Burning Hearts: A Second Chance Secret Baby Romance Page 2

  “You shouldn’t make me touch you like this.”

  “Yeah? What are you going to do about it?”

  In an instant, Boone’s hand is removed from my stomach and pressing against the small of my back instead. He pulls me against him, hard and fast.

  In such close proximity, I realize exactly how small I am compared to his massive physique.

  He takes my jaw in his other hand, turning my face upward.

  With a purr of hunger, he stoops to kiss me.

  It’s a kiss that I never want to end.

  “I leave tomorrow,” he warns me, pulling away from my lips like he’s giving up breathing. “Wall Street.”

  “I know,” I admit. “I’m leaving, too. Transferring schools. My parents want me on the west coast.”

  “As far away from me as possible, huh?”

  “Something like that. But tonight...”

  Boone kisses me again, and there’s something even more intense in his touch. I move against his body, relishing his everything.

  The hardness of his chest. The thickness of his hair. His lips, so hot and brutally tender.

  His scent—like leather and smoke.

  His cock, pressing demandingly against my belly in a way that makes me want to beg him to take me with him.

  Given the opportunity...I could make this man my entire fucking world.

  “We only have tonight, then,” Boone says with a sad little shake of his head. “Margot...you deserve more than just one night.”

  “So do you,” I tell him.

  When I look into his eyes, I see the pain there. He’s hurting—and I know he’s hurting for me.

  “But if tonight is all we have...Boone, when it comes to you, I can’t live with a what if.”

  As he picks me up and carries me to his bed the same way he carried me out of that burning building, I know we’re making the right choice.

  One night together.

  If that’s all we can have, then this is the way it has to be.

  Chapter 3

  Boone

  I take a moment to stand perfectly still and listen.

  My ears don’t turn like those of a horse, a dog, or a deer, but they’re acutely aware of the noise around me.

  It has taken me years to perfect this fucking skill—three and a half, to be precise.

  But the practice has paid off.

  Not only is my hearing so well defined that I can hear the deer I’m hunting eat grass about eight hundred meters away, but my sense of smell kicks in and tells me it’s a young one, maybe about two or three years old. The older deer tend to have a stronger smell. In all my time up here, I haven’t quite worked out why this is so.

  My theory has to do with good old vanity.

  Yep, sounds crazy I know, but animals are just as keen to look and smell good as us, humans. Okay, so there’s no make up, nor plastic surgery, nor expensive perfume, but I have seen animals do some crazy shit to come up looking their best.

  Last fall, I watched a young bear roll in the dirt before jumping into the water. He repeated this process several times before drying off in the sun. Intrigued by this and seeing how great he looked afterwards, I tried using gravelly dirt to wash my own hair, but I wasn’t that impressed with it.

  Anyway, as the animals get older, I think they spend less time on their grooming habits and, therefore, smell more.

  With my mind reasonably calm, I open my eyes again and keep striding upwards. Deer tend to graze in the higher, more exposed parts of the mountain, as opposed to lower down, among the trees and lush green grass. A survival mechanism, from what I know of their habits.

  Five strides on and I stop again.

  Something else was there on the mountain, something other than my dinner. I frown and strain to make sense of the signals I’m picking up. But I can’t make sense of the noise, which seems more like the static a radio makes between two channels, and when in need of tuning.

  A swarm of bees can make that kind of noise, too, but I can’t smell honey. The smell of honey and bees go hand in hand.

  Slowly, I keep going. I’m exercising caution to make sure I don’t come across someone or something I don’t want to.

  If, heaven forbid, people have strayed into my territory, I don’t want to fucking run into them. I left city life behind several years ago, and I’d rather not have it visit me.

  I like my privacy. I don’t want nosy do-gooders snooping around. If what my senses are picking up are human, I’m out of here. I shake my head, as if to clear away an annoying insect.

  However, the pitter patter of memories refuses to be stopped. Suddenly, my head is filled with pictures of burning buildings. I can hear people screaming, sirens wailing, and I smell smoke.

  I stop.

  My chest heaves.

  It’s as if I’ve stepped back in time, and picked up where I left off.

  Another fire alarm goes off, another daring rescue is staged. Some survive the ordeal, others don’t. Not all the fires could have been prevented, but then again, a lot of them could have.

  Corruption combined with poor building practices left many people fighting for their lives. Of course, I could never prove any of it, but those of us who worked on the front line saving poor innocent souls, knew what the fuck was going on.

  Money always changes hands to hide that sort of stuff. And if you do speak out, you start watching your back every step of the way.

  It’s only when I start grinding my teeth that I realize my fists are clenched and my jaw is set.

  Take a deep breath, I tell myself and practice some meditative breathing.

  But it’s no use. Those unwanted pictures keep playing over and over in my head as if someone’s pressed the repeat button.

  And then I see her.

  Margot.

  The woman of my dreams, the one I had to let go because of family.

  I laugh. I may even have laughed out loud. A bird flies out of a tree and off into the distance.

  What a joke.

  We both come from money. We both come from terribly ambitious families. And our families can’t stand each other.

  They both would do whatever it takes to make sure the other one doesn’t get ahead.

