by Whitley Cox
Six weeks ago, she’d been on her knees in the shower with Scott above her, his fist wrapped around her wet hair, his other hand cupping her cheek, and now, she was in his kitchen, cutting up vegetables for her sons and his son while he stood over the stove and stirred homemade three-cheese sauce into boiled penne.
It was domestic and wonderful with a man she hardly knew but found deliriously sexy, and it was throwing her for a serious loop.
She had no plans to start dating and certainly no plans to introduce any new man into the boys’ lives, and yet there she was having a date or whatever this was with a new man who had already met her kids.
Even though nothing was going according to plan, she was really, really happy. And the view of Scott’s back, his butt and his arms as he stood over the stove wasn’t too bad either.
Was it really going to be this easy with him? With their kids? The first guy she met—the first guy she slept with after her divorce from Todd—turned out to be Mr. Right. And then he wasn’t just Mr. Right, he was Mr. Right-Next-Door. And his kid got along with her kids—so far. Was it really that easy? Or was it a too good to be true kind of thing, and he had a sex-dungeon-style bunker hidden beneath the shed in his backyard. Was she dropping her guard down too much? Or just enough?
She liked Scott, and even though things were complicated and messy in her world now, she somehow got the feeling that he didn’t mind messy or complicated as long as he was considered and respected. And she felt the exact same way. Todd had never shown her the respect she deserved—not only as his wife, but as a woman, as a person. In the small amount of time she’d spent with Scott, he’d already shown her far more respect than Todd had in the ten years they were together.
Continuing to slice the cucumber, she let out a long, exhausted sigh.
Why did life have to be so damn confusing?
“Tired, Eva?” He swung her a glance over his shoulder, and the grin that accompanied the twinkle in his distractingly beauiful brown eyes made her insides liquefy and the knife on the cucumber slip and nearly take off her fingertip.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she scolded.
He managed to appear surprised. “Like what?”
“Like you’ve seen me naked. Don’t let my kids catch you looking at me like that.”
If it were possible, his smile grew even sexier beneath that irresistible beard. “But I have seen you naked. In fact, I can see you naked whenever I want.”
Like his window looked into her window?
Creepy.
He turned around from the stove to face her, still smiling. “All I have to do is close my eyes.” He shut his eyes. “I’m seeing you naked right now. In that position, you know the one, where your legs were thrown up over my shoulders and I was—”
“Hey!”
His eyes flashed open, the smile still devious, still enigmatic. Then he closed those baby browns again. “Oh, now you’re naked, on your knees in the shower, and I’m just about to—”
“Scott!” Heat flooded her cheeks, but the pain that it took her to keep her smile at bay caused an ache to pulse in her jaw. Her lips twisted at the same time her stomach did a somersault.
He shrugged before turning back to the stove. “I’m just saying, I have a great memory and an even better imagination.”
The man was incorrigible.
And funny.
And kind.
Don’t forget sexy as hell and fan-fucking-tastic in bed.
She sighed again, rolled her eyes and continued cutting up the vegetables.
“So, when am I going to get to take you out on a proper date?” he asked, not bothering to turn back around. He stepped to the side and opening up a cupboard to grab some bowls. “I meant what I said before. If you want this to be casual and meaningless, I can do that. But something tells me you’re not really into that.” He tossed another look over his shoulder at her, pinning her with a heated gaze, and for some reason, the slight crook to his nose made him look dangerously handsome at the moment. “At least not for the long term,” he finished. “You want more.”
Gulp.
“And I would like to be more.” He began scooping the mac and cheese into the bowls. “I would like to be a lot more. Do a lot more—with you.” With two filled bowls, he turned around and made his way toward the kitchen table, but before he got there, he stopped just behind her. “Do you want more, Eva?” His warm breath against her neck had her fighting the urge to shiver. But she couldn’t shiver. A reaction like that would only feed into his game. She wanted to make him work for it.
Whatever it was.
