the heat of the moment that I’m drawing attention and making a spectacle of myself.
Zane’s eyes are filled with concern, worry, and what appears to be affection as he stares at me, remaining frustratingly silent.
“Deny it,” I dare him, lifting my chin in his direction, knowing intuitively that he won’t put forth a denial because he can’t.
Gran steps forward and says loudly, “I can’t keep a secret worth diddly-squat, so everyone here probably already knew you got knocked up. You don’t have to yell about it. The good news is, with this hottie as the father, your child is sure to be a looker.”
Several people in the crowd chuckle awkwardly at her bold statement of approval, but I ignore her. I’m too consumed by the realization that Zane lied to me and has continued lying to me this entire time.
“How could you?” I ask him. My voice is barely above a whisper, but I know he hears me.
“I was going to tell you,” he starts, but I cut him off by rolling my eyes and muttering, “Right.”
“Please.” He holds out a hand in my direction, but I snatch mine back from him as if it has been scalded. The sad realization that I have been burned by him courses through my veins as I struggle to keep the tears at bay that are clogging my throat.
Now that Zane’s kiss has allowed some of my memories to start to return, mental snapshots of our night together flash through my brain. Vivid images of soft touches, lingering kisses, and tangled limbs as we rolled across the mattress together take over my brain.
I lift a hand to my forehead to try to stop them. I want to be angry with Zane for lying to me, rather than aroused by the passionate recollections.
Gran misunderstands the gesture and leans forward to stage whisper, “Was the sex bad? Did you have to fake it? I don’t suggest doing that because it sets a bad precedent. I faked it once to get it over with, but regretted it every time we were together after that.”
The onlookers gaze around at each other, silently sharing the awkwardness of overhearing Gran speak so frankly about sex.
Wanting to immediately shut down this conversation, I shake my head at Gran before saying, “No, I didn’t have to fake anything with him.”
At the warm look Zane gives me, I add, “Except our entire relationship.”
Ignoring the startled gasps around me, I place my hand over my mouth and run through the sand toward the solace and shelter of the restaurant’s powder room.