  I can’t stand the fucking competitiveness. As far as I’m concerned, there’s enough in the world to go around for everyone.

  I mean, fuck—how many fucking millions does my family need? How many does her family need? Margot and I were on the same page. We were just happy to be in each other’s company.

  The night her life was threatened still haunts me in my dreams. I was lucky to save her from the burning building. The thanks she gave me will stay with me for the rest of my life.

  It has to—since I won’t ever fucking see her again.

  Remembering that I won’t see her again breaks my heart every time. I would give away the family fucking fortune just to see her face, her smile, her eyes, and her ass.

  She’s got the best ass I’ve seen on any woman.

  Stop.

  My feet stop moving. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the light brown fur.

  There’s my meal for the next few days. I slow my step and try to take deep breaths. If the animal were to spot me now, it would run far away and over the next mountain.

  Timing is going to be everything. I need to fucking time this right.

  To concentrate on my timing, I need to stop dreaming or drooling about Margot.

  It’s in the past. Let it go.

  But I can’t.

  Her ghost haunts me all the time. It’s worse than if she died. I’ve got no corpse to mourn.

  On the contrary, I’ve got nothing to mourn, other than the way our families are toward each other.

  Okay, so there’s more to this than meets the eye. I mean she might not even like the idea of living out here with me if I ever saw her again and asked her. But then again, maybe she would.

  When we were together at college, she was like my best friend.

/>   Maybe I should write to her?

  I should fucking stop thinking about her and focus on the deer. It still has its head down, foraging for food.

  To get close, I need to be super quiet.

  I glance around. The wind blows from the other direction.

  It won’t pick up my scent until I’m nearly upon it.

  By then, it’ll hopefully be too fucking late.

  My knife is in a little pocket on my camouflage pants. Once I’m closer, I’ll be able to pull it out with one swift movement.

  I plan to cut the animal’s throat. Give it a quick and painless death. I don’t like seeing animals suffer.

  I can’t stand the hunters coming up to shoot for sport. In fact, those words—“shoot for sport”—should be outlawed. Shooting an innocent animal, an animal who can’t defend itself is brutal murder, not sport.

  I shake my head again.

  I was never going to get any dinner this way. Too much fucking navel gazing and philosophizing wasn’t good for anyone, and it was, especially, not good for me.

  Gingerly, I inch forward. By now, I’m almost on all fours, blending in with my surroundings. From my estimate, the deer is about twenty steps away. It’s not close enough for me to lunge myself at it.

  Ten more steps.

  Dinner—sorry, I mean the deer—lifts its head. It’s sniffing the air, turning his head away from me to its left.

  The ripple through his body tells me it heard something. I heard it, too.

  It’s a low grumbling, the kind that thunder makes. My eyes scan the sky above us before moving to the horizon. Blue sky as far as the eye can see.

  Of course, thunder isn’t the only thing that makes that noise. There’s something else, something far more dangerous.

  Landslide.

  I straighten up. The grumble increases. My right foot steps on a twig.

  Snap.

  Now the deer’s ears twitch, and I realize I’ve got less than two seconds before it’ll take off.

  Just as I’m about to throw myself onto the animal, I see half the side of the mountain ahead of me come loose and crash downward.

  At the same time, I hear a blood-curdling high-pitched scream.

  It was a familiar scream. I’ve heard screams like that before.

  Only people who fucking fear for their lives scream like that; it’s high-pitched and ear piercing.

  The deer takes off, and so do I. Without thinking, I race toward the sound of the cry for help. All of my rescue instincts kick in, and suddenly, I’m on auto-pilot.

  There are no thoughts of hiding from this person who’s obviously in danger.

  Time to save someone’s life.

  Chapter 4

  Margot

  “If you stand by the rock, I’ll take a photo,” I call out to Amelia who, by now, is too far ahead of me. It makes my heart beat faster, and sweat pour down my back.

  I watch my little girl turn, skid on the gravel path and hesitate. To emphasize my intention, I hold up my camera for her to see. Usually, she can’t resist the temptation of a photo.

  Sure enough, she turns and skips back to me.

  “Here?”

  She’s out of breath, and her knees are dirty and a little blood-smeared.

  “Looks good.”

  I hold up my camera and look through the viewfinder.

  “Smile.”

  I take several shots.

  “Wait, Amelia,” I call to her as she’s about to take off again.

  Amelia turns toward me.

  “Yes, Mommy?”

  The way she looks at me makes my heart melt. It’s amazing how much my life’s changed since she’s turned up.

  I walk up to her and lean down toward her to kiss the tip of her nose. At the same time, I ruffle her hair.

  “You need to stay away from the edge, sweety.”

  Her big brown eyes look up at me.

  “Why, Mommy?”

  I chuckle.

  I barely remember a time when there wasn’t the ‘why’ question in my life.

  Amelia, these days, seems to constantly ask why.

  Nothing happens without the why question. If I tell her to wash her hands, she’ll ask why. If I tell her to eat her dinner, she’ll ask why. Sometimes it can get wearing.

  With a sigh, I squat down beside her and take hold of her hand.