“Hmm, Eva. Just Eva. Do you want more?”
Hell, yes, she wanted more. She wanted all of it.
She gulped again.
“I want more, Scott,” she whispered, not ready to turn around.
She didn’t have to see him to know he was smiling. Warm lips landed on her neck, and she lost the battle with her urges and allowed her eyes to flutter shut.
“We’ll start slow,” he murmured, peppering more kisses along the back of her shoulders to the other side of her neck. “First, tell me your last name, your favorite color, and one secret about yourself hardly anyone else knows. Then we’ll decide how much more we can handle.”
“Marchand,” she breathed. “Eva Danielle Marchand. I went back to my maiden name.”
“Eva Marchand. Very French.” His tongue danced just below her ear. “I like it.”
“Green. Like the trees and the grass and all the plants. It’s the color of Earth, of life, of all things new.”
“And the color of your amazing eyes.”
The warmth of him behind her had her entire body blushing. Need pooled in her belly, and a rush of wetness coated her panties. She was practically breathless, yet she hadn’t moved an inch.
“When I was fourteen, I skipped school, caught the bus to Olympia and went to listen to Allison DeWitt speak at the library.” She hadn’t told a soul—besides Celeste—that she’d done that. Allison DeWitt was her all-time favorite author, and of course, she was speaking at a library on a school day and Eva’s parents had to work, so how could she go?
Well, she made it happen. She even got Allison’s autograph and, with her old Polaroid camera, a picture of her with the famous fantasy author. That picture still sat in her jewelry box—a reminder of when she had guts—when she went after what she wanted, no matter the cost.
Todd had eviscerated those guts, had destroyed her tenacity and drive.
But she was getting it all back. It wouldn’t come overnight, but since leaving him, since filing for the restraining order, since filing for divorce and moving out on her own with the kids, she felt a million times stronger. She would be that school-skipping, tenacious woman again one day. She just had to give herself time.
“I love her books.” Scott’s voice was just a whisper against her heated skin. “Particularly the Sapphire Omen Series.”
She spun around.
Scott backed up and lifted his hands in the air, the bowls of mac and cheese still in his grasp. His mouth opened in surprise, and his brows shot up into his hairline. “Whoa, whoa! Did I say something wrong?”
She glanced to where his eyes kept darting. She still had the big chopping knife in her hand.
Whoops!
Giggling awkwardly, she gently set it down on the counter, then faced him again. “Sorry. I was just so surprised to hear that someone else likes Allison DeWitt books.”
He dropped his hands, and his face relaxed. Then he went about setting the bowls down on the table, only to return to the stove and begin dishing up more. “Are you kidding me? I’m a huge fan. Have been since I was a teenager. I live for her books. I can’t believe you saw her speak. I tried to go see her last time she was in Seattle, but Katrin … ” He turned back around with two more steaming bowls. “Anyway, I tried to go see her, but apparently my wants aren’t a real thing.” His words were just as tight as his body language.
“I lo
ve that you love her books,” Eva went on, piling all the chopped veggies onto a plate, then carrying them over to the table. “What’s your favorite of hers?”
“Would have to be Indigo Sacrifice in the Sapphire Omen Series. Yours?”
She grinned. “Same.”
“Well, then, we’ll have loads to talk about on our date, won’t we? Have you pre-ordered her new book?”
Biting her lip, she nodded. “I have.”
He set the bowls on the table, then returned once more to the oven. “You still haven’t answered my first question though.”
“Which was?”
He approached her with the final bowl of heaping mac and cheese. “When are you going to let me take you out on a proper date?”
Butterflies took flight in her belly from the way he was looking at her—heated, dangerous, demanding. All things that normally would have been huge triggers for her, but from Scott, not so much. If anything, she was intrigued rather than ready to flee. Enticed, not turned off. Aroused not repulsed.
