Burning Hearts: A Second Chance Secret Baby Romance

by Vivien Vale

  It’s been a long time—too long.

  “I don’t think we should…” he starts, and I put my index finger across his lips.

  “Boone,” I whisper. “Let me make this better. Please.”

  Actions speak louder than words, right? And right now, I need more action and less words.

  “I need you,” I whisper in that same husky voice of before. “Boone…”

  Now he’s smiling at me and using the fingers of his right hand to trace along an invisible line on my lips before following my jawline and then caressing my neck. The gestures is full of sensitivity and passion.

  “Not tonight, babe.” He’s also whispering. “You’ve had a big day.”

  I swallow.

  Rejection is hard to take at the best of times, and it’s worse when you’re desperate.

  I’m desperate for his touch, his cock, and his body.

  Tears threaten to spill. I bite my lower lip, feeling like a toddler whose favorite candy has just been taken from her.

  “It’s not that I don’t want you.” Both his hands now cup my face. “I want you more than you can imagine. But you’re not thinking straight.”

  The lump in my throat refuses to go away.

  Of course, deep down, I know he’s right. It’s not the right time.

  “Well…” I whisper and swallow. “Good night then, I guess.”

  His hand brushes the side of my face. “Good night, Margot.”

  And then his lips are on mine again. This time, there’s more force behind them. I return his kiss and feel like a drowning swimmer clutching onto a life raft.

  When we finally pull apart, the world is out of focus. I stumble back to the bedroom, blinking a few times to try and refocus.

  Without looking back, I open and shut the door, leaning against it with my back, before collapsing silently onto the floor.

  Chapter 17

  Boone

  Fuck, that feels good.

  My hands are around her waist, and hers are on my chest. She’s smiling at me, and her tits bounce up and down in sync with her movement. Like an untamed mare, she rides me.

  Try as I might to control or tame her, I can’t. She throws her head back, and her hair spills all over her back.

  She’s milking my cock with the walls of her tight pussy, and I’m in seventh heaven.

  “I love you, Boone,” she says.

  Yes.

  I want to shout because of joy.

  Gone are my questions, fears, and reservations.

  Why have I waited this long to fuck her? I should have sought her out much sooner.

  I let go of her waist and reach for her tits, those delicious delicacies. Just as I’m about to grab, caress, and massage them, her hair catches fire.

  Holy shit.

  How did that happen?

  Frantically, I look around for something I can use to quash the flames, but there’s nothing that can do this nearby.

  Horrified, I watch the flames lick her face, back, and abdomen. Soon, her whole body is burning.

  With one last desperate attempt, I reach for her, but all I’m left with is a pile of ashes.

  Something makes me sit upright. I breathe hard. I look around, trying to figure out where I am.

  I’m in my cabin.

  My eyes roam around.

  It was a dream, a fucking dream. I wipe my brow and take slow deep breaths.

  Where did this fucking awful dream come from? I try to calm my mind and think back to the night before.

  She came to talk to me. There’d been talk about her nightmares. Margot relates that someone had been in her room moments before she passed out.

  Perhaps her story prompted my nightmare.

  Whatever the reason, it was fucking frightening. There’s no chance of sleeping now.

  I sigh. In my current state, I’m no fucking use to anyone. I may as well get up and do something.

  That’s why I grab my essential gear and head for the outdoors. The only thing to do right now is hunt.

  I didn’t catch that deer yesterday, and I think its scent is still around here somewhere. On the way, I grab my bow and arrows.

  A clear morning like this calls for a good, old-fashioned hunt with a reliable weapon.

  Before I take off, I test the string on my bow. It feels good.

  My quiver sits on my back and contains six arrows. That’s about five more than I need, but heck, I may as well leave them where they are.

  It doesn’t take long for me to pick up the trail. The doe is not too far away. My nostrils flare a little as I take some deep breaths to get my bearing.

