Kade, page 19
My fingers thread with his as he pulls me into the space between his legs. “No, you didn’t wake me,” I say, pushing the hair off his forehead. His eyes drift closed, his long lashes casting a shadow over the tiny freckles on his cheekbones. My thumb caresses the dark eyebrows that frame his gorgeous eyes and skims down the straight slope of his nose. It traces the outline of his mouth, dipping into the perfect Cupid’s bow I love so much, and circles around under his plump bottom lip, finally coming to rest on his angular jaw. The day-old stubble is a reminder that he’s all man, but hiding just beneath the surface is a strange boy-like feature you wouldn’t normally see unless he’s let his guard down enough to show it.
His eyes flutter open. Wild curls bounce down my back and over my bare shoulders when he pulls out the band that was holding my tresses at bay. His hand glides down my messy tendrils past the line of my neck and disappears inside the blanket. Chills break out on my skin as his fingertips roll down my bareback. Lips sweep over my collarbone and up my neck soft and slow.
Every encounter we’ve had was hurried and intense. We usually tear into each other in a frenzied rush, clawing and biting in a sweaty mass of slapping skin on skin. This is something completely different. We explore each other with our hands and mouths, enjoying one another instead of racing to climax like animals. This slow-paced, erotic intimacy is unexpected and satisfying in a way I never dreamed possible.
He lifts me in his arms and carries me upstairs. The view of the sky through my bedroom window changes from black to blue as the sun begins to rise. My hands roam his torso, reading every peak and valley of his chest and stomach like braille, committing them to memory and savoring the feel of his warmth under my trembling palms.
Light sluices through the blinds, adding a third dimension to the tattoos that run the length of his arms and pecs, bold swirling patterns shrouded in darkness against smooth skin. His body isn’t just beautiful; it’s a work of art.
Nagging thoughts of him with other women float from the recesses of my mind. The angel on one shoulder is cooing in post-coital bliss, but that nasty little devil on the other keeps telling me that rock stars are notorious for sleeping around. “How are we gonna do this, Kade?”
He rolls over and sits up on the edge of the bed. “We’ll make it work.”
I sit up under the sheet, pulling my knees to my chest. Last night was amazing and surreal. Having a normal life with Kade by my side would be my greatest fantasy, but I’m too much of a realist to hold onto the hope of that. It’s a fairy tale, and fairy tales aren’t real.
Jealousy still sits in my gut like a third person in the room. Kade’s a good man, but my heart is still too brittle to be able to handle a guy like him. I’ll always be wondering what he’s doing in California, and who he’s doing it with. I can’t help it. Bob’s affair has jaded me to the point of no return. “But your life is three thousand miles away.”
He twists around to face me. “My life is with you,” he says, his knuckles raking across my cheek. “I’ll find a way. I promise.”
Chapter 28
Kade
I bang around the kitchen looking in various cabinets for the things I need. Everything in this house is just so...her. The plain white cabinets are a stark contrast to the sleek onyx granite. The curtain above the small window adds bold splashes of lime green, bright pink, and yellow. She even has a green teakettle on the stove. The room is a unique juxtaposition of her personality—simple, sexy, and fun.
After assembling my ingredients, I get to work. Last night was unbelievable. Her body responded to my touch as if no time had passed at all. She was uninhibited and free, but this morning her walls went up, and she was guarded again. I don’t know what else to do to ease her mind about us. Being here only confirmed what I already know. Ainsley’s it. The last woman I want for the rest of my life.
I throw freshly chopped peppers into a bowl, and then begin cracking eggs one after another as the pan heats in front of me. Growing up, I was taught that hard work is the key to a successful life, even though my father’s idea of hard work bordered on slave labor. He got me a job working at the mess hall before school when I was thirteen. Breakfast is the only food I ever learned how to make, but I can make one good enough to feed an army. Literally.
Ainsley’s quiet footsteps pad down the stairs. From this spot, I can see her as she comes down the hall toward me. Her wild hair is wet from a shower, framing the shy smile on her gorgeous face. A shuffling at the front door turns her attention, and Shay comes bursting through like the noisy little pixie she is. “Hey, Mom!”
