Chapter Thirteen

Gray

“It’s a novel,” Sloane says over the phone. “I’m setting it in Maplebrook. It’s reasonable that I’d visit for research. Don’t try to turn it into something it’s not.”

I leave the city, my head clouded with rage, doing my best to focus on the road as her voice comes from the speaker. She always sounds so goddamn pleased with herself, as if everybody else is an idiot for not seeing the obvious—that she’s right, and always has been, and always will be, according to her.

“It wasn’t fair to approach her in the park like that,” I say, keeping my voice level.

“It wasn’t fair to approach my own daughter ?”

“You heard me, Sloane,” I reply. “It’s been years. Two years, at least, since the last visit. Callie said she hardly recognized you.”

“Oh, Callie said . That girl has some nerve.”

“She was just doing her job.” I seriously need to be careful now. A protective instinct surges in me when she talks about Callie with that vicious tone. I almost want to roar at her that she’ll never, ever speak about Callie that way.

“She was rude to the mother of your child.”

“You don’t get to disappear and then play that card.”

“Well, I think you should invite us to dinner,” Sloane murmurs. “I can see Emery, at least. But you can tell her it’s a grownup dinner, so she won’t have to stay the entire time. She can sing on her karaoke machine or something.”

“She’s never used that machine,” I say.

Petty, maybe. Sloane’s last visit came with a pink karaoke machine that Emery had never even touched. Sloane clears her throat in that stuck-up way that lets me know she’s bothered. “In any case, since we’re in town.”

“Who’s we ?”

“Me and my boyfriend. Please don’t get jealous.”

I laugh dryly, with no amusement in my tone. “You seriously don’t need to worry there.”

“No, of course not. You were always ice-cold, weren’t you? It’s a wonder Emery is such an emotional girl when she has you as her role model.”

I can’t argue there. My relationship with Sloane, if I can even call it that, proved that I wasn’t exactly a fountain of emotion. I was always holding something back, always cautious to let my feelings show… always wondering, deep down, if I even had feelings. So why did I do it, then? Was I trying to build a family for Emery?

“Gray?” she says.

“I’m here.”

“What do you think about dinner?”

“Tomorrow,” I grunt. “But you need to go slow with Emery. Don’t push her. Don’t act like you can waltz back into her life and start playing mommy again.”

“She was treating that girl like she was her mother!”

“ That girl has a name,” I snap. “Callie—and she’s the nanny. What do you expect?”

She goes quiet. It’s as if I can hear Sloane’s mind ticking away, which is a bad thing. I shouldn’t have let myself slip like that. I can’t let her guess or sense any connection between me and Callie. Hell, I shouldn’t let there be any connection.

The messed-up thing is that Wes thinks Callie’s manipulating me. But the only person who’s ever done that is his sister. That’s the one truth I haven’t told Wes.

“I’m sorry,” Sloane finally says. “Tomorrow for the dinner, yes?”

This makes me suspicious. Sloane never apologizes. But if I don’t agree to this dinner, she might start threatening legal action. Technically, although I am Emery’s sole guardian, Sloane could fight me. She didn’t put up any fight before, but she could try to fight me now for joint custody. She’s selfish enough to force Emery to live with her half the time, which would be a goddamn disaster. Maybe Sloane could do it for a short while. Maybe she could pretend. But sooner or later, she’d get bored, move on, and break Emery’s heart.

“Yes,” I say through gritted teeth.

***

Emery is sleeping when I get home. I stand at her bedroom door, Callie just in front of me.

“She said she wants to sleep until dinner. Considering what she’s been through, I figured I should let her. Maybe the tough love, if it’s needed, can come later?”

I look at Callie. She’s got her hair down, framing her face and she’s changed into house clothes—PJs, sweatpants, hugging her curvaceous form. She’s not wearing perfume as far as I can tell, but I can smell her shampoo, which is something floral and sweet, just like her.

“You’re right,” I say. “I’ll break the news when she wakes up.”

“What news?” she asks as I turn away, heading for the living room.

“Sloane wants to come for dinner tomorrow,” I reply with a tired sigh. “I almost told her no. But I don’t want her to start any legal crap. That’s always the ace up her sleeve. I’m fairly certain the courts would side with me, but you never know. And I don’t want to put Emery through that. If I can humor Sloane for a little while, she’ll lose interest soon enough.”

“That’ll be tough on Emery. What?”

She stops when I do, her head tilted at me. Wes is in the back of my head, saying, She knows you like it when she tilts her head at you like that. She knows it makes you want her .

“Nothing,” I say. “No—not nothing. I just love how you always think of Emery first.”

“It’s my job,” she replies.

I take a step forward. It’s like I’m losing control again. “But it’s not just that, is it?”

She turns away from me, a flush creeping up her neck, over her cheeks.

“What are you thinking?” I ask, taking another step until we’re almost too close. It’s almost as if just being near her makes me drunk, but maybe that’s me giving myself an escape from responsibility. The fact is, I’m not drunk. I’m stone-cold sober, and I’m still doing this.

