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Myla turns, sitting up straight as she wipes at her fallen tears.
I bend down closer to whisper playfully, “Just don’t tell your mother. She might get jealous.” I chuckle.
This beautiful girl throws her arms around my neck, and I have to fight not crying myself.
“Now, we need to get downstairs before Tarzan tries to feed your brother to the dogs next door.”
Myla smiles, and I take her hand as we make our way back downstairs.
Jillian
Walking in the house, it’s suspiciously quiet. I don’t want to shout in case he’s trying to get Truitt to sleep.
Thankfully, a new nurse in our ER came in to help out when the on-call nurse never answered. Of course, the offer to work for double pay didn’t hurt, I’m sure. Wish they’d offered me premium pay to stay and help. But if it gets me out of hot water with Roslyn, I’ll accept it for what it is.
After placing my bags in the entryway, I walk over to the great room and find the television is on but the sound is muted. I recognize the cartoon of the loveable, albeit bossy, British pig that all of my kids enjoy. It’s an odd juxtaposition to the classical music that’s coming from what I suspect is Luca’s cell phone. It sounds familiar, but I can’t place it.
As I walk around the couch in search of the remote, my breath catches. Luca is lying there asleep. He must’ve just given Truitt a bath, as his soft, baby hair looks damp as he slumbers on Luca’s bare chest. Luca’s gloriously hot, muscular, tattooed chest.
This man was the most mouthwatering thing I’d ever laid eyes on, but this sight is doing really bad things to me. I can’t help but stare.
If you saw Luca at the beach, shirtless, covered in ink, you could come up with all sorts of assumptions about him. Onemight think he was part of a gang or a motorcycle club, an MMA fighter, or in and out of trouble with the law. And the way he keeps his life so close to the vest, he could very well be one of those things. I instinctively look toward the front door, recalling the car parked next door. I knew it was his the moment I saw it.
He’s overprotective to a fault. He sounded like he was going to come after that scorching plate of reheated lasagna that caused me pain when I was on the phone with him earlier. It’s hard to know what dangers he’s focused on. Because he fiercely protects the ones he cares for against any conceivable threat.
Luca must sense my standing here as his eyes slowly blink open. “Hi.”
I just want to jump him. But there’s the issue of my sleeping toddler in his arms. “Hi.”
“When did you get here?” he asks quietly, rubbing his face.
“Just now.” I come a bit closer. “Did you guys get something to eat?”
“Yes.” Luca yawns. “Luigi sent someone with a pizza.”
“Boy, my kids had a banner night.” I giggle. Surprisingly, he doesn’t return the emotion. “Where are the other two?”
“Caleb is playing with his cars before bed. Myla’s reading a book.”
I shake my head, shocked at how he always seems to manage them so well. “I swear, you’re the kid whisperer. Here, let me put Truitt to bed.” I carefully reach for him, hoping I can get him down without waking him.
“No, I’ve got him. Go get cleaned up.”
This man knows me so well. I give him a grateful smile before turning to make my way to my room when he says something that causes warning bells to go off.
“When you get back. We need to talk.”
After making sure the kids were down for the night, I took a lightning-fast shower before returning downstairs. I never like to get too close to anyone, or even sit on my furniture, after working in that emergency room. I never know what I could be bringing home to my family. And truthfully, I needed it to calm my nerves. Not that it helped.
I make my way downstairs and try to relax. I’d grabbed a T-shirt and shorts instead of a satin nightgown, so he’d feel comfortable saying whatever was on his mind without distraction.
Part of me is concerned he’s had enough of this. He’s come through for me and the kids time and time again. And this was no playdate. Mimmo isn’t here. While I don’t think he’s the type to keep score, he’s long repaid my debt of letting him leave the ER that day to pick up his nephew.
I try to reassure myself that no man on the planet would spend this amount of time with some woman’s children on the off chance he’d get some action. But as I enter the great room, I can sense something is clearly wrong.
Luca sits in the corner of the sectional sofa with his head down. His expression is not the good-natured one I’ve become accustomed to. This conversation feels as if it’ll be uncomfortable. Sitting down, I put some space between us, so I won’t cause him to feel that I’m crowding him.
“What’s going on, Luca. You have me worried.”
