Yeah. He knew himself. Knew how it’d feel to have her, then watch her leave again.
If she’d haunted his bed before? She’d be a goddamnpoltergeistafter they finally fucked. So if she was going, better not to fuck at all. No matter what his stupid damn dick was telling him.
Getting off and getting ditched didn’t give him what he’d wanted—what he’dneeded—for two shitty decades. A chance to make things right. A chance to make thingsreal.
For him to have that chance, she needed to stay in Harlot’s Bay. For her to stay, he needed her trust. And to earn that trust, he needed the rest of September. Not a few quick orgasms until Friday came and she went.
His plan. He had to remember his damn plan.
He paced back a step, until he lost physical contact with her. She swayed forward, and her little noise of protest nearly broke his resolve, but he kept his shit together.
After a moment, his brain rebooted itself. He planted his feet and made his stand.
“Fucking someone who doesn’t trust me...” He shook his head. “No. Doesn’t feel right.”
Not a total lie. Also not the actual reason he’d refused her proposition.
Her brows had formed a straight, dark line across her forehead. “You’re telling me we can’t have sex until I trust you?”
“Yep.”
“And you want me to stay in Harlot’s Bay for almost an entire month, because I ostensiblyoweyou that time to prove yourself and earn my trust?”
“Yep.”
“And if youdoearn my trust while I’m still here,thenwe can fuck.”
“Yep.”
“That’s... wow.” She laughed then, bracing herself with a handon his worktable. “I have to applaud you, Dean. That demand took some serious nerve. I mean,four weeks? All to make up for having misjudged you two freakingdecadesago? With the prospect of sex as extra enticement to agree, even apart from the guilt trip you’re laying on me?”
Didn’t sound like a yes. Dammit.
She shook her head. “I’m sorry, but—”
“Listen, Dearborn,” he interrupted, desperate, “don’t—”
“Wait!” Charlotte surged into the back room, hot on the heels of her two toddlers, and reached for the nearest one, planting him on a hip before snatching for the second kid. “Brooklyn, stop right there. Karl, sweetheart, you know you’re not supposed to put that in your mouth—”
Karl—the adult, not the toddler, although he was feeling equally sulky at the moment—pressed his own lips together, trying his damnedest not to show his aggravation at the interruption.
Charlotte had begun working at the bakery as a dishwasher at just seventeen. Four years later, she was a smart, hardworking single mom, one of his morning-shift clerks, and the closest thing to a daughter he’d ever have. Right now, she was bustling around the back room, busily attempting to get her flock in order. And yeah, he loved those kids, but he currently wanted to send them to the wilds of Australia. Accompanied by their mother, whom he also loved, but who also belonged on a slow boat across the goddamn Pacific.
Molly’s gaze swung to him. Frowning in confusion, she studied his mouth, then turned back to the kids. After a few more seconds of study, her expression smoothed into neutrality. Without another word, she moved out of his way. Far out of his way. Across the room.
His brows snapped together.
What?he mouthed, as Charlotte continued to inspect whatever Karl’s namesake had shoved into his piehole this time. But Molly wasn’t paying attention to him anymore. Instead, she was offering Brooklyn a polite smile as the toddler stared at her and started babbling about turtles.
“Honey, plastic isn’t food. I’ve told you that a million times. Please remember that the next time you see a Duplo block, okay? Anyway, I wanted to talk to—oh.” Charlotte’s stream of words came to an abrupt halt, and she directed an apologetic wince toward both him and Molly. “I’m so sorry. I wanted to talk to you about the new quiche flavor I think we should try, Karl, but that can wait. I didn’t realize you had company.”
“It’s fine, Charlotte,” he told her, with as much patience as he could muster.
It wasn’t fine. But she was too fragile, too sweet, for his usual bitching.
From her perch on her mom’s hip, Brooklyn reached out both arms, hazel eyes wide and pleading. With a gusty sigh, Karl moved farther away from the ovens, gathered the child up, tossed her over one shoulder, and spun in a circle with his hand on the giggling kid’s padded butt, keeping her in place and safe.
Charlotte shifted her weight, glancing back and forth between him and Molly. “Listen. Maybe I should just grab Brooklyn and go back—”
