by Hart, Emma
“You’re an adorable idiot. It works.”
“Aw, you think I’m adorable.” I grinned.
“You are when you smile like that.”
Another blush heated my cheeks. I cleared my throat and looked down.
Brantley laughed again. “See? Still adorable.”
“All right, stop it. You’re just saying it to make me blush now.”
“Pretty much. Is it working?”
I clapped my hands over my cheeks. “No.”
He reached over, grabbed my wrists, and tugged my hands away, revealing the red-hot blush that was coating my cheeks. A disarmingly sexy grin stretched across his face, and I pouted as his gaze flashed across my face.
“Stop it.” I wriggled my hands out of his grip. “I swear, messing with me is your new favorite hobby.”
“It is,” he admitted, eyes sparkling. “You’re so easy to fuck with, I don’t even have to try.”
I rolled my eyes. “And to think—I let myself be guilt-tripped into this.”
“More fool you. I warned you about her, and you obviously didn’t listen.”
“That’s so not fair. I did listen, I just don’t have freaky skills to avoid the guilt like you do.”
“I don’t avoid the guilt. I pretend.”
“Would you have pretended if you were me, knowing you’d leave a poor guy to be lonely?”
He raised his eyebrows. “I wouldn’t have been lonely. I’d have watched TV with my pants off.”
“You don’t get to use my plans as an excuse,” I scoffed. “And unless your daughter is a master manipulator, you would have been lonely.”
“She’s four. All four-year-old’s are master manipulators. If kids came with manuals, that would be the title of the chapter that talks about age four,” he said.
“There are technically manuals. They’re these wonderful, futuristic things called books.”
“None of which are geared toward a single dad,” he pointed out. “The last time I Googled something, I diagnosed Eli with a rare, deadly disease, learned that there are way too many styles of braid for any human being to master, and also found out how to get the kids out of the door by eight and have time to do my make-up.”
I paused. “I can see how that last one would be of use to you. Your mascara looks wonderful today.”
He dipped his head and laughed, his shoulders shaking.
I looked out over the trees at the end of the yard. The sun was beginning to set, and bright flecks broke in through the leaves.
“Can I ask you a question?”
Brantley shifted. “You mean another question, right? Since you just did.”
I quickly flipped him the bird, which did nothing but make him laugh again.
“Yes. I have a question.”
He nodded his head toward me, resting his arm along the back of the sofa. “Shoot.”
“Was it Ellie being Ellie, or do you get lonely by yourself?”
He opened his mouth, then stopped. Closing it again, his eyebrows drew together in a frown that made deep furrows across his forehead. “I don’t know. I used to, right after Katie died. Now, I think I’m so used to being alone, that even if I were lonely, I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.”
I looked down, playing with a loose bit of thread on my shirt. “Is it hard? Like…Do you ever think that one day you’ll wake up and it was all in your head? That she’s actually alive?”
“It’s hard, but she’s gone. There’s no changing it. I knew she was going to die, and I made peace with it before.” He tapped his fingers against the cushion. “But, no, I don’t ever wonder if it wasn’t real. Too much changed for it to never be real.”
Slowly, I nodded. “It’s weird. I used to dream that when I was a kid. That my mom hadn’t died, and one day I’d come home from school and she’d be baking cookies. I think I convinced myself she was a spy once and that’s why she wasn’t around.”
He smiled. “Grief is weird. When Katie died, I didn’t cry. I was numb, but I couldn’t show any pain. Everyone thought I was weird, and I swear, if she hadn’t been so sick, I would have been questioned over her murder.”
That made me laugh. “So, you’re a psychopath. Good to know.”
“Don’t tell anyone. I think I’m starting to make friends and I don’t want to scare everyone off.”
“Your secret is safe with me. Don’t worry.”
“Thank God. I might still have to kill you, though.” He smirked. “Do you…This is probably a really dumb question, but do you miss your mom? Like really miss her.”
