My Baby Daddy.

Sofia's pov

The memory of his hands on my skin was so vivid I could still feel the heat. One touch, and I'd been a goner. A desperate, heartbroken girl looking for an escape in Los Angeles, and I'd found it in the city's most infamous bachelor.

"I can't do this," I'd mumbled against his lips, even as I pulled him closer.

"Shh," David had whispered, his voice a low rumble that went straight to my core. "Let go for one night."

And I had. It was a blur of passion, of forgetting the sting of betrayal. I'd slipped away before dawn, convincing myself it was a one-time thing. A secret I'd take to my grave.

"Mama!"

My son's voice yanked me violently back to the present. I blinked, the sterile light of the airplane cabin replacing the dark bedroom in my memory.

Jason was leaning over his seat, his little face full of mischief. "You were doing it again," he announced.

"Doing what, sweetie?" I asked, my voice still husky from the dream.

"That smile. The one where you look at nothing." He poked my cheek. "Were you thinking about my daddy?"

My heart slammed against my ribs. "Jason! What have I told you about that?"

"That he's a pilot who flies very, very far away," he recited, rolling his eyes with a wisdom far beyond his six years. He didn't believe it for a second. "Can you open my juice?"

I fumbled with the cap, my hands unsteady. This was why I'd left London. To build a new life where no one knew my past, or his. But my design business had outgrown the small town we'd called home. London was the only place with the opportunities I needed.

"Welcome to London, Miss Jacobs," a flight attendant chirped as we finally shuffled off the plane. Jason immediately tried to bolt.

"Jason Jacobs, you hold my hand right now," I said, my grip firm.

"But Mama..."

"No buts. This airport is huge. You stick with me like glue, understand?"

He gave an exaggerated sigh. "Okay. But I'm hungry. And my feet hurt. And this is boring."

I fought a smile. "We'll get your suitcase and find food. Just behave for ten more minutes."

The universe, it seemed, had other plans. As we waited by the baggage carousel, a sudden, urgent pressure made me wince. I'd drunk too much tea on the flight.

"Jas, Mama needs the ladies' room. Sit right here on this bench. Do not move. Do not talk to anyone. Watch for our blue suitcase."

His eyes lit up with negotiation. "What do I get?"

"A whole bag of those chocolate biscuits you like. But only if you stay put."

"Deal!" He plopped down, pulling out his tablet.

I hurried away, casting anxious glances back. He was still there, tiny legs swinging, completely engrossed in his cartoon. Good.

The relief in the restroom was short-lived. A cold dread settled in my stomach the moment I stepped back into the arrivals hall. The bench was empty.

"Jason?" My call was a panicked whisper. Then I saw him. My brave, mischievous boy was standing in the middle of the walkway, directly in the path of a group of men in sharp black suits.

And he wasn't just standing there. He was staring, mesmerized, at the man leading them.

Time stopped. The air left my lungs.

David Beckham.

He was even more imposing than I remembered. The years had etched his handsome face with more authority, but it was him. The man from my deepest, most secret memory, walking through Heathrow as if he owned it.

"Jason!" I cried, but my voice was lost in the crowd.

I watched in horror as my son, my carbon-copy secret, took two bold steps forward and wrapped his arms around David's leg.

The entire entourage halted. David looked down, a frown of annoyance smoothing into an expression of pure, unadulterated shock. He stared at the boy clinging to him like he was seeing a ghost.

My feet were rooted to the floor. I couldn't move, couldn't breathe.

David bent down, his movements slow, deliberate. He said something to Jason. Jason, my traitorous, wonderful boy, giggled and pointed straight at me.

Those familiar brown eyes lifted and locked onto mine across the busy terminal. A jolt, electric and terrifying, shot through me. There was no recognition at first, just a billionaire's mild curiosity at being pointed out.

Then his gaze sharpened. It flickered between Jason's face and mine, once, twice. The confusion in his eyes crystallized into dawning, impossible comprehension.

He stood up, holding Jason easily in one arm, and started walking toward me. Every step was measured, powerful, his stare never wavering.

My survival instincts kicked in. I fumbled for my oversized sunglasses and shoved them on, then yanked a spare face mask from my bag. It was a pathetic disguise, but it was all I had.

He stopped in front of me, Jason beaming in his arms like this was the best day ever.

"Is this your mother?" David asked Jason, his voice that same low, hypnotic tone I'd never forgotten.

Jason nodded eagerly. "That's Mama!"

David's eyes scanned my hidden face. "You look... incredibly familiar," he said slowly, each word loaded with suspicion.

"I get that a lot," I rushed out, my voice muffled by the mask. I reached for Jason. "I'm so sorry, he's just very friendly. Come on, Jas, let's go."

I tried to take him, but David shifted his hold, just slightly. It was a subtle gesture, but it screamed possession. His eyes bored into mine, seeing past the glasses, the mask, right back to that night.

"Do I know you?" he pressed.

"No," I said, too quickly. "No, you don't."

A slow, dangerous smile touched his lips. He leaned in, close enough that I could smell his cologne, and his next words were for me alone, a soft, devastating promise.

"I think I do," he murmured. "And I never forget a face."