Dangerous Games: A Standalone Second Chance Romance

by T. K. Leigh

  I didn’t think it mattered. Regardless of how I got my start in life, the woman I’ve called Mama these past thirty years is the only mother I care about. But I still sometimes wonder why my birth mother didn’t want me, didn’t love me, didn’t choose me. Learning you’re adopted changes your outlook, despite the amount of love my family has showered upon me. It makes you question things you normally wouldn’t. Makes you think you don’t have value.

  Makes you think you’re not worth the risk.

  “When I was about a week old, I was found wrapped in a bundle of blankets in one of the women’s restrooms in the international terminal at JFK. That’s all I know.”

  Asher inhales a sharp breath, sitting up, staring down at me in wonder. “You’re the JFK baby?”

  “You’ve heard the story…”

  He chuckles, eyes shining. “It sounds crazy, but it’s one of my strongest memories from my early childhood. Everyone’s hearts went out to the poor little girl who was abandoned in an airport on Christmas. I was only five, but I remember thinking how Santa wouldn’t be able to find her if she wasn’t home. So I begged Mom to send the baby one of my gifts.”

  This brings a tear to my eye. I can’t imagine a five-year-old actively deciding to part with one of his gifts. But he did. This is further proof that Asher has a beautiful soul.

  “That’s really sweet. When Mama told me where I came from, she mentioned how the Child Services office was flooded with gifts, cards, you monetary donations used to set up a college fund for me. She kept some things, but gave a lot of it to area shelters and foster homes.”

  “How did your parents end up adopting you?”

  “I was placed with them as a foster.”

  “How did Child Services choose them? I imagine it must have been difficult to decide who to place you with because of how high profile your case was.”

  “My parents were fairly well-off. Still are. Papa worked on Wall Street before he retired. Mama’s never had to work, but she has a restless soul, so she worked as a flight attendant, like she was when she met my dad. My case manager was worried about placing me with a potential foster family who was only interested in me because of the large donations received after the story broke. So when my parents came up as a potential placement, it was the perfect fit. Wealthy family, a woman who was of Hispanic descent, like me. They probably figured it would be good for me to have that influence.”

  “But they eventually adopted you.”

  I nod. “After about two years. At that point, they donated all the money to an adoption charity. They didn’t need it. In fact, they set up their own trust fund for me and matched the donations. It paid for my undergrad and master’s degree programs.”

  Asher stares into the distance, absorbing this news. Then he lays back down, pulling me into his arms. He kisses the top of my head, wrapping me in his tight embrace. “I always wondered what happened to the JFK baby, but every article stated the family who adopted her was extremely private. And for your safety, they wouldn’t disclose their identities or yours.”

  I roll over, meeting his eyes. “My parents kept my background quiet from everyone. The only other person who knows the true identity of the JFK baby is the woman who was my case worker. And now you, of course. Hell, my mother didn’t even tell me the full story until I was eighteen. I knew I was adopted, but they just said they didn’t have any information on my birth mother, which was the truth. They didn’t. They still don’t. No one does.”

  “Have you ever considered searching for her?”

  “Who? My birth mother?” I prop myself up.

  “Yeah.” He returns to a sitting position himself. “Don’t you want to know why she left you in an airport bathroom?”

  “I’ve tried, but eventually gave up. You can’t just run an internet search of the JFK baby’s birth mother.” I squint, pinching my lips together. “Well, actually you can. The results will say Rose Kennedy.”

  “Wasn’t there a police report?” he presses, his gaze intense. “Witnesses? Video? You were found in an airport, for crying out loud. There has to be something.”

  “It was thirty years ago,” I remind him. “Over ten years before 9/11. The police have footage of my birth mother in the terminal before she walked into the bathroom. But she never looked directly into any of the cameras. It was impossible to know what she looked like, other than she was approximately five-six, slender, with dark hair, wearing a black hoodie that hid her features.”

  “If you really were interested in finding out, I bet Lincoln could help you.”

