If the Sun Never Sets - Ana Huang Page 0,51

a baby with a woman I didn’t love. I didn’t want to drag you into the shitshow. I was young and stupid and thought I was doing the right thing. You probably would’ve broken up with me anyway, but with your heart and compassion, I couldn’t be sure you wouldn’t try to save me. And I didn’t deserve to be saved.”

Farrah pressed her fists against the counter and closed her eyes, trying to imagine what her twenty-year-old self would have done. She hated cheaters. If Blake had told her the truth back then, she might very well have drop-kicked him in the balls and ran. But she also knew reason took a backseat when it came to all things Blake Ryan. She’d been in love with him enough that she wouldn’t have been able to walk away as easily as she had had she known he’d still harbored feelings for her.

“Where’s the baby?” she asked.

Since they reunited, Blake hadn’t said a single word about being a father. No pictures of children, no nothing.

Unease edged into her consciousness.

“We lost the baby.” Blake’s voice flatlined. “Cleo had a late-term miscarriage.”

Farrah snapped her head up and around. Blake was still sitting on the floor, his features tight with guilt and heartbreak.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. This time, Farrah was the one who sank next to him and wrapped her arm around his shoulder.

It looked messed up from the outside, her comforting her ex over the loss of the baby he’d had with the woman he’d cheated on her with. But humans were humans, and Farrah wouldn’t wish the pain of losing a child on her worst enemy.

“We couldn’t make it work after that.” Blake’s muscles bunched beneath her touch. “We’d only gotten together again for the baby anyway, and it hurt too much to look at each other and remember what we lost. She moved to Atlanta, and I threw myself into my business. I never looked back. Except some nights when I…” His voice trailed off. “Anyway, that’s the truth. One mistake I don’t remember that fucked up everyone I cared about, including you.” Blake’s head bowed. “If you want to leave, I don’t blame you.”

The secrets they’d laid bare soaked into the walls, the floor, and Farrah’s very bones. There’d been so much information thrown at her in the past hour she’d need a high-powered supercomputer to sort through it all.

“Kiss me.”

Blake’s head jerked up. Shock scrawled all over his face. “What?”

Instead of repeating herself, Farrah grabbed his face and pressed her lips to his. Blake’s confession shocked her and pissed her off, and yes, she should hate him for keeping something as big as a freakin’ pregnancy from her. But she also felt his pain, and of all the emotions she’d had toward him over the years, hate had never been one of them.

It was impossible to hate someone who’d burrowed themselves so deep in your psyche they were a part of you.

“Is this really what you want?” Blake’s voice rasped down her spine.

Farrah nodded. Her brain was short-circuiting from the events of the night, and she couldn’t think properly.

Good.

She didn’t want to think. She didn’t want to feel. She wanted to forget.

She could deal with the ramifications of tonight tomorrow, but for now, she needed what only Blake could give her.

Oblivion.

Blake and Farrah stumbled into his bedroom without breaking their kiss. Their clothes tumbled to the floor, their hands roamed, and their mouths explored, hungry and desperate to escape the demons of their past.

This wasn’t about love or lust; this was about losing themselves in a place where nothing bad could touch them, if only for a while.

Blake slammed into her, and a cry fell from her mouth. Sensation sizzled through her, burning all the decisions she had to make and memories she wanted to leave behind until there was nothing left but ashes.

“Promise me one thing,” Blake said. “Promise you’ll be here in the morning.”

Farrah dragged his mouth back to hers and clenched around him until he groaned and resumed his thrusts.

She didn’t reply to Blake’s request.

Farrah didn’t like making promises she couldn’t keep.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Sunlight. Warmth and softness. Orange blossom and vanilla.

Blake’s idea of heaven—if it weren’t for the damn alarm clock shrieking on his nightstand like a nun who’d walked into an orgy.

He set his alarm for seven a.m. on the weekends, a few hours later than when he woke up on weekdays, because early mornings were his most productive time of day. Blake loved getting all his