  If I kill this creature, I’ll have good meat for several months. I make sure that I use every last bit of the animal I kill, from the skin to their eyes.

  Carefully, I make my way along the path at the back of my hut. If I stick to the left, I should come upon the unsuspecting animal and shoot him with my arrow.

  I round a corner in the path and keep my eyes peeled up ahead. Then I see it. Like yesterday, its head is buried in some grass.

  Slowly, carefully, and very quietly, I take my bow and nook an arrow. As I draw back, I keep my eyes on the target.

  Shooting an animal in the wild is the same as target shooting. You pick a spot on which you focus your aim, then you shoot.

  I always aim for the heart. I don’t like to see animals suffer unnecessarily. One shot, and it’ll be a good, clean kill.

  Just as I’m about to release the arrow, a high-pitched scream pierces the silence of the night. It’s a strange kind of sound, and it’s enough to make the deer take a few startled steps forward.

  Darn.

  My eyes search the horizon. An eagle must have sounded the warning.

  So close and yet so far. I adjust my position to take my shot.

  My right eye is closed as I draw back and take aim.

  Out of nowhere, a rabbit jumps into sight. Its appearance makes the deer look around and sniff, then it makes a run for it.

  Fuck.

  That’s already two strikes. I’m not normally plagued by this much bad luck. Is it bad luck, or is the universe trying to tell me something?

  Nonetheless, I decide to preserve and follow the trail. With my bow lowered and the arrow back in the quiver, I keep walking.

  Random thoughts pop up as I take every step. There’s one, though, that won’t go away.

  By the time I see the deer again, I’m not sure if I want to kill it.

  Even though my heart’s not in it anymore, I nook the arrow a third time. This time, I draw back quicker.

  But before I can release my lethal arrow, the deer makes a getaway a third time.

  It was probably for the best that the animal had gotten away. I mean, how would I explain to my daughter Amelia that I killed a deer?

  Pictures of Bambi invade my thoughts. I shake my head. Life really takes a strange turn when you become a parent.

  Before today and before Amelia, I never had second thoughts on killing an animal.

  But suddenly, I have to think of someone else. How would Amelia take the news of me bringing home a dead animal that is plastered all over television as Bambi? Not well would be my guess.

  By the time I get back to the cabin, I feel hungry. There’s still no sign of my guests, but I figure they won’t be in bed much longer.

  I start cooking breakfast.

  Not quite sure what they like to eat, I choose to cook bacon and eggs.

  Amelia may not like eating bacon and eggs, I think.

  I am standing in front of my pantry and pondering the eating habits of a four-year-old.

  Nonetheless, I opt for honey toast and some fruits. I arrange the fruits to form a smiley face: banana slices for the eyes; apple slices for the nose and ears; and berries for the smile.

  Just as I’m looking at my masterpiece, my mobile rings.

  I glance at it before I answer.

  “What do you want?”

  “I’m fine. Thanks, Boone. How are yo
u?”

  “You didn’t call to exchange pleasantries, so let’s skip the small talk,” I growl into the phone and put my prepared breakfast on the table.

  “How did you know that? Of course I called to find out how you’re doing.”

  I don’t reply immediately. My father never does anything without a reason. There’s a reason he called this morning, a reason that I don’t know yet.

  “I know you. We haven’t spoken in ages, because I know you. What do you want?”

  I can hear father’s sharp intake of air.

  But when he speaks again, he sounds as calm as before.

  “I hear Margot is staying with you.”

  At his words, the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention. A shiver runs down my spine.

  “What are you getting at?”

  “Nothing, son. Just that it must be nice for you to have her back.” There’s a short, dry cough. “I mean, you know, after all that’s happened.”

  Because I’m not sure what he wants and I’ve got things to do, I want this conversation to end.

  “You should make the most of your time together, while you have it.”

  “What does that mean?” I bark.

  “Nothing. Only that life is unpredictable, don’t you agree? You’ll never know how much time you have left with something or someone.”