“I had stuff like this happen before, with…” She takes a breath. I can tell this is a big moment for her. “Jorge. But the difference is, I never wanted him.” She turns back to me and looks up, her eyebrow raised almost in a challenge. “I know we’re pretending it didn’t happen.”

“The kiss?” I say huskily. She gives a sigh of relief, as if glad to have it out in the open.

“Yeah—that. I don’t even know who kissed who. Now, though, I’m not going to make any moves. It’s not like I’m a move-maker anyway. If you want to keep pretending, then I’ll keep pretending, too.”

“It’s just so hard being close to you and feeling this,” I murmur, reaching out and grabbing her waist. The gasping noise she makes is almost enough to make me snap. It’s shock, pleasure, and complication all rolled into one. I can’t believe this is calculated. I can’t accept it. She’s nothing like Sloane. “Feeling at all. This hunger. Dammit…”

I lean down. She gasps again. When I kiss her, I can feel the tension melting from her body, as if it’s draining away, replaced by this moment and nothing else. I lift her off her feet, pushing her against the wall. She wraps her legs around me like instinct is driving her.

My hands find the round globes of her ass. I sink my hands in, holding her up, feeling her juiciness through the thin fabric of her sweatpants. She sinks her hands into my shoulders. Wes’s voice annoyingly invades the moment. She acts like she doesn’t want it, and then she responds like this. I push it down. Ignoring the doubt becomes easy when she shifts her hips against me. I arch my back, grinding my manhood against her haven through our clothes.

She lets out a ball-tingling breath, and I flip her around, cradling her to my chest as if I were a husband carrying a bride on his wedding day. She throws her arms around my shoulders and buries her face in my chest as I walk down the hall, kick open my bedroom door, and drop her on the bed.

She stares up at me with wide, fascinated eyes, a glint of nervousness in them. The same nerves I feel. We both know we shouldn’t be doing this. We both know that we might regret it. Probably right after we’re done, but when she bites her lip, I know I can’t stop. My head is cloudy with desire. My heart is hammering with lust.

I climb on top of her, kissing her again. She drags her fingers through my hair and grinds against me. I’m sure I can feel her wetness through her clothes, rubbing against my thick cock, my hardness overwhelming me.

“You feel so perfect,” I groan between kisses, sliding my hands between our bodies. I slip a hand into her sweatpants to her underwear and find her heat. “Oh… fuck.”

She moans into my neck, burying her face almost like she’s embarrassed by how wet she is. I grind my hand up and down her sex, from her entrance to her needy nub. Her moans always contain an element of shock. Like me, I can tell part of her wonders how this is happening so fast. Part of her wonders if this is the biggest mistake we’ve ever made. But we can’t stop. Even if we’re having those thoughts, we’re powerless.

As I begin to rub her faster, her hips twitch. I lean back so I can look at her. When I pause, she tilts her head, pouting at me. Wes is so wrong. There’s nothing calculated about her expression at all. Unless she’s the best actor on the East Coast, in the country, in the world. She looks just as lost in this moment as I am.

“I need to see all of you,” I groan.

She turns her face away from me this time.

I touch her cheek and turn her back to me. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” she says fiercely.

“Look away like you’re ashamed of yourself. Like you think there’s anything to hide. You’re beautiful, Callie, inside and out. You’re hot as hell. Your body is curvy and voluptuous—your body is perfect . I don’t want you acting like it’s anything different. Lift your arms.”

“Is that an order, boss?” She says, full of sass.

So that’s how she wants to play this. “Yes, it is,” I growl.

A small smile touches her lips; then, she raises her arms. I grab her shirt and peel it over her head. Then I reach around and unclip her bra. When her breasts spill free, I feel the tip of my cock surge with precome. I return my hand to her entrance, palming her slickness. At the same time, I bring my mouth to her needy nipple and start sucking and kissing. With my free hand, I massage her other breast.

The pleasure this produces in her is goddamn addictive. Those shy yet excited moans return. She grabs the back of my head as I suck her nipple, tasting her sweat, tasting her lust. Her core makes wet, soppy noises as I rub her even faster, her needy clit feeling like it swells with each stroke.

When she starts to shudder, I know her orgasm is close. It drives me feral. There are no doubtful voices now, no second guessing, no wondering if we’re going too far. I find her lips and kiss her deeply as the orgasm grips her. It’s like I can taste her pleasure. Our teeth click as she loses the flow of the kiss. Her pussy pulses, her hole throbbing as I circle it with my finger. My dick shudders as I think about her wrapped tightly around me, taking every inch.

Her orgasm slowly passes. I groan and grab her pants, meaning to pull them down.

“Is something wrong?” I ask.

She stares at me wide-eyed. “There’s something you need to know. Before…”

“Tell me.”

“I’ve never done this before.”

Before I can respond, I hear my daughter yelling. “Daddy? Daddy? Are you in here?”

“Fuck!”

I didn’t lock the door. What the hell was I thinking?