“Hey, sweetie! You’re early! You okay?” Ainsley asks, greeting her daughter with a hug and a kiss.
“Yep! Cami’s sick. Hey, Kade!” Shay waves in my direction on the way up to her room as the ex-husband pushes his way through the front door right behind her.
“Cami has another migraine. You know Shay. She’s so...”
Dr. Douchebag spots me in the kitchen, and the Wonder Woman backpack in his meaty fist falls to the floor. “What the hell is he doing here?” He stomps further into the house, pointing his stubby finger, unsuccessfully trying to intimidate me with his bulldog sneer.
“Bob, the company I keep is none of your concern.”
Ainsley steps into the space between the hall and the kitchen, blocking the path that leads directly to where I’m standing. I watch in slow motion as his arm sweeps her aside; she loses her footing and her back smacks hard into the wall.
I see red. My blood burns with testosterone-fueled fire. The last time I came face to face with this fucker I almost killed him, and I’m thirty seconds from being a repeat offender. My fingers grip the counter to keep myself from charging in there and ripping him apart limb from limb.
If I lose my shit now, I’ll lose her for good.
My heart hammers against my ribcage. My teeth are clenched and my nostrils flared, but I stay fixed to the floor, knowing once I get my hands on him, there’s no turning back.
“Not my concern?” he growls at her, red-faced. “It’s absolutely my concern! He’s in my house! Around my daughter! I pay the mortgage. I make the decisions about what goes on inside!” She’s pinned to the wall as he hovers over her, exerting his dominance and signing his own death warrant. “It was only a matter of time before you became a dirty slut, just like your friend Jenny!”
My arm moves on its own, needing something to break. A puddle of yellow and green splatters across the clean tile floor as the bowl flies off the counter and smashes to the ground. I stand poised in the doorway, my hands balled into twitching fists of fury. My muscles are tense; my chest is heaving. There’s a target on this guy’s face, but I’m still holding back. His outline becomes fuzzy as my vision blurs with unmitigated rage. I can feel my pulse pounding in my temples, right above where my jaw is clenched so tight I could grind my teeth to powder if I moved them just a fraction. He thinks he’s tough, but he has no idea who he’s messing with.
A little blond head comes bouncing into view, calming my bloodlust immediately. “Mommy?” Shay’s eyes are saucers of surprise as she stands in the hallway watching the horrifying scene unfold.
“Go on up to your room, Shay. Mommy and Daddy are having a grown-up conversation.”
Ainsley’s shaky voice instills little confidence in her daughter. Shay stays where she is, frowning at her father. The fucktard has the decency to back away from his cowering ex-wife, but he doesn’t have enough sense to comfort his scared kid.
I walk past Bob and Ainsley and squat down to Shay’s level. “Why don’t we go play out back? Give Mom and Dad some privacy?” I hold out my hand and wait for her to take it, offering up the most reassuring smile I can muster. She glances at her mother for approval then back at me before her tiny fingers close around my thumb. Grabbing her jacket from the bench, I follow her lead out the back door. Bob’s barking continues as the glass slides closed, putting a wall between Shay and her parents.
She walks through the yard kicking the dirt, and I realize that I have no idea what to do with her. “You wanna go on the swings or something?”
“I’m almost ten; I’m too old for swings,” she says plopping down in a chair by the patio set with a frown. “I know you just brought me out here because my dad is yelling at my mom again.” Her use of the word again makes me openly cringe. Ainsley has told me a few stories about how controlling her ex-husband was, but I had no idea her situation was this bad. No wonder she’s afraid of falling in love again.
“Okay, I’ll admit there’s some truth to that.” I push myself off the wall of the house and take a seat next to her, leaning my elbows on my knees. Next to her elfin frame, I feel like a giant. This kid could star in Keebler commercials. She’s nine, but she’s no bigger than a six-year-old. “But I also thought maybe we could be friends.”