  “Look, unless there’s something specific you want to talk about, I have to go.”

  “No, nothing specific. Give my regards to Margot, and like I said, enjoy the time you have together.”

  I hang up without saying another word. To say our relationship is fraught is an understatement.

  “Sorry,” a soft voice behind me startles me.

  With the phone in my right hand, I turn around.

  Both Amelia and Margot are standing in the doorway to the kitchen. They look like angels. Margot’s hair is messed up, and she’s not wearing any make-up.

  Yet she looks ravenously beautiful.

  My throat feels dry, and I swallow.

  “’Morning,” I mumble and feel like a bumbling teenager on his first date.

  “Morning, Boone!” Amelia is jumping up and down and tugging on her mother’s hands.

  Her laughter is music to my ears and food for my soul.

  I push the sense of dread I felt when I was talking to my father and focus on the here and now.

  What did the old man say? ‘Enjoy your time with her?’ I fucking intend to.

  “Good morning, my beautiful queen and princess.” I take a little bow and earn more laughter from Amelia. “Welcome to my humble abode.”

  Margot bows—a sign that she has taken the role of queen.

  “Thank you, good sir.”

  “Please be so kind as to honor me with your presence at my breakfast table.”

  Amelia bounces past her mother and sits down, looking expectantly at us.

  “Breakfast is served.” I bow again and point toward the table.

  Margot laughs and joins her daughter at the table.

  With a smile, I join them, making a mental note to figure out later what my father’s phone call was about.

  Chapter 18

  Margot

  I know it’s rude to stare, but I just can’t help it.

  Boone…Boone’s body…everything about this man is so incredible in every way.

  I’m afraid that if I look away, he’ll disappear.

  It’s unclear if he notices the way my eyes rake over his chiseled features, dark hair, and bulging chest muscles. If he has noticed, he’s been too polite to make a comment.

  “Here, let me do this for you,” he says, taking his knife and fork to cut Amelia’s bacon.

  “Thank you!” Amelia chirps.

  “Want some more fresh apple juice? I grow them in my orchard behind the shed.”

  Amelia’s eyes widen.

  “Really? You can grow apples?”

  I chuckle. I’m not sure why Amelia is so amazed by this fact.

  Perhaps she hasn’t realized where apples come from, since we buy them from shops. Or she’s just amazed at all the things Boone can do.

  “That and a whole lot more,” Boone confirms, nodding vigorously.

  “More bread?” he glances in my direction.

  For a second, I hesitate. I haven’t eaten this much in a long time. Usually, I’m a cereal-and–one-cup-of-coffee girl in the morning, not big on the cooked breakfasts.

  But this morning, I’m more hungry than usual and really enjoying the food.

  “I shouldn’t,” I mumble. “But, why not?”

  Boone smiles and reaches for the butter. My eyes follow his every move. The way his big hands handle the knife almost makes me drool.

  “Here you go,” he hands me a buttered piece of bread.

  “May I go and play, Mommy?” Amelia looks at me with those big brown eyes, the way she always does when she wants something.

  “I don’t know,” I say with my mouth full and glance in Boone’s direction.

  “Have you finished all your fruit?” Boone asks.

  My daughter holds up her plate to Boone in answer to his question and nods.

  “Excellent,” Boone holds up his hand for a high five.

  With my heart racing, I watch the interaction between father and daughter. It warms and breaks my heart at the same time. More than ever, I realize I was so wrong to run away and not tell Boone about Amelia.

  It’s still difficult for me to figure out the dynamics of their relationship as father and daughter. I had doubts on how Boone would be as a father. In the same way, I had been a little worried on how Amelia would react after I let her father into her young life.

  “Great stuff,” Boone says and Amelia beams at him. “Eating lots of fruit and vegetables makes sure you grow up strong and healthy.”

  Amelia wrinkles her nose. “I don’t like spinach or beans.”