“I miss her every day,” I answered softly. “It doesn’t hurt to miss her anymore, it just kinda is, you know? It’s more like it’s become a part of me and is as natural as the delight I feel when I find an extra Twizzler in the packet.”
“A Twizzler.”
“Ah, you haven’t been introduced to my obsession yet. Everyone who comes to my house has to bring me Twizzlers. You’d be surprised how steady that candy stream is.”
“Good to know.” He paused. “And thanks. For answering the question. It gives me hope that when the twins understand, maybe one day they’ll be able to cope with it.”
“Do you miss her?”
He blew out a long breath. “I don’t know, honestly. It’s a bit like the loneliness. I think if I do, I miss what she would do. Like, Ellie’s hair, or cutting their nails, or sewing up the knees of Eli’s jeans. Does that sound bad?”
“I think it makes sense.” I bent my knee and hugged it to my chest. “You miss the fact that they don’t have a mom. You miss what she represents instead of her as a person.”
He rubbed his hand down his face slowly. “God, that sounds bad.”
“I don’t think so.” I glanced away before meeting his eyes. “That’s what my dad missed, too, I think. Our lives changed so suddenly, and he had to learn to do all this stuff he’d never done. I don’t think he’d ever threaded a needle in his life until after Mom died. Over time, he reached a point where he missed what she was more than who he was. He had to learn to be a parent all over again.”
“Learn to be a parent all over again,” Brantley echoed. “That’s exactly what it is. I never imagined myself plaiting hair or putting softener in Barbie’s hair because she got dragged through a bush backwards. There’s just so much…stuff. And that’s all it is. Stuff. And I can’t thread a needle for the life of me. I just buy new jeans.”
“It’s really not hard. Especially if you patch the knees.”
“What part of “I can’t thread a needle” is confusing to you?”
I glared at him. “I’m giving you advice. Take it.”
“I still can’t thread a needle. It really doesn’t matter if patches work or not. I won’t be able to apply them.”
“Honestly, you’re making it sound like threading a needle is like running an army.”
“I run an army every day. The problem is, I created them.”
“They’re not an army.” I rolled my eyes. “And I’ll teach you how to thread a needle.”
“Can’t you thread it for me?”
“If I hear the word ‘thread’ one more time, I’m literally going to punch myself in the face.”
Brantley leaned forward. “Thread.”
I punched myself in the face, then winced.
“That hurt, didn’t it?” He grinned.
“Lil’ bit,” I replied, rubbing the side of my nose. “Thanks for hurting me.”
“I didn’t do a damn thing to you.”
“You said the word and made me punch myself.”
He shrugged. “You’re the one who said you’d punch yourself in the face. I was merely conducting an experiment on your ability to follow through with your promises.”
“Great. It was a social experiment in trust.” I rubbed my nose again. “That really did quite hurt.”
He laughed, then leaned forward. Two fingers brushed my jaw, and he turned my face to the side. “There’s nothing there. I
don’t know why you hit yourself so hard.”
“Because I’m an idiot. We established this earlier.” I turned my head back.
“An adorable idiot.”
“Still an idiot.”
“The best kind of idiot,” he corrected me, a small smile teasing at his lips. “My favorite kind of idiot.”
I side-eyed him. “I can’t decide if you’re still complimenting me.”
“Don’t take it too highly,” he replied. “I have Ellie in the ‘adorable idiot’ camp, too.”
I leaned forward and smacked his shoulder. “Just when I was starting to like you.”
“Starting to like me?” He snatched my hand, wrapping his fingers around my wrist. His fingertips pressed on the inside, and he rubbed his thumb along the sensitive skin, sending a tingle up my arm that made me shiver. Eyebrows raised, he continued, “I think you like me a lot more than you’re letting on.”
Then, like the—adorable—idiot I was, I said, “Prove it.”
