Our signal. That means Finn’s asleep. All clear.
I grin and salute back before shoving my feet into sneakers. No time to waste. Not when there’s a sexy ferry captain waiting.
The back door opens as I reach it, and Lachlan steps aside to let me in, a half-smile tugging at his lips. He’s swapped hisuniform for jeans and a grey henley, and honestly, he looks just as devastating dressed down as he does in epaulettes.
“Evening,” I say lightly as I slip past him, only to yelp when his palm lands squarely on my ass and gives it a squeeze.
“Lachlan!”
He doesn’t apologise. In fact, he has the nerve to claim the other cheek too.
Before I can swat him, Gus pads over, tail wagging. I ruffle his ears quickly, laughing. “Sorry, buddy. This doesn’t concern you.” Then I catch Lachlan’s hand and tug him down the hallway. “C’mon. Let’s go, captain.”
He chuckles, his voice husky. “So impatient, Blair.”
I toss a look over my shoulder as I climb the stairs, then give my hips a deliberate sway. Predictably, his hands find my ass again.
“You really do have the most glorious arse,” he murmurs. “I could watch you go upstairs all day.”
Laughter fizzes in my chest but I bite it back.
The second his bedroom door shuts behind us, Lachlan spins me around and presses me back against it. His mouth claims mine. Hot, insistent, no preamble.
“Now who’s impatient, huh?” I manage against his lips.
He laughs low in his throat, his tongue teasing mine, and I melt into the kiss. His hands roam me like he can’t decide which part of me he wants most. Waist, breasts, hips, all of me fair game.
I tug at his henley, desperate for skin, and he whips it over his head in one move. My sweater follows, and when his gaze drops to the lace beneath, hunger flashes in his eyes.
He makes quick work of the clasp and then the bra too drops away. His mouth is on me at once, greedy and eager. I arch into him, gasping, my fingers threading through his hair.
Thursday
Gus snores between Finn and me, warm and heavy, his body pressed against both of us. It’s early afternoon, and the three of us are curled on the living room couch while I read Finn the latest instalment ofThe Otter and the Boy.
When I finish, silence lingers. Finn blinks, and for a second I worry I maybe didn’t get this part right. Then his face breaks into a grin. “It’sso good!” He claps his hands and bounces on the couch, jolting Gus awake. The dog huffs in protest before settling again.
My chest swells, light and fizzy. Kids don’t fake this kind of enthusiasm. If Finn was bored, he’d be wriggling or begging to do something else. Instead he’s here, bright-eyed, completely swept up in my little story.
“I’m really glad you liked it.”
“I did! What happens next?”
“Um, well, I haven’t written the next chapter yet.”
Finn folds his arms, the picture of indignation. “Then you better write it soon. I need to know what happens!”
I nod gravely. “Message received, sir. I’ll have the next chapter on your desk by morning.”
Friday
I water Gerald, pluck a couple of yellowing leaves, then check the main house again. There he is, at the kitchen window, a grin tugging at his mouth as he lifts his hand in our familiar salute.
Tonight, though, I don’t return it. Instead, I let my robe slip from my shoulders, satin pooling at my feet, and press a hand to my mouth in a mockoops.
I already flashed Lachlan through this window once. Tonight I figured, why not do it again? Only on purpose this time.
From the shock on Lachlan’s face, you’d think he’d been struck by lightning. I turn and slowly bend to scoop up the robe. When I straighten, he’s dragging a hand down his face like a man in agony.