A gust of wind blows through the yard, kicking up a pile of fallen leaves and lifting Shay’s hair off her forehead. “I don’t know you well enough to be your friend.”
She’s right. Shay doesn’t know me from Adam. She’s probably taken all kinds of classes in school about stranger danger and shit. I’d love to get to know her better, but at this point, I’m pretty much just the creepy old dude who hangs out with her mom.
“Okay then. Let’s get to know each other. Ever play Rock, Paper, Scissors, Truth?” I ask, thinking on my feet.
“No,” she replies with a dramatic shake of her head. “How do you play?”
“It’s really easy.” A tiny crease forms between her barely visible brows as I explain the rules of the only game I remember from my childhood, adding one small caveat. “...and every time you win, I’ll let you ask me a question. But if you lose, I ask you one. Deal?”
She eyes me suspiciously, no doubt seeing right through me. Kids are like dogs—they can smell your fear. “Deal.”
“Okay, now hold up your fist like this.” I raise my fist out in front of me, and she follows my action. “Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!” She holds up two little fingers in a V formation, while my palm lies flat. “Scissors beats paper, kiddo. You win.”
“You like my mom.” It’s not a question; it’s a statement. She’s direct. Gotta give her props for that.
“Your mom is very likable,” I say truthfully, holding up my fist a second time. This time, she throws paper, and I throw rock. Her turn to ask another question.
Shay sits back in her chair, cocking her head. “She’s pretty, right?”
“Very pretty.”
This line of questioning is headed in a direction I hadn’t anticipated. I assumed she was going to ask me kid-type questions, like what my favorite color was. Digging into my relationship with her mother seems so out of character for a kid her age. Then again, as she so aptly pointed out, she is almost ten.
Without missing a beat, she lifts her fist, and I follow suit, throwing out scissors to her rock. She’s kicking my ass.
“Are you my mom’s boyfriend?” And there it is. The question she’s been dying to ask.
She looks up at me with the biggest eyes I’ve ever seen on another person in my life. Her facial expression is one I’ve seen on Ainsley a bunch of times. She wants an answer, and she isn’t going to back down until she gets it.
In hindsight, I should have expected this. She’s a smart girl. It’s a natural assumption, but I still wasn’t prepared for her to ask. “That’s tough to answer, kiddo. You might wanna talk to your mom about that.” I raise my fist hoping it’s enough to end the inquisition, but her hands remain in her lap. “Do you want to be?”
“That’s two questions.”
“Yeah, but you passed the buck on the first one.”
Dammit.
I purse my lips to the side, considering what to say. Aren’t little girls supposed to talk about ponies and rainbows and shit? Forget commercials, she’s headed straight to the FBI.
I’m sweating under the hot lights of her stare, but I don’t want to blow her off. Her opinion of me is too important. “Honestly? Yes, I do.”
“You should ask her. I bet she would say yes.”
“I’m not sure it’s that easy, kid. Maybe you can put in a good word for me?” I say with a wink. Her ponytail flaps behind her head when she nods. I mentally wipe my brow preparing for her next attack. In my wildest dreams, I never would have anticipated sweating while being interrogated by a fourth grader.
“Seeing my mom lonely makes me sad. I don’t want her to be alone anymore.”
Goosebumps rise on my arms. There’s no way for me to respond to that. I don’t want Ainsley to be alone anymore either, but I can’t force her to be with me. She needs to come to that decision on her own.
We play a few more rounds before the door slides open, and Ainsley walks out looking like she’s been hit by a bus. “You guys having fun out here?”
“Yeah! I’m beating Kade’s butt in Rock, Paper, Scissors, Truth! It’s an educational game.”
“That’s awesome, babe. Why don’t you go on in now and unpack your bag upstairs, okay?”
Shay waves to me and bounds back into the house. The second she’s inside, Ainsley falls against me, unloading a river of tears onto my shirt. “I’m so embarrassed.”
“You have nothing to be embarrassed about, A. You did nothing wrong.”
She shakes like a leaf in my arms, and I can’t tell if it’s because she’s cold or afraid. I assume it’s both and hold her tighter against me.