He blinked and tugged me toward him. I didn’t move at first, but he grinned wolfishly and pulled harder. My resistance was useless, and I knew exactly what he was doing. I should have stopped him, but at this point, I couldn’t.
I knew what he was doing, and I was so fucked, because I wanted him to do it.
Chapter Twenty-One
Brantley pulled me right over to him, grinning the whole time. My stomach flipped as he literally dragged me on top of him so I straddled him. My knees dug into the cushions either side of his hips, and he slid his hands up my thighs, gripping my hips, and pulling me right against him.
My crotch was nestled against his, and I swallowed hard. This was probably the most intimate position we’d ever been in. My heart beat so fast my chest ached. I didn’t know what to do with my hands or where to look—nothing.
“You’re blushing again,” he muttered, eyes finding mine. “You’re so damn cute when you blush.”
“First adorable, now cute. You’re dishing out the compliments today. Anything else you wanna call me?” My hands finally came to rest on his stomach.
“Plenty,” he said in that same, low voice.
I waited for him to elaborate, and when he didn’t, I said, “Well?”
He tilted his head to the side. “No.”
“Come on!” I tapped his chest. “You can’t say that and then stop talking. It’s going to drive me crazy.”
He smirked. “Welcome to my world.”
Ignoring that. “One. Give me one word that you think I am.”
“Well, like you said, idiot is well established…”
“I’m done.” I pushed myself off him.
Laughing, he pulled me back into him. “You asked.”
“Yes. I’m regretting it now,” I said dryly. “Are you going to be serious or not? It’s bugging me. Come on. Give me one word you think describes me.”
“Okay, all right. Fine.” He thought for a moment, meeting my eyes, then reached up and pushed my hair behind my ear in strikingly tender moment. “I think you are remarkable.”
Whoa.
That was a weighted word. And not at all what I’d expected him to say.
I wet my lips with my tongue. “Remarkable?”
“Yes.” He nodded once, his gaze never wavering from mine.
“Why?”
“You make me feel alive.”
I took a deep breath in. What was I supposed to say to that? What I wanted to ask was how—how did I do that? I didn’t do anything special. I was just me. How did I make him feel alive?
“You make me laugh,” he said softly, as if he could read my mind. “Sometimes, it feels like I’m nothing more than Dad. But, with you…When you’re around…You make me feel like I’m me again. The person, not just the parent. Almost…Happy.”
I made him feel alive.
Like himself.
Happy.
That was crazy. There was no way I had that effect on someone.
I was just me. Just Kali. Crazy and idiotic.
Not all the things he was saying.
“Stop,” I said softly, sliding my hands up his chest. “That’s not me—that’s you. That’s you living again.”
He cupped my jaw, his fingers curling over my skin. Our gazes collided, and there was no controlling the rapid-fire of my heart as my dark eyes met the turquoise perfection of his.
“Maybe it is,” he replied, tilting his head in acknowledgement of my words. “But I’d be remiss if I didn’t admit you had an awful lot to do with it.”
I swallowed hard. My thumb stroked across the soft material of his t-shirt, eliciting a shiver from him. The reaction was so unexpected my breath hitched, because realization fell at the same time.
How many times had I shivered at his touch?
I affected him the same way he affected me.
I slid my hands up his chest, and without hesitation, cupped the sides of his neck and kissed him.
I knew I shouldn’t do it, but I didn’t care. There was something deep and…jarring…about knowing that I made a difference in his life. Something that hit me hard, that made me not care anymore.
That make me want to break all the rules, even if it only lasted for right now.
My lips worked across his even as the thoughts sped through my mind. I didn’t want to stop—I couldn’t stop. In that moment, I wanted him more than I ever knew I could want a person.
I wanted to feel him, breathe him in, suffocate myself with his touch.
I didn’t care about anything other than kissing him.
And the foreign feeling took over me. Grabbed hold of every cell in my body, pushing its way through my veins until I felt it from the top of my head to the tips of my toes.