  “Lincoln?” My brows scrunch together, wondering how Chloe’s husband could help in this thirty-year cold case, as it’s been touted on the news. “I don’t—”

  “He’s the new chief general counsel for the Times. I’m sure there are quite a few reporters on staff who would love nothing more than to break the story behind the JFK baby. Hell, to put a name to the JFK baby in the first place.” He lowers his voice. “Does Chloe know your background?”

  I shake my head.

  “People would love to know how the JFK baby turned out. And I think the JFK baby should learn where she came from, too.” He narrows his gaze, giving me a knowing look.

  “Why do you feel so strongly about this?”

  “Because I care about you, Iz.” He pushes me back against the mattress, hovering over me. “This is the kind of thing that can have long-term effects. I still volunteer with an organization that promotes arts education for high-risk kids in the hopes it will steer them on the right path, give them an outlet outside of drugs, alcohol, or anything else that could end with them in prison or an early grave.”

  I nod, more than aware of his philanthropic work. During the time I dated Jessie, I always found it noble that Asher gave up his Saturday mornings to work with kids from low-income neighborhoods, teaching them the fundamentals of music and eventually how to play an instrument of their choosing. It didn’t fit into the persona of the brooding musician I’d painted. Then again, I was just as surprised to learn he was a high school music teacher. Perhaps if my high school music teacher looked like Asher, I would have stayed with it longer.

  My curiosity getting the better of me, I’m about to ask why he got involved in this program in the first place, then it hits me. “Emilia…” The name escapes my lips before I can stop it. “That’s why you feel so strongly, isn’t it?”

  He shoots up, eyes wide. “How…” He blinks repeatedly, staring at me. Then he hangs his head. “Grams.”

  “She told me about her. How you and Jessie were friends with her. How Jessie wanted to be more than friends, but one day, she disappeared.”

  “She came from a troubled family. Said music was the only thing that kept her relatively grounded. Then she quit out of the blue. I don’t know…” He blows out a sigh. “I always wondered if things would have been different had I pushed her stay with it. It was obvious she hated to be at home. So, in a way, I see parts of Emilia in a lot of kids.” He shifts his gaze to mine. “I see parts of Emilia in you, too. There are times I look at you and see that same distant expression in your eyes.”

  “I’m not her,” I say through the lump in my throat. The pain of losing someone at such an impressionable age has obviously stayed with him. It doesn’t help he never got any closure, that he’s had to spend the past nearly twenty years wondering what happened to her.

  “I know you’re not. But I’ve worked with a lot of kids who were in the system. Who’ve been abandoned and never adopted. Who’ve spent their entire lives in foster care. Some of them don’t know where they come from, which shows in their reluctance to form strong relationships with anyone. Sure, some of them have gone on to turn their lives around, but there’s still something missing.” He traces a line down my face. “I’m worried I’ll never have all of you when there’s still a piece of you missing.”

  I part my lips. Do I really want to put myself through all of this? To learn why my mother didn’t want me?

/>   I shift my gaze to his, the love shining through almost knocking the breath from me. It’s so strong, so vibrant, so powerful. When he looks at me this way, I can’t help but give him the hope I sense he needs.

  I brush my mouth against his, savoring in the light caress of his early morning kiss. “For you, I’ll think about it.”

  He angles back, cocking a brow. “Just think about it?”

  “It’s the best I can give you right now,” I admit. “It might open old wounds. I need to be emotionally prepared for that.”

  “I can understand that. And I’ll be by your side the entire time…if you’ll let me.”

  I simply smile in response. Don’t nod. Don’t agree. I can’t promise him a future when I’m still struggling with what that future holds. What I want it to hold.

  When I went to him the other night, I was so certain this was the only way we could be together. That all we could ever have were these stolen moments when it was just us. But with each passing beat of my heart, I fear I’ll no longer be able to walk away. That I’ll want everything he’s offered. That I’ll want this fantasy with him.

