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Olivia bent to kiss Olivia’s forehead and a rush of affection washed over him. Had his own mother tucked him in so gently when he’d been that little?
He couldn’t remember. But then, Ruby Bishop was light-years from his own mother. Ruby hadn’t stayed with the abusive man who had been her husband. She hadn’t been willing to roll the dice that his abuse might one day come for her daughter.
She was the kind of mother he would want for his own children.
The thought took him by surprise. Not just the thought, but the power of the longing that moved through him. He’d never thought much about children. His upbringing hadn’t been a very good template for a family of his own.
Now he found the idea more than appealing, and he imagined Ruby round and heavy with his child, imagined a little boy or girl with her eyes and her strength, imagined coming home to read them stories before he and Ruby tucked them into bed with Olivia.
What the fuck was happening to him?
Ruby took his hand, pulling him out of his reverie, and tugged him toward the door.
They stepped into the hall and she exhaled the same way she had the night before. “I’ll get the brandy.”
He chuckled and made his way back to the sofa to turn off the TV.
“Does she always sleep so hard and fast?” he asked.
“Always,” Ruby said, pouring the brandy. “She’s like an unstoppable freight train right up until she hits the wall. Then she’s down for the count.”
She carried two glasses of brandy into the living room and handed one of them to him.
“To being down for the count,” Roman said, lifting his glass.
She touched her glass to his. “Amen.”
He patted the sofa and she settled next to him, reaching out to set down her glass.
He lifted his arm and she tucked herself against his side, a perfect fit.
“Thank you,” he said softly.
She looked up at him. “For what?”
Her face was free of makeup and she’d pulled her hair into a messy bun like the one she wore while working and she was still the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
“For asking me to stay,” he said. “For wanting me to stay. It was… It’s been a nice day.”
The words didn’t even touch the way he was feeling. Like everything he’d believed about himself was a lie.
That he was a bad man.
That he didn’t know how to love.
That he never would.
She looked at him skeptically. “It was a pretty average day.”
“The fact that you give Olivia days like this often enough to call them average is all the proof you should need that you’re an amazing mother,” he said. “Olivia is a lucky little girl."
She smiled up at him. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” The moment stretched long and heavy between them, the pull to her lips a call he couldn’t ignore.
He leaned down to kiss her, sinking into her velvety softness, and she reached up to slide her hands into his hair.
He licked the seam of her mouth, asking for permission to enter, and she opened to him without hesitation, her hands fisting in his hair. His cock hardened as her tongue met his, dancing in the heat of her mouth. He was sinking into her warmth, the welcome parry of her tongue, her small hands in his hair.