Consumed.
I was consumed with the taste of him—consumed with the way I felt when we kissed. Kissing him made me feel like all my nerve endings were fireworks, and every kiss was a fuse burning down until, finally, everything exploded, blinding me with the intensity.
Brantley flipped me over onto my back. His hard body covered mine, and I welcomed his weight as he settled over me. Our lips met again, and I sighed as his tongue found mine.
My fingers combed through his soft hair. His hand slid down my body and down my thigh, pulling my leg up as his fingers probed my thigh. A shiver ran through me when he shifted and his hardening cock pressed against my clit through my shorts. The pressure was intense, making me gasp into his mouth, and his lips twitched into a shadow of a smile.
It lasted only a second.
The amusement was quickly replaced with a raw need that tingled through my veins. The kiss moved from deep to desperate quicker than I could keep up with it, and before I knew it, my hands had slipped out of his hair and was tugging at the material of his shirt.
Up, up, up. I tugged it up his body until it was scooped under his armpits. He finally got the message, sitting up. It slid down, and he grabbed the hem and tore the shirt over his head.
My gaze flitted up and down his torso, over the hard pecs of his chest to the shadows that lined the packs of muscle on his stomach.
Steadying himself with one foot on the floor, he pinched the collar of my shirt, tugging with a half-grin on his face. His fingertips tucked beneath it, brushing my collarbones, before he sat fully upright, grabbed my arms, and pulled me up, too.
He wasted no time in sliding the shirt over my shoulders and down my arms. He threw it to the other side of the soda, then grabbed at my tank top and pulled it up. I raised my arms so he could pull it over my head.
I bit the inside of my cheek as his gaze swept over the white, lacy bra that cupped my boobs. I glanced up, and, just like that, our eyes met.
He kissed me again.
Hungrier. Harder.
Together, we sank down into the soft cushions of the sofa. His hot skin rubbed against mine, and I cupped his neck, stroked his hair, explored the muscles over his shoulders.
I wanted to touch every inch of him—map out the dips and curve
s of his body and commit him to memory. Revel in touching him and feeling the sensation of my fingertips across his skin.
The hair that dotted the lower half of his stomach and trailed off beneath his waistband.
The gentle bump of his shoulder muscles as they connected his neck and his shoulders.
The roughness of his stubble against my chin.
The softness of his hair between my fingertips.
The pressure of his cock between my legs…
“Daddy?” The call came from somewhere inside the house, snapping us both out of it.
“Here. I’m coming.” Brantley stood quickly and, after adjusting his pants, quickly walked into the house.
I clapped my hands over my face. My cheeks burned red-hot, and my stomach dropped with the realization I was basically half-naked, and once again, we’d been interrupted from going further by a kid.
Sitting up, I grabbed my shirts and stood, covering my chest with them as I made my way inside. Footsteps sounded from upstairs, and I moved into the front room to put my clothes back on. I had no idea where my keys or phone were, because my mind was spinning.
Spinning with the implications of what we almost did. Of what I wanted to do—of what I never would have stopped.
My entire body buzzed with the after-effects of our make-out session. There wasn’t even enough left to regret it. I think I was past that. I think I’d long accepted that as long as I worked here, I’d have to fight with the irresistible attraction I felt for him, even though he was everything I didn’t want.
Everything I thought I never wanted, that was.
I ran my fingers through my mussed-up hair and sighed heavily. What was I doing? Had I no self-control?
No, wait. I knew the answer to that. I had none. None whatsoever.
I grabbed my tank top and put it the right way around before rolling it up and shoving over my head.
I was just about to put one arm in the right hole when I paused, catching sight of a still-shirtless Brantley in the doorway.
He quirked a brow at me. “Going somewhere?”
I cleared my throat. “Um, well…”
Slowly, he walked toward me. Step, step, step…Closing the distance between us until he was a breath away. “Going somewhere?” he repeated.