  Then again, I fear I already do.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  As a girl, I often looked forward to the day after a snowstorm, simply so I could admire the beauty of our property, the sun shining brightly off the blanket of white. But today, as I peer at the sunlight reflecting off another snow-covered expanse of wilderness, nothing about it seems bright, the ache in my heart too excruciating. This is the precise thing I’d hoped to avoid. I had a warning after my one night with Asher in Vegas. I knew how difficult it was to walk away after just one night. But did I listen? Of course not. Now I’ve made matters worse. Now I’ve spent several nights with Asher.

  An arm encloses me in the warm embrace that has become my sanctuary, my respite…my home. A heaviness settles in my chest at the thought that this is the last morning we’ll wake up together. The last morning we’ll have…whatever this is.

  Despite spending all this time together, we haven’t discussed what would happen today, other than the fact that we’ll drive to the airport. But that’s where we’ll part ways. He’ll get on a flight to LA and hit the studio, now that he’s written enough songs for an album. And I’ll board a plane to New York, where I’ll return to whatever semblance of a life I have left. At least I now have a little cushion with the money Jessie wired into my account, my payment for Asher making his studio date.

  I glance at the clock on the wall of his bedroom, a lump forming in my throat. My flight leaves in a little more than five hours, which means we don’t have much time before we need to hit the road. I squeeze my eyes shut, a lone tear trickling down my cheek. Now that the end is here, I want to go back in time, have one more hour, one more minute, one more second.

  Asher pulls me closer, desperate fingers exploring my body, like a blind man reading Braille. When his lips brush the sensitive skin on my neck, I moan, losing myself in his seductive touch. Right now, I want to live in the present, live in Asher. I don’t want to think about what’s to come in mere hours when we have to burst our own bubble. It’s too painful. Too final.

  He pushes me onto my back, a lock of hair falling in front of his eyes as he peers down at me. His gaze traces over my face, seeming to focus on every mark, every line, every freckle. I want to look away from the pure intensity in his stare, but I can’t, still cast under his spell. Even more so now that it’s about to break.

  For the first time, I question whether it needs to break.

  His lips curve into a sad smile as he swipes a tear from my cheek. “I love you,” he confesses, his voice filled with wonder.

  I expel a short breath, struggling to come up with any meaningful response. His declaration doesn’t come as a surprise. It’s the fact he so willingly admits it that catches me off-guard. Despite the doubts that have plagued me the past few days, I haven’t wavered from my original decision that I couldn’t give him more than these rare, stolen moments.

  “I know it’s probably the last thing you want to hear since it will only make matters more confusing,” he continues when I don’t immediately respond. “But I do, Isabella. I love you so fucking much,” he chokes out.

  I search his eyes, wracking my brain for something, anything, to say in response, but I fear no words will ever be enough to properly convey the way I feel about him.

  “I meant what I told you in Vegas right before we made love the first time.” He pushes a tendril of hair behind my ear, his voice gruff. “I never wanted anything my brother had until you. I never loved anything my brother had until you.”

  The vein in his neck throbbing, he frames my face in his hands, his grip steady and determined. The way he holds me, the way he admires me, the way he worships me causes my heart to pound, the hair on my nape to stand on end.

  “You may not believe in love at first sight, and maybe it’s not love at that point.” His fingers dig harder into my skin, pupils dilating, chest heaving. “But I truly believe two souls can feel a connection. Maybe that’s all love at first sight is. One soul finding a piece of itself in another.” He lowers his mouth to mine. “Because that’s what I felt the second I saw you. I found the missing part of myself. And from that moment forward, I knew you’d be the only woman I’d ever love.”

  He presses his lips more firmly against mine, his kiss so much more charged now that his love is out in the open. There’s more meaning, more purpose, more everything, the power in this one kiss erasing every last doubt in my mind that this is the path for me. That Asher is the path for me.

  I wrap my legs around him, needing him closer, even a breath between us too much. Soon, there will be an entire country between us. Is that really what I want?

