reached out one hand and very gently, as if Max were made of glass, tousled his hair.
Max flinched a little under the hesitant caress, and to her surprise Freya felt a pang of sympathy and perhaps something else, something deeper and more dangerous, for Rafe.
‘He’s a bit shy with strangers—aren’t you, Max?’
Rafe turned to her, his expression coolly challenging, his voice low enough so only Freya would hear. ‘Well, we shan’t be strangers for long, shall we?’ he said, and with one last smile for his son he left.
Rafe sat in the driver’s seat, knowing he needed to put the key in the ignition and drive away. He didn’t. Couldn’t. His hands were trembling too much.
He let out a slow, shuddery breath, adrenalin, anticipation, and anger racing through him in equal measures. He’d just seen his son. The child he’d always wanted and never thought to have.
The child his ex-wife had tricked him out of … twice.
Rafe forced himself to relax, forced the dark memories back—memories of his own loveless childhood, and then the unhappy years of his marriage. The cold, cold gaze of his father as he surveyed the son he’d never loved. The way he’d often looked past him, as if Rafe wasn’t there. As if he didn’t want him to be. And only when he was an adult had he learned why.
Things would be different now, Rafe promised himself. A new generation, a new day. He was the father now, not the unwanted child, and he loved his son. Nothing and no one would keep him from Max … and certainly not Freya Clark.
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