The blush crept up on me unexpectedly. “I’ll keep that in mind, thanks,” I replied, shaking my head and fighting to control the girlie giggle trying to escape my lips. He grinned that boyish grin, causing the dimples that made my heart stutter. “You want some breakfast or something?”

He shook his head. “Nah, I think I’m gonna go grab a shower to wake me up.”

The thought of a shower automatically made impure thoughts run through my head as I imagined the water trailing down his body, dripping off him. The shower in my room is plenty big enough for two… maybe I need a shower, too…

I shook my head to rid myself of the dirty thoughts and blinked a couple of times when I realised I was standing in the middle of Sasha’s bedroom and not in a hot, steamy shower rubbing a soapy washcloth over Carson’s body. The disappointment hit me hard.

AFTER BREAKFAST, I dressed Sasha and then left her playing in her cot with a couple of dolls, while I went for a quick shower and dressed myself for university today. Once ready, we both headed downstairs. Carson was sitting at the breakfast bar eating a cinnamon swirl left over from the day before. He was dressed in loose-fit jeans and a fitted white T-shirt, and his feet were bare. He grinned at us as we walked in.

“Daddy!” Sasha cried excitedly, suddenly squirming in my arms. I set her down, watching as she hurried to his side and held her arms up to him. He laughed and hooked his hands under her armpits, hoisting her onto his lap. Immediately, she twisted and took his cinnamon swirl from his plate, chewing on it messily.

Carson laughed incredulously. “And here was me thinking you were excited to see me, when all the time you were plotting to steal my breakfast!” he teased, poking her in the ribs and making her giggle.

I laughed at the adorable sight and headed to the fridge, pulling out butter and ham. “Okay if I make some packed lunch stuff for today?” I asked, turning back to Carson. He raised one eyebrow, and his jaw tightened. I sighed, already knowing what he was thinking. “Don’t ask permission, Emma; this is your home now,” I muttered, trying to do an impression of his deep, throaty voice.

“Exactly,” he confirmed, taking a sip of his tea as he wrapped his free arm around Sasha, holding her securely on his lap as she ate his cake.

I nodded, getting to work making lunch. “Don’t suppose you know the tube route to my uni, do you?” I asked absentmindedly. Today was my first day back there after all this blew up; I didn’t really want to be late because I was lost on the tube.

“I can drive you,” Carson answered. “If you tell me what time you finish, I’ll pick you up after, too.”

My stomach clenched at the kind gesture. “Are you not working today then?”

“No, I called and explained the situation. I have a few days off. I can’t get out of the meetings I have scheduled this weekend, though, so I’ll be going away on Thursday morning and not coming back until Sunday night.”

He was going away? “Oh,” was all I could think to say.

“I’m going to Italy,” he continued.

“That’s nice.”

He cleared his throat. “You, er… want to come?”

Come? To Italy? Hell yeah, I do! But it wasn’t possible. “I can’t. Sasha and I don’t have passports.”

He frowned and nodded slowly. “Oh. Well, we’ll have to rectify that, I guess. Won’t get it sorted by Thursday, though.” He pursed his lips in thought. “Maybe next time I go away?” he offered.

I shrugged noncommittally. Why would he even want us to go with him anyway? Surely he’d have more fun on his own living his single life than having his supposed-fiancée there and his two-year-old daughter?

“I’ll get someone to rush you through some passports before my next abroad race. There should be enough time because I only race every other week, and next weekend is actually in England. I shouldn’t need to leave the country again for another three weeks, so that should be plenty of time for someone to arrange some passports for you two,” he mused. “Next weekend, I’m racing at Silverstone. It’s my favourite track. Maybe you could come and watch? You’ve never been to one of my races before,” he offered, seeming somewhat hopeful about it.

I gulped, not wanting to go because I hated that he had a dangerous job, but also knowing I needed to go so we could show a united front. It wouldn’t look very good for him if I kept avoiding his races, and I didn’t have a single reason why I couldn’t go.

“Um… okay.”

“Great.” He seemed rather pleased with my answer.

“JUST IGNORE THE PAPS. Say ‘no comment’, and remind them they’re not allowed to print pictures of Sasha,” Carson instructed as he gripped the steering wheel tightly, glaring out the window at the group of photographers that had followed us to my school from his house.

“Okay,” I agreed, picking up my bag of books and swinging it onto my shoulder. As I gripped the door handle and pushed the door open, Carson placed his hand on my leg.

“Emma?”

I turned back to him, noticing he looked kind of nervous. “Yeah?”

“Kiss me goodbye?” he requested, leaning over the middle of the seat toward me.

I gulped and my eyes immediately dropped to his lips. Not actually needing to be told twice, I closed the distance between us and crushed my lips against his roughly, kissing him fiercely. Deep down, I knew he only wanted this because the photographers were probably busy taking shots of us kissing in the car, but I actually couldn’t have cared less. With Carson’s lips against mine, nothing else mattered in the world. He moaned in the back of his throat and brought his hand up, gripping the back of my head and holding my mouth to his securely.