by Mary Calmes
As we were leaving the station, I asked Sam what would happen.
“You heard what Officer Marion said. He told us that Mr. Parker confessed to finding out from his ex what day you would be bringing Kola back to school under the guise of apologizing, but instead he ambushed you.”
“He won’t go to jail, will he?”
“That depends on his priors. We don’t know what the deal is with him and his ex.”
“I thought there would just be a lot of court-ordered therapy.”
“Maybe, I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do,” I pressed him. “You were a cop for how long?
You know.”
He turned his smoky gray-blue eyes on me. “He’s lucky he was there when the cops showed up.”
“What are you talking about?”
“If he had run and tried to hide after what he did to you….” He took a breath. “Do I strike you as a reasonable man?”
“Yes,” I assured him.
“No,” he corrected me, shaking his head. “Get in the car.”
I had followed directions, and the hand on the back of my neck hauling me close made me smile. Sam was just reminding himself, as he mauled me, that I was okay. I was not surprised that when he got me back to the loft, behind closed doors, he needed to be skin-to-skin close to assure himself that I was all in one piece. We didn’t even get out of bed to eat.
He left me to shower and cook while he picked up the kids from school. I didn’t even realize it was raining outside until they got home and came through the door looking like a band of drowned rats.
Sam just glowered at me as he ordered everyone to strip down to their skivvies and run to opposite bathrooms. Once the kids were showered and changed, he did the same, since he had rolled out of bed, sticky and sweaty and smelling like sex, to go get them. He came shuffling back out to the living room and collapsed on the couch in old jeans, a T-shirt, and sweat socks. His eyes were heavy-lidded, his hair was sticking up, and he was flushed from the heat of the hot water. He was completely irresistible, and standing there, leaning over the back of the couch, I could barely keep my hands off him.
I loved looking at him, the golden lashes resting on his cheeks, the rise and fall of the massive chest that held his great heart and the power and strength in the man even at rest. When I traced down his nose with my finger, he scrunched up his face, and I couldn’t help leaning over and kissing his forehead. The rumbling purr made me smile.
He was exhausted, and since he had been awake for a full twenty- four hours, I was not surprised. But still, when Hannah shook him a couple of hours later, he woke up. The trumpeting sound she made caused a little bit of wincing, from the volume, but since I knew it was just to announce her entrance, I didn’t ask her to tone it down. I was not a fan of being told to quiet down or calm down, so I tried to not do it to my kids. I was loud and I was raising loud people. They had to count on learning restraint from Sam.
“What are we doing?” Sam asked, his voice full of gravel, as he sat up on the couch, rubbing his right eye with the heel of his hand.
He had not been in a deep sleep, because honestly he had to be in his bed with me either wrapped around him or him spooned to my back. Only with me was he completely relaxed, so napping on the couch had not put him all the way out. But it was enough to make him rumpled and bleary as he fought his way back to full consciousness.
Hannah’s flourish of horns, or what she approximated that sound to be, had jarred both him and Chilly, who had been curled up on his chest.
They had made an adorable picture together: the big strong man and his fluffy cat. It was one I would have been murdered over taking, so I refrained.
“J?” He grunted again, yawning, eyes watering for a minute as he clasped his forearms behind his head and did the all-over body stretch.
“Halloween costumes,” I explained from behind him as Hannah skipped around in front of her father and struck a pose.
It was cute how Chilly meowed indignantly and did his own stretch before jumping off the couch. Clearly he was irritated that he had been woken up for a fashion show.
Sam cleared his throat. “Uhm, not sure.”
Hannah was still holding her head-tilted-in-place, arms-thrust- forward, curved-back, worship-me position for him. It was, I guessed, her version of a runway model stance. The fact that she more resembled Frankenstein ready to rip someone’s head off was hardly her fault.
I leaned over close to his ear and whispered, “Ninja fairy.”
He grunted and nodded. “Well, that explains the fuchsia wings, the glitter ninja outfit, the wand, and the sai.”
“The what?”
“The knives there.” He tipped his head. “Like the ones Elektra carries.”
“Elektra fan, are you?” I learned something new about the man every day.
“Are you kidding?” he said like I was stupid.
“Should I be worried that you have a fetish for hot women in red leather?”
“I think, actually, Daredevil was the one who wore red leather.”
He grinned lazily, tipping his head back so he could see me. “But if you want to wear any kind of leather for me, I’d be more than happy.”
“Stop flirting with me. Your daughter’s gonna cramp up.”
He was chuckling as he turned his attention back to Hannah, studying her. “Okay, so you’re gonna throw razor-sharp knives at people and, if they get hurt, wave your magic wand and make them all better?”
She unfroze and turned big eyes and a bigger smile on her father.
“Yes!”
Obviously he was brilliant, and the way she launched herself at him, crossing blades and a sparkly wand behind his neck as she squeezed him, told him so. I could not stifle the sigh as he hugged and kissed her.