“I did everything wrong!” she cries, pulling away and wiping her face with her sleeve-covered hands. “I married that jerkoff. I produced a child who has to be raised in this fucked-up situation, and I’m powerless to protect her from it.” She flops down into the patio chair Shay was sitting in, dropping her head into her hands. “I’m the worst mother ever.”
“Hey, hey!” I kneel in front of her and take her freezing hands in mine. “I never want to hear you say that again. You are an amazing mother, and Shay adores you. This fucked-up situation is not your doing, it’s his. Don’t ever forget that.”
She sucks in a stuttering breath and nods. “He doesn’t always act this way. Your presence threatens him.”
“No. Stop defending him. His reaction was completely uncalled for.”
Hearing her give him the benefit of the doubt makes my skin crawl. He practically assaulted her right in front of me. Hitting me was one thing, but pushing her around is pathetic. “There is no excuse for him ever putting his hands on you. I can’t be held accountable for my actions if it happens again.”
She covers her face with her hands and sighs. “He came to tell me he wanted me back.”
I pull her hands away, unsure I heard her correctly. “Come again?”
“The day of the festival in Tuxedo, the day you came after me. The reason he came over was to tell me he wanted me back.” Another cold gust of wind blows through the yard, tossing her hair around her face. She runs her hands through it, securing it behind her ears, but the defiant curls pop right back out again. “He didn’t expect to find you in my bed, and he certainly didn’t expect me to tell him no.”
It makes sense. He realized too late what he lost and assumed I was to blame. I think about how much it hurt seeing Ainsley dancing with that puny Australian dude, and I almost feel bad for the guy. Almost. “Turns out you broke both our hearts that day.”
Today started with such high hopes and fell to hell in the blink of an eye. The intense buzz I felt earlier is completely gone, replaced by the nagging feeling that my presence here is making her life harder than it has to be. “Should I go?”
“No,” she says, resting her hands on my jaw. “But you should clean up the mess you made in my kitchen.” She smiles through her tears, and I hug her against me. Her body is warm against mine, despite the freezing November morning, and restores my faith that everything is going to work out.
Chapter 29
Ainsley
The doorbell startles me as I sit hunched over the open netbook on my counter, wheedling away at the huge pile of bills next to me. “Come in!” I shout, plugging numbers into my bank’s website at a furious pace.
I’d casually mentioned to Kade that Wednesdays were scheduled weekly visitation for Bob and Shay, and before he left on Sunday afternoon, he kissed me and said, “See you Wednesday.” In hindsight, I should have seen that one coming.
It’s been three days, and my embarrassment over Bob’s behavior hasn’t subsided one bit. I hate myself for letting him treat me that way for so many years. Throughout my marriage, I tiptoed around him, always afraid anything I said or did would send him into a flying rampage of insults and condescension. A stupid naïve fool, I meekly carried out every order my husband gave, took every criticism, every putdown, and every push, shove, and dismissive eye roll for fear that his wrath would be much worse if I didn’t. Kade had a front-row seat to the whole gamut, and he handled it with such dignity instead of hulking out like I knew he wanted to.
“Honey, I’m home!” he jokes, closing the door behind him. The sound of heavy footsteps thumps on the floor as he walks toward the kitchen. My gaze stays fixed on the mini laptop until his presence fills my peripheral vision. It tears my attention from the screen to the mouthwatering man leaning against the doorframe.
I focus first on his boots. Steel toe, military-edition shit kickers that are so big they could probably house a litter of kittens when they aren’t covering his huge feet. Then I draw my eyes up past his jeans, loose around the ankles but deliciously snug around his powerful thighs and ass. A black T-shirt stretches across his broad chest, and a bottle of Pinot hangs at his side, clutched between two long fingers. His raven hair is wild and messy, like he took a shower and forgot to comb it. A look that most people couldn’t get away with but for some reason looks sexy as hell on him. He’s like the poster child for debauchery and, after last weekend’s nonsense, is the man of my dreams right now.