  “Well,” I start and watch her jump from her left to her right foot, unable to stand still, joie de vivre flowing through her in abundance, so much so that she’s barely able to stand still.

  All my little girl wants to do is live life to the fullest and make the most of every second of the day. It’s great to see, but it’s also hard work at times, like today.

  “See how it’s steep down there?” I point to my left to the edge of the path. “If you run too close to the path and trip you might go tumbling down, and then what am I going to do?”

  She scrunches up her nose and squints her eyes. It’s her thinking face.

  “You would come after me and save me, Mommy.”

  I throw my arms around her to hug her.

  “Of course I would, but you might still get hurt and that wouldn’t be good.”

  Her little arms are now around my neck.

  “I’ll be fine, Mommy,” she whispers into my ear, and I love her confident sentiment.

  “Why don’t we walk together for a bit?”

  I straighten up and take her hand. She looks up at me and nods.

  We walk side by side, hand in hand, for about four strides before she breaks free and runs off again.

  “Look, Mommy,” she calls pointing at something I can’t see.

  I sigh. Maybe I should have bought one of those child restraints.

  “Mommy,” she’s come back already. “Can my photo be in your next exhibition?”

  With a chuckle, I nod.

  “Sure, why not.”

  A satisfied grin spreads across her face, and she takes off again. My eyes follow her before I look around. I take a deep breath, and inhale the crisp cool mountain air.

  It’s beautiful up here. Not a soul in sightmountains, trees, and valleys as far as the eye can see. My keen photographer’s eye can spot plenty of fantastic shots, but it’s hard to focus on taking photos with Amelia bouncing around like an out of control gazelle.

  Trouble is, she’s not as nimble nor as coordinated as a gazelle, and has already taken a tumble earlier on the path. Luckily, she only sustained a minor graze on her knee.

  For my work, it would be better if I didn’t have her along, but being a single mom means I’ve got little choice in the matter. Generally, wherever I go, Amelia comes, too.

  I take a random shot when I hear her squeal. Instantly, I turn my attention back to my daughter.

  “Amelia,” I call and see her chasing after something.

  I breathe a sigh of relief. Phew. She wasn’t in trouble…yet.

  The edge of the path was not far from where she was running.

  “Amelia,” I call, but she pays no attention.

  Her eyes and her entire concentration are on whatever she’s following.

  “The edge, darling, remember the edge.”

  Just then, I can see what’s taken her fancy. It’s a deep blue butterfly, and, as if sensing a mother’s fear, the creature changes its flight pattern and moves away from the danger of the path’s edge.

  Quickly, I find the two in my viewfinder and take some shots before I follow.

  Amelia is laughing and clapping her hands.

  “Watch out,” I call…too late.

  Her feet find a large rock on the path, and she trips.

  Instantly, I’m by her side. She’s lying face first on the ground. It takes her a few seconds to lift her head, and when she sees blood on her hands, she starts to cry.

  Gently, I pick her up and cradle her in my arms.

  “Shhh,” I whisper into her ear, patting her head with one hand, and brushing the gravel off her knees with the other.


  Less than a minute passes, and she pulls away from me. She wipes her tear stained cheeks, sobs one last time before her lips curl into a smile again.

  It always amazes me how quickly kids turn from tears to laughter and vice versa.

  “Did you see the butterfly, mommy?”

  I nod.

  “He was so pretty.”

  “He sure was, and you know what?”

  Her eyes look at me.

  “I got a photo.”

  She claps her hands and delight spreads over hr face.

  “Can I see?”

  “Sure.”

  I scroll through the photos and show her. Amelia says nothing as she presses her button nose as close as she can onto the screen. And then she’s off again.

  To my right, I spot a flower. It’s magnificent, and I’d never seen one like it. After I throw a quick glance in Amelia’s direction and seeing she’s safe, I go take a photo of this exotic find.

  I zoom in on the deep purple petals and the pink centre. My finger adjusts the focus and then I take several shots. Before I change angle and position, I check on Amelia again.

  She’s skipping up and down the path waiting for me.

  “Come on, Mommy,” she calls.

  “In a second, sweetie. I just want to take a few more photos of this beauty.”

  “Stop,” I hear Amelia call, and I look up.

  There’s the butterfly again, and my daughter is hot on its tail. Only this time the insect is moving to the edge of the path.

  Rats.

  And then things happened too fast for me to do anything about it.

  “Amelia!” I hear myself scream, but I don’t think she heard me.

  As my voice is carried toward her, her little body disappears over the edge.

  I cover the distance faster than Bolt runs the hundred meters, and follow my little girl blindly.

  “Mommy!” she’s screaming, and I see her little face disappear down the side of the mountain, surrounded along the side by rocks.

  The ground is soft and loose from the snowmelt.

  Earth, dirt, and pebbles move past me, grabbing my daughter and taking her with them.

  Talons of fear rip into my heart, and I throw myself literally after Amelia.

  “Give me your hand,” I scream, but I’m not sure if she can hear me.

  As we keep tumbling down the mountain, I grit my teeth and reach for her. The tips of my fingers just touch her, but it’s not enough for me to grab and clutch her.