He put her on his lap as Kola ran out and froze in the same place Hannah had, on the rug in front of the fireplace.
“I like your cutlass,” Sam told his son.
“I’m a pirate.”
“I can see that,” he told him, turning to look at me with one arched eyebrow.
“What?”
“He’s the prettiest pirate I’ve ever seen in my life.”
“What?” I was defensive before the whine popped out. “No, he’s scary.”
“I think he can walk right out on a Broadway stage in that and be okay.”
“No, he’s evil.”
“He could be a singing pirate.”
“Sam!”
“He’s a Pirates of Penzance pirate.”
“No, he—”
“We need to get you an eye patch, buddy,” Sam told him. “And we can draw on some scars and maybe rip the sleeve on your coat and—”
“Rip it?” I interrupted.
“Oooh, yeah!” Kola was excited. “Can we put fake blood on me too?”
“Oh now you’re talking.” Sam was nodding, gesturing his son over to him. “And we need to get you some ugly teeth because pirates had scurvy.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a disease you get if you don’t get enough vitamin C where some of your teeth fall out and the rest are all brown and disgusting.”
“Awesome,” Kola breathed out.
“Not awesome,” I grumbled, walking back to the kitchen to check on the meatloaf we were having for dinner. The mashed potatoes were done and on the stove; I just had to toss the salad and finish steaming the broccoli. Not that I was going to get the vegetables down anyone in my house, but I was working on it. Sam was just as bad as the kids as far as roughage went.
As I put the salad on the table, there were suddenly arms around me and I was drawn back against the wall of hard muscle that was Sam.
“Yes, costume killer?”
He kissed behind my ear and down the back of my neck, and it felt amazing, so I tipped my head sideways so he could reach more.
“I’m improving, not killing, and I had too nice a day once I got home to fight with you about anything, so if you do
n’t want me to—”
“No,” I said, my smile quickly turning to laughter as he turned me in his arms and dipped me. “You and Kola fix it up and—are you okay?”
“I can’t dance with the man I love?”
We never danced, but as the kids returned in their jammies, we were swaying around the dinner table. The afternoon thunderstorm had blanketed everything, and it was still pouring outside at six at night.
“What are you doing?” Kola asked as he started setting out the plates and napkins like he did every night. Hannah’s job was the silverware.
“Dancing with Pa,” Sam said, pressing me closer, his hand on the small of my back. “What does it look like I’m doing?”
Kola shrugged. Apparently we were too strange to deal with, but Hannah smiled and nodded.
“Me next!”
“Yes, ma’am,” Sam agreed before he spun me into the living room and then lifted me off my feet. “Wrap your legs around me.”
“You realize you have children right there,” I reminded him even as I complied, sliding my legs up his thighs and over his hips as his hands went to my ass, holding me against him.
“I liked spending the day in bed with you,” he said, and his voice was low and husky. “Tighter.”
I pushed closer, my groin pressed to his hard abdomen. “We talked too,” I reminded him, unable to contain the deep, contented sigh when the man was looking at me with soft eyes and the sexy curl of his lip. “We talked about everything.”
“Yeah, we did.”
And we had. Sam had explained to me that Andrew Turner and Dr. Kevin Dwyer, or Christian Salcedo—whichever name you preferred—were both going to federal prison for a very long time. My heart went out to Kevin/Christian, because if I had lost Sam, I too would have been heartbroken.
“It was never love,” he’d told me as we had lain together on sweaty sheets, me draped over him, him making sure I couldn’t move.
“You’re the only one, J, you know that. Just you.”
Just me.
“Hey.”
I realized my mind had been wandering. “Sorry, what?”
He chuckled as he leaned in and kissed me.
“We talked about that,” Kola told us.
“I like it,” Hannah giggled. “They love each other.”
“Yeah, but Auntie Dyl and Uncle Chris don’t kiss all the time.”
“But Uncle Dane and Auntie Aja do.”
“So maybe because Uncle Dane is Pa’s brother,” Kola offered sagely. “That’s why they kiss who they’re married to.”
Hannah nodded.
“’Cause they’re brothers makes them the same.”
“Like me and you.”
“We’re not brothers.”
“Yeah, but we’re family.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “We’re family.”
I couldn’t stop the tears, and Sam wiped them away before he kissed me.
“You have such a soft heart.”
For him and my kids, yes, I did.
About the Author
MARY CALMES lives in Lexington, Kentucky, with her husband and two children and loves all the seasons except summer. She graduated from the University of the Pacific in Stockton, California, with a bachelor’s degree in English literature. Due to the fact that it is English lit and not English grammar, do not ask her to point out a clause for you, as it will so not happen. She loves writing, becoming immersed in the process, and falling into the work. She can even tell you what her characters smell like. She loves buying books and going to conventions to meet her fans.