They were toe to toe now, the feel of his warm body invading her personal space enough to make her brain grow a little fuzzy. Reaching behind her, he placed the bowl on the table, but he didn’t pull his hand away. He let it rest on her hip, and he tugged her into his body until there wasn’t even room for air between them.
“Our brains are wired for connection,” he said softly, bringing his other hand up next to her face and tucking a stray strand behind her ear. She closed her eyes at the welcome gentleness of his touch. “Our brains are wired for connection. As humans, we actively seek other humans. We seek intimacy and relationships. Partners.” His large, warm palm cupped her cheek, and he tilted his head down until they were nose to nose. “But trauma rewires our brains for protection. We become guarded and wary, always fearful of more pain, more heartache.”
Her chest lifted and fell at an alarming rate, and her eyes flew open, but what stared back at her didn’t scare her an ounce. What gazed down at her, so close she was going cross-eyed, was an intense understanding. Patience and kindness. An ache formed inside her chest at the rush of emotions she felt for this man—a man she hardly knew.
“I know that it can be tough for wounded people to have healthy, meaningful relationships, but I want you to know, Eva, I have no intention of hurting you. We can take this as fast or as slow as you need to. You’re setting the pace, not me.”
A stuttered breath rattled past her parted lips, hitting his mouth. He breathed her in.
“How did you break your nose?” she whispered, needing to lighten the mood, take it down a couple of notches, slow things down. This was a pace she wasn’t ready for. She was feeling things she shouldn’t—not yet—and if she let her heart and libido drive the bus, she was going to end up in Scott’s bed before the week was out.
No, she needed her brain to drive. Her brain knew the speed limit. Her brain knew when she should yield, accelerate or toss on the e-brake.
“Football,” he murmured, not pulling away from her even an inch. “I was a running back in high school.”
“Looks like you broke it more than once.”
“Three times, actually. First time was in football. Other two times, my smart mouth got me into some trouble.”
“All in high school?”
He grinned. “I’ve grown up a lot since then.”
Yeah, he had. He was all man now.
The sound of boys chatting outside drew near, and within a couple of seconds, a door opened.
Scott pulled away from her but with obvious reluctance—she felt it too—and wandered back into the kitchen to begin pouring everyone water.
Moments later, three rosy-cheeked little boys entered the kitchen, all of them smiling, with windswept hair and dirt and grass stains on their clothes.
“I’m hungry,” Freddie said. “Is dinner ready yet?”
“It is,” Scott replied. “Can you three run and wash your hands, though, please?”
“I’ll show you where the bathroom is,” Freddie said, taking off at a run down the hallway. “We have a stool you can use, Kellen. You’re short, like me. Lucas, you might not need one, as you’re seven.” Then, like sweaty little monsters with grumbling bellies, they disappeared around the corner.
Scott’s gaze flew up to hers.
She shuffled where she stood and dipped her head, the power of his light brown eyes stripping her bare, until all that was left of her was the insatiable need to leap up into his arms and crush his mouth with hers.
“Let me know when you’re free,” he murmured, managing to carry all five drinking glasses over to the table at once. “I want to date you, Eva.”
I want to date you, Eva.
Prickles ran laps along her arms. Fuck, she loved the way he said her name. It shot fireworks through her and made goosebumps explode along her skin. The way he dragged his teeth over his bottom lip—was he doing it on purpose?
“Monday?”
His eyes lit up. “Next week?”
She nodded. “Didn’t you know that Allison DeWitt is going to be in town for a signing?”
His bottom lip dropped open, and he shook his head. “How the fuck did I miss that?”
She lifted one shoulder. “I actually have an extra ticket to the event. I was going to see if Celeste wanted to go with me and Sabrina could babysit, but Celeste isn’t really into her books—”
He grabbed the back of her head and captured her gasp with his lips. It was quick, it was chaste, but it was hot. “I’m going to fucking marry you, woman,” he breathed, releasing her just in time before the boys came barreling back into the room.
She swallowed and blinked, watching him step away.
I’m going to fucking marry you, woman.
