Page 21 of Owned

I went to the sink, turned on the taps, then put my hands beneath the flow of water before bringing them up to my face, pressing my damp palms against my burning cheeks to cool them.

God, what was I doing? Getting way in over my head it seemed, and Mom would no doubt agree.

Not that I’d told her what I was doing. I hadn’t even mentioned that my grandmother had called me, let alone the whole baby/marriage thing. And I definitely couldn’t tell her the truth now, that I was going to marry and have a baby with her ex-husband.

I let out a breath, dropped my hands and stared sightlessly down into the sink.

I’d gone over and over Charlotte’s offer in the days before this meeting, sorting through the pros and cons, and when I’d gotten here to meet her, she’d been kind and far more welcoming than I’d expected.

Then Atlas had turned up and the decision I’d made had suddenly been turned on its head, only for it to turn back again within minutes.

It was all his fault. That and my own reaction to him that I couldn’t control, which was weird because this was only the second time I’d seen him. Then again, he’d been living in my head a long time, so maybe it wasn’t that weird after all.

So you’re attracted to him. So what? Deal with it.

I took a breath then straightened and glanced in the mirror at my reflection. A woman stared back, cheeks still red, eyes dark.

‘Lovely’, my mother used to say. ‘You’re so lovely, Rowan, and you don’t even know. You should really dress to make the most of it’.

But I did know and I didn’t dress to make the most of it and I never would. I didn’t exist to please men and I didn’t care about my looks. Mom had always cared far too much about hers and where had that gotten her? Dependent on her daughter and penniless. Perhaps having Charlotte Hamilton as a mother had contributed to my own mother’s fragility, in which case giving Charlotte my own baby would be a mistake.

Then again, any child brought up by Charlotte wouldn’t have to scrape around for money the way I’d had to, constantly worried about whether we’d have enough for all the monthly bills. Not that the baby would be mine in the first place. The baby would be Charlotte’s, and if I was going to do this, that’s how I’d better start thinking about it.

The door to the bathroom opened abruptly and I stared in shock in the mirror as Atlas strolled in, shutting the door firmly behind him before leaning back against it and folding his arms.

“What the hell are you doing in here?” I turned to face him. “This is the ladies’ if you hadn’t noticed.”

All at once the room seemed much smaller than it had a moment ago, as if it had drastically reduced in size the moment he’d entered. The air felt thinner too, as if all the oxygen had been crowded out by the scent of him, filling the room with warm sunshine, sandalwood, and smoke.

He was in his usual leather jacket and jeans, with a navy T-shirt this time, and he looked good. Far too good. Everything about him was far too good, and on cue, I could feel a blush start to rise.

“I did notice, believe it or not,” he said, gazing at me. “Thought we could use some privacy to talk without Charlotte directing everything like Francis Ford fucking Coppola.”

My heart raced and I wished I could put some more space between us, but with the basin digging into my back, there was nowhere to go.

“What do you want to talk about?” I asked. “I thought it was all settled.”

“Sure, but that was before I realized she hadn’t told you that your partner in all of this would be me.”

I shrugged, hoping I looked cool, calm and collected, and suspecting that I looked hot, flustered and a mess instead. “I’m fine with it.”

“I suppose that’s why you bolted to the bathroom,” he said calmly. “Because you were so fine with it.”

Damn him. Why wouldn’t he let this go?

With an epic force of will, I managed to slow my racing heart, but there was nothing I could do about the blush staining my cheeks. Nothing I could do about my awareness of the way his jeans sat on his lean hips, the denim clinging to his powerful thighs, or how the cotton of his t-shirt showcased his perfectly hard, flat stomach.

His body must be insane.

No. I was not going to think about his body. No. No.

“Girl stuff,” I bit out. “Nothing to do with you.”

“Uh huh.” Clearly he didn’t believe a word. “Nothing to do with me offering you money either, right?”

“Yes, well. I should have said thank you for the offer, but I don’t want your money.”

One dark brow rose. “Why not? What’s wrong with my money?”

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