Chapter Eleven

Tempest was up at six the next morning. Three hours of sleep was catching up with her, though. Knowing she wouldn’t get back to sleep anytime soon, she swung her legs out of bed and padded into the bathroom.

A bit more awake, a fully dressed, Tempest walked through the house and out the back door to the yard. She unrolled a yoga mat and sat down upon it in the lotus position. For thirty minutes, she maintained that hold while she mediated.

That done, she stretched, put the mat away, and walked out the gate of her house. Striding down the stone path, Tempest was almost to the sidewalk when she saw him.

James “Maverick” Chayton Lonetree sat on his motorcycle in her driveway. He was leaning nonchalantly against the gleaming bike; rock-solid arms crossed his marbled chest. His clothes were black, all of them: shirt, pants, and boots.

Briefly, they just stared at each other, Tempest unconsciously touching her hair that was gathered up off her neck in a slapdash way. She recovered quickly. “What are you doing here? How did you find out where I lived?” Her questions were delivered in a low hiss.

“I told you we needed to talk,” he responded in a velvet-smooth voice that made her feel as if he were running his hands over her body.

“I have nothing to say to you. And I don’t want to hear what you have to say.” Tempest began to back up toward her gate.

Maverick reached out one hand toward her. “No, please, wait. I didn’t know.” He licked his lips and glanced up at the sky. “I went home to confront mine and your parents about it.”

Really? “And?” She crossed her arms, but stopped moving backwards.

“And your mother—”

“She is not my mother. My mother was Bertha,” Tempest interjected furiously.

Both hands went up in a placating gesture. “Okay. I went to your old home and was told off by the woman of the house.” Nothing so much as a flicker crossed her face so he continued. “They knew. My parents knew and refused to tell me.”

“You aren’t telling me anything I don’t already know. I was the thirteen year old who had to face your parents and tell them because you wouldn’t talk to me. In fact, you down right avoided me.” Her eyes grew unyielding. “And while this trip down memory lane has been tons of fun, I have things to do.”

“Tempest, wait.” Maverick pushed away from his bike and moved toward her. He wasn’t blind to the appreciative way her eyes roamed over his physique, but now was definitely not the time to address that. There was something way more important to tackle.

She exhaled loudly and bluntly asked, “What do you want from me, James?”

A slight crinkle appeared at the corner of one side of his mouth. “I want a chance to make amends. But more than that, I want a chance to know my son. I missed everything: first step, first word, first day of school, and his birth. I missed everything seeing him grow into the man he is today.” He held up a hand at the narrowing of her eyes. “I know you know that, Tempest, just hear me out.”

Maverick stopped before her, towering over her. “I didn’t have a choice. It was taken away from me. Part of that is my fault because I did avoid you. Not because I thought you were pregnant, but because I was embarrassed about how I had treated you. I was ashamed for making your first time so unpleasant. I know you didn’t get any pleasure out of it and I was mortified.”

He grabbed her arm and both of them felt the electricity flowing between them. “I want to get to know my son.”

Pulling away from the touch that made her uncomfortable for more than one reason, she responded, “I have nothing to do with that. If you want to know him better, it’s between the two of you. Not me.” Tempest turned and retreated behind the protection of her gate.

“I’m not giving up, Tempest. Not on you, either!” he hollered over the fence to her.

“Don’t make me call the cops on you; please, leave.” She walked, shaking, back to the door of her home and slipped inside. Once secure in her sanctuary, she covered her face with her hands and began to cry. Mindless of the young man positioned at the front door, she headed for her room.

Maverick was torn between going after her and letting it go. Not many can get away with calling me James. And yet he’d been fine with her calling him that. When his phone rang, he walked back to his bike and answered it. Just as suddenly as he’d answered it, he hung up, for he had no desire to speak to his parents.

Climbing on his motorcycle, Maverick reached in his saddlebags and pulled out some paper and a pen. He wrote down the name, address, and room number of his hotel before striding up to the front and wedging the paper in the door.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you,” he whispered before spinning around and heading for his bike.

Securing his helmet, Maverick had no idea how to proceed. He would just have to hope something he’d told her this morning would sink in and she would encourage her…no…their son to come talk to him. And he would be back at the bar again. He wasn’t about to retreat.