“And, yes, I would love to go to the book signing with you,” he said, pulling out Freddie’s chair for him. “It’s a date,” he mouthed.
It’s a date.
8
“You’re late,” Liam murmured before he lifted his single-malt scotch to his lips and took a sip. “I don’t like waiting.”
Scott flipped his older brother the finger as he sat down between Adam and Atlas at the poker table, his cards facedown in front of him. “Sorry. Freddie couldn’t find Mr. Timothy Goat.”
“Who the fuck is Mr. Timothy Goat?” Aaron grunted, shifting in his seat. For once, the retired SEAL’s dog tags were out of his tight green T-shirt, rather than tucked beneath them. Made him appear ten times more intimidating. Not that the redheaded, tattooed beast of a man wasn’t already intimidating enough.
“He’s Freddie’s stuffed animal—a big fluffy orange goat. He can’t sleep without him.”
“Where was he?” Liam asked, already seeming to have lost his irritation and now appearing genuinely curious. Liam loved Freddie, and Freddie loved his Uncle Liam. Scott knew the moment he told his brother the reason for his tardiness was kid-related that Liam would shrug it off. Just like Scott, Liam lived for his child.
“Tangled up in his pajamas, from when he peeled them off this morning,” Scott said, rolling his eyes.
His brother snorted, his dark brown eyes crinkling and laughing before his mouth split into a big grin. “Kids.”
“We gonna fuckin’ play or what?” Atlas grumbled, his blond head down, gray eyes serious. “Motherfuckers do nothing but gab.”
Liam rolled his eyes. “Yes, we’re going to play. Calm your fucking self. Nuts twisted or something? Jesus.” He shot his fellow law partner a glare before facing the rest of the table, rubbing his hands together. “Let’s play some poker.”
Atlas turned over the first community card.
Scott scanned the table for tells.
Adam shifted in his seat like he usually did when he had a crappy hand.
Aaron scratched his nose, sniffed and then cracked his neck side to side three times, which meant his hand had potential.
Mason, Scott’s good friend and single dad to baby Willow, yawned and squeezed his eyes shut. That usua
lly meant he was packing pairs. The jackass.
Mark cleared his throat, Emmett sipped his beer twice without setting the bottle down, and Zak’s dark red brows furrowed. They still needed more cards. His gaze shifted to his big brother. Liam was the wild card in the bunch. Even though Scott had known the man his entire life, shared a room with him for sixteen of those years and then saw his brother at least once a week for the past twenty-three years, Liam had an incredible poker face.
Maybe that was why he was a kickass attorney with an impeccable track record. Nobody could read him—therefore nobody knew whether he was bluffing or not. An essential tool when trying to leverage for your clients.
Liam swirled the scotch around in his glass, flicked his gaze to his cards, then the community card, then set his cards facedown on the table before he tossed two chips into the center. “I’m in.”
Around the table, all the men placed their bets.
“Mom says you have new neighbors,” Liam said. “More blue hairs?”
On Saturday nights, both Liam and Scott dropped their sons off for a sleepover with their parents. Jordie and Freddie were close in age and very close friends, in addition to being cousins. Liam and Scott’s parents, Addie and Ralph Dixon, loved having the boys stay the night and usually spoiled them rotten.
“New neighbors?” Mason asked. “You didn’t mention that last Friday when you were at the bar.” On the weeks he didn’t have Freddie, Scott spent Friday nights at Mason’s sports bar, keeping his friend company, drinking free beer and watching the hockey game on the high-end big screen above the bar.
Scott lifted his shoulder. “Didn’t have the neighbors then. They just moved in on Monday.”
“Blue hairs?” Liam asked again. He often made fun of Scott and the neighborhood he lived in, with its geriatric population and all the gossip. Particularly since Liam lived on Lake Washington and rubbed proverbial shoulders with the upper echelon of Seattle’s elite.
Scott shook his head. “Nope. Mom and two young boys, five and seven.”