  He softens the kiss, the intensity waning as he gently brushes his tongue against mine before pulling back.

  I bring my hand to his cheek, running my thumb along the scruff of his unshaven jaw. “Asher…” I chew on my lower lip. How can I possibly respond to his declaration? In truth, there’s only one way to respond. “I lo—”

  “No,” he interrupts quickly, silencing me. “Don’t.”

  I blink repeatedly, confused. “But—”

  “Not yet.”

  “Why not? I thought—”

  “I don’t only want your love inside this bubble. I need it everywhere. Inside. Outside. Today. Tomorrow.” He skims his lips against mine. “Forever.”

  “I do. I will.” The words leave my mouth before I can stop them, but they’re true. I’ll always love this man, no matter what the future holds.

  His gaze is measured. “Then prove it.”

  “How?”

  With a furrowed brow, he contemplates my question, squinting. When he looks back at me, his eyes sparkle. “I’ll be in New York to talk with the label a week from Wednesday. They have me booked at the Four Seasons. Meet me in the lobby bar. Eight o’clock.” The corners of his mouth lift into a small smile. “And bring those three words with you. Okay?”

  I nod without a single hesitation. “Okay.”

  “Okay?” he repeats, his voice rising in pitch, his surprise apparent.

  “Okay.”

  Growling, he crushes his body to mine, consuming me, his kiss fevered and frantic as his hands roam the contours of my frame in sheer desperation. “You just made me the happiest man alive.”

  “You’ve made me the happiest woman alive this week.” I throw my head back as I savor in the feel of his mouth on every inch of me, the scruff along his jawline biting and bruising. “I don’t want this to end.”

  “It doesn’t have to.” His lips cover mine, his kiss deep and fulfilling as he circles his hips, bringing his arousal to my core. “It never has to end.”

  “Never,” I whimper as I surrender to him once more, finding peace in my pledge that it won’t be the last time, that we can survive outside our bubble, despite the obstacles facing us.

  “Ten days.” Asher’s words come out as a mix bet
ween a promise and a question.

  Busy travelers rush around us, pulling suitcases, while an overhead announcement calls for passengers to board before they lose their seat, which will be me soon if I don’t hurry up. I thought saying goodbye would be easier with the knowledge that I’ll see Asher again soon. But it’s not. In fact, I think it makes it hurt even more, since I’ve realized this is the path I want.

  “That’s just 240 hours. 14,400 minutes. 864,000 seconds.”

  “Did you just do all that math in your head?” I choke out.

  He shrugs. “I’m a musician. Essentially, music is just math.”

  I blink back my tears, my vision blurring. “I suppose it is.”

  “We just have to get through the next ten days. Then it’ll be smooth sailing.”

  I blow out a laugh. “I have a feeling in ten days, things will get a lot more complicated.”

  “That may be so…” He adjusts his stance, bringing my body closer to his. He briefly lifts the sunglasses, which mask his appearance in case any passersby were to recognize him and blast his photo all over social media. “But I’d rather have complicated with you than easy with anyone else.”

  “Promise?” I barely manage to say.

  “Promise.”

  His lips caress mine, sealing his vow with a kiss. Despair takes over, and he tightens his hold, kissing me with more passion, more magnitude, more longing. I wish I could stay in this moment forever, stay in his kiss forever. I fear the second I break away, it will all be over, despite the assurances we’ve made to each other.

  When he brings the kiss to an end, he rests his forehead on mine. Neither one of us cares we’re in public where anyone can bear witness to our agony, our heartache, our grief. Let them watch. Let them see what true love looks like. And I’m absolutely certain this is true love.

  “You have to go,” he murmurs after a beat.

  “I’m scared,” I admit.

  “So am I. But I have to let you go. Only for a few days.” He pulls back, cupping my cheeks in his large hands. “And then I’m coming for those three words, Izzy. You can be damn sure about that.”