  I laugh.

  Boone rolls his eyes in pretend shock.

  “How can you not like spinach?”

  “It tastes yucky,” Amelia mutters.

  “That’s because you’ve never tasted it the way it should be prepared.”

  My little girl shrugs.

  “Can I go and play, pleeease?”

  “I’m not sure,” I replied curtly.

  Crockett jumps up on her lap and looks from her to Boone.

  “Go on, you two. Make sure you don’t go too far.”

  As Amelia skips from the room, raccoon on her shoulder, I punch Boone lightly on the shoulder.

  “How will they know what too far is?”

  Boone rubs his arm and grimaces.

  “Ouch.”

  It’s my turn to roll my eyes.

  “As if that hurt you.”

  “You’re stronger than you know,” he teases. “They’ll be fine. Crockett actually knows how far he can go, believe it or not.”

  It seems difficult to believe that an animal would have that much sense, but then again, nothing should surprise me.

  Boone grabs my plate and moves to stand up. As he does, our fingers touch briefly.

  Electric sparks fly between us. I’m sure of it.

  “Let me,” I mumble and also move to stand up. As I do so, I bump into him. He grabs me as I stumble backwards.

  His touch leaves me burning with desire. Wildfire rages through me, and I’m finding it difficult to speak.

  “You cooked breakfast, I should wash up.”

  I’m sure my cheeks are red as a tomato as I grab Amelia’s plate and turn to take it to the sink.

  But I’ve misjudged my movement and turned the wrong way. Instead of turning away from Boone, my face is now only inches from his.

  I can feel his warm breath caress my cheek. His eyes are caressing my face, neck and lips.

  Darn.

  Now my hands are shaking, and if I’m not careful I might drop the plate I’m holding.

  “You okay?” he murmurs and his lips brush past my ear. Goosebumps run down my arms and ne
ck.

  Unable to speak, I nod.

  His eyes linger on me, until I finally take a step back and force myself to move toward the sink.

  Before I can make a fool of myself again, I put the plate in the sink and fill it with water. As I watch the water cascade out of the tap and onto my hand, I try to calm my inner turmoil.

  This is ridiculous. I’m acting like a silly teenager on her first date, before her first kiss.

  I can feel Boone move beside me. He’s standing so close that my nerve endings are screaming for his touch. Each of my pores wants him.

  Mechanically, I start washing a plate before putting it on the drying rack.

  But as I do this, my imagination goes wild. All I can see are images of Boone naked.

  This is ridiculous.

  How am I going to get through the next few days if I turn into molten chocolate the minute he comes near me?

  I mean I’ve survived these last five years without him, why was my body suddenly obsessed with him?

  Of course, I know the answer.

  “Here, let me give you a hand.”

  Before I can protest, I feel his hands next to mine in the warm water. White bubbles hide them from our eyes.

  I take the next plate with a slightly shaky hand. His left hand helps to scrub it clean.

  Suddenly, the temperature has risen several degrees, and I swear the water has gone from lukewarm to boiling point.

  “She likes animals, doesn’t she? Our…” he starts, and I struggle to follow what he’s saying. He clears his throat. “And she’s good with them, isn’t she?”

  Amelia. He’s talking about Amelia.

  Focus. I need to focus and get my mind out of the bedroom.

  “Yes,” I nod. “Our—” Why is it so hard to say it? “Our…daughter is good at many things, for her age.”

  There, I’ve said it. I take a deep breath and wipe my brow with the back of my right arm.

  I look at Boone. He’s mumbled something, but I couldn’t hear it. “Pardon?”

  “Our daughter,” he starts and stops. I watch emotions cross his face, and I resist the urge to kiss him. “Our daughter,” he repeats and takes another plate from me.

  We both reach for the same mug and giggle.

  “You do the top, I do the bottom,” Boone suggests and I nod.

  Dishwashing was sure more entertaining when I do it with Boone.