Her lips were right there, lifted up to him, no longer talking, and he was lowering his head to them before he realized it.
Stella, whose arms and legs had been haphazardly flinging as he’d learned was normal for babies of that age, kneed him in the rib. It didn’t hurt. Barely touched him, really, but the little love tap reminded him why he was there. Who he was.
And who he wasn’t.
* * *
They were late getting back on Thursday and Nolan had to take off as soon as he parked the SUV in her lot. She’d offered to drop him off at his hotel, but he hadn’t wanted to take any chances on being seen by his band members. She was at the passenger car door, directly behind his driver’s door, unbuckling Stella’s removable carrier, when he handed her the keys.
Turning, she took them, and then froze as he leaned in, kissed her cheek, gave Stella’s foot a gentle little tug and left without another word.
She watched his back until he disappeared from sight.
Inside, she saw a note from Carmela telling her that her friend was at the library for the evening.
She bathed Stella, dressed her in a gray onesie with white hearts and pink trim around the neck and long sleeves, and an hour later was still shaking inside.
Putting Stella in her swing, she picked up her phone, searched the new contact for Nolan Fortune and pushed to text.
We need to talk.
She could picture him, standing in his hotel room—she’d only allow him still dressed in the day’s black jeans and red button-down shirt, not going into or coming from the shower—phone in hand, reading her text.
Could she do it? Could she be his secret?
Have bimonthly visits from a man who lived a life she knew very little about?
She could look up the New Orleans Fortunes on the internet. But Lizzie hadn’t wanted to become an internet stalker. Hadn’t wanted to see Nolan’s life laid bare before her on-screen.
Couldn’t bear to open that door.
As long as there was a possibility that she could raise Stella outside of the hoopla, the privileged environment, she would fight to do so.
She just wanted Stella to know how it felt to be an average person before she was consumed by the elite and powerful.
Her phone vibrated in her hand.
Tonight after the last set? If you call at midnight, I’ll pick up.
The first time they’d made love had been on a night that had started like that—her calling him after the last set to invite him up to her place. Carmela had been gone and she’d thrown caution and all her years of introversion and conservative upbringing to the wind and invited a man she barely knew to her apartment.
But it hadn’t felt like she’d barely known him. It had felt as though he’d been her soul mate.
Trembling, fighting something she knew she couldn’t have, a temptation she didn’t dare allow, she didn’t text back.
Talking at night made sense. With Stella, and being out and about as they were when they were together during the day, there was always the chance they’d be interrupted. Besides, over the phone was much safer than in person.
She wanted to be able to just do it. To call him in the intimacy of late-night privacy, and work things out. She needed to be able to. She was just so damned scared. Out of her wits. What if she really did love him?
A ghost?
Could she live with herself if she became his occasional lover, knowing that eventually he’d marry someone else and produce legitimate heirs for his parents?
She was already behaving in ways that made her ashamed of herself. Hogging Stella as she mostly did. Grabbing the baby up before he could.
He backed away every time. Allowing her to be the boss where their daughter was concerned, which made her feel even more selfish.
Nolan was treating them like gold. Willing to provide everything and take very little. His caring ripped at the walls she’d built around her heart. A look in his eye had melted a year’s worth of ice.