She broke the kiss, needing to feel that addictive slide of his mouth on her neck. Behind her ear. Down to the base of her throat. She didn’t know if she steered him there or he simply understood everything she wanted. Arching into him, she let the heat build, not questioning it. Needing it.
He said he wanted to start over, didn’t he?
Was it madness to begin again this way, right here and now?
For the first time in months, she didn’t have to struggle to remember. She could simply be. Feel.
Savor.
She tugged at the buttons on her sweater, needing to feel his kiss on her breasts. He thumbed aside the bra strap as she exposed it, his hands working seamlessly beside hers…
Until the wail of Lucas’s cry filled the night.
The nursery monitor feed blinked to brighter life on her phone, the audio as clear as if they were standing right next to the crib. Caroline lurched forward, off Damon’s lap.
He stood beside her.
“Get your rest, Caroline.” He placed a kiss on her forehead. “I want to go to Lucas.”
She couldn’t argue since she’d already teased him about taking the late feeding. Damon deserved to spend time with Lucas after she’d kept him to herself these last weeks. Logically, she understood that.
But as she watched Damon walk away from her, she got the sense that he hadn’t just left to be with his son. He’d left to get away from her and what was happening between them. Because no matter what he said about new beginnings, she knew he didn’t trust her.
And it was possible he didn’t even love her.
So no matter how blissfully sensual his kisses made her feel, she would be wise to keep her guard up around her husband.
CHAPTER SEVEN
By late afternoon the next day, Damon sat beside Caroline in the back of a limousine taking them from the airport to his grandfather’s home on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. Lucas snoozed in a car seat across from them while their security guard rode up front with the driver. Malcolm McNeill insisted on sending the Mercedes limo for them, even though he was out of the country on business. When Damon had called his grandfather to let him know they were going to be in New York City, the old man had urged them to stay at his house since it was fully staffed and none of the McNeills were in town for the next three days.
Damon had accepted since he needed to meet with his grandfather as soon as possible to discuss the McNeills taking over Stephan Degraff’s stake in Transparent. He’d closed the house in Los Altos Hills that morning, but asked his Realtor not to put the property on the market yet. His life had changed drastically since Caroline’s return. He now had his wife and his son to consider, making the Silicon Valley condo he’d rented out of the question because it was too small. Plus, there was her long-term safety to consider. As much as he wished they could hole up back on the family property in Martinique, he knew she wouldn’t go for that.
But sooner or later, he wanted his son to meet Jager and Gabe.
Now that his brothers were recognizing their father’s relatives as family—though not their father himself, if Damon had anything to say about it—Damon needed to get used to the idea that he had half brothers. And he’d soon have to introduce Caroline to them. Their son deserved a stronger sense of family than he and Caroline could provide. And he had no intention of allowing Stephan Degraff anywhere near his child.
“I’m anxious to see your grandfather’s home.” She shifted in her seat, straightening her long wool coat to cover her legs as she peered out the window. The car sped up on a curving road through Central Park. “If it’s as big as you say, it’s got to be one of those turn-of-the-century mansions on the Upper East Side.”
He pulled his gaze up from her legs, from the spot where her tall leather boots met the hem of her knee-length skirt. He’d thought about their kiss all night, wondering if it had surprised her as much as him. Not that he was caught off guard by the heat or the passion. He expected as much when they touched. It had always been that way between them. What had stunned him was how engaged she’d been in the kiss. The touches. He’d missed that about her. The woman who’d returned to their doorstep, claiming not to know him, was more circumspect. But something had reawakened her more impulsive side and he wondered how long it would take for him to see that side of her again.
“The McNeill home is impressive.” With an effort, he focused on her words instead of the attraction. Damon wasn’t as much of an architecture aficionado as Gabe, who was bringing his historic hotel back to pristine life in Martinique. But he’d been around enough five-star properties across the world to appreciate something like the McNeill mansion. “It has six floors, not counting the staff rooms and kitchen on the basement level. There’s an entrance to the park across the street.”