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Declan grins, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. His steel-blue eyes darken, and the ticking of his jaw tells me everything I need to know. I’m going to pay for this little lie.
“Hey, Sam. Max here was just telling me that his mom was outside tending to the garden before dinner,” he tells me, his voice cheery despite the brutal way he glares at me.
He eyes the basket of vegetables I’m holding. I hitch a breath, praying he doesn’t notice that I’ve put my ring back on. But I couldn’t possibly be that lucky. No, I know the second he sees it. The second his eyes bulge and his face reddens. His fists clenched at his sides.
“Mom, can I go to Henry’s for dinner? They’re ordering pizza,” Mac cuts through the thick tension in the air, unaware of what the fuck is happening.
I scoff.Of course, they are.The Millers are the exact opposite of me. Laid back, no rules, pizza and fast food daily. And here I am picking organic vegetables from my backyard to force my growing boy to eat a nutritious dinner.
“Is your room clean?” I hide my disdain for the Laidback Millers. It’s not about the pizza, or that my son would rather be there for his meals. I’m mostly jealous that they’re still married. That they haven’t been ripped apart by death like my family has.
“I’ll do it tomorrow,” Max promises.
I don’t bother arguing. I want to, but the reality of Declan standing in my house causes me to pause.Max can go. He should go.“Fine. Be back by streetlights on.”
“But the new episode of Tommy Horror comes on at ten! We were going to watch it together.”
I tear my gaze from Declan and focus on Max. “Jesus, ten? That’s way too late.”
He eyes me with his big puppy-dog eyes. School is out for the summer, and he doesn’t have to be up early in the morning. I’ve always been a sucker for that sad look. The one that screams, but I’m fatherless. Please let me have happiness for once in my life? Give the kid an inch, and here I am a mile later.
“You better be back by 10:35,” I finally concede.
“Thanks!” He chants, hurrying past Declan and completely oblivious to the danger pulsating in this room. I should call the dog.
The second Max is gone, I’m yanking my rings off and shoving them into the pocket of my jeans. Maybe there’s a chance he hasn’t seen them. Maybe that look earlier was just the fact I didn’t admit I have children.
Declan approaches and stands behind me, boxing me against the sink and his hard body. And fuck, his scent intoxicates me. So is this horrible pit in my stomach. He brushes back the hair from my shoulder.
“Jesus, Samira.” A soft, disbelieving laugh escapes him. “Fuck. You’re married?” His anger radiates in waves, practically stopping my heartbeat. “And you have a kid?”
Two kids. And a dead husband.
I sigh, closing my eyes. Not bothering to respond, I turn on the faucet, letting water fill up the sink to wash my produce. “Did you think my ass got this fat by itself? No. This is three pregnancies, years of breastfeeding, not enough time to get to the gym, sleepless nights, and too many ice cream stand trips.”
“Threechildren?”
I scrub dirt off a carrot. “Two. One miscarriage.”
His arm wraps around me, hands resting on my belly. The heat of his breath brushes against my neck. His head dips low against my cheek. I wipe a hand free of water against my jeans, and lean up, running a finger through the soft tresses of his beard. Allowing myself to remember the feel of him, the spicy scent of his cologne that mixes with the peppermint of his beard oil, the hardness of his chest pinning me down so that I can’t move.
I fucked up. I should’ve told him, but I wasn’t ready. I’m still not.
“What will happen if Mr. Cullen walks in and sees me touching his wife?” He grits out through his teeth.
I don’t answer.
His fingers move to either hip, digging into the flesh and practically pinching bone. “Because if I walked in on another man touching you, I would break every one of his fingers.” His lips press against my cheek. A hand moves from my stomach, fingers trailing along my bare arm.
My skin prickles under his sensitive touch. Heat coils in my belly at the anticipation. Ian is dead, but the thought of him walking in on me with Declan claiming me makes me wet. And that’s really fucked up, considering the position I’ve put myself in. I was fucking stupid, letting a gangster fuck me for fun. Now, here I am with said criminal inside of my home, where my children sleep. Where my husband was fucking murdered for a home invasion. The haunting way he died still fucks with my sense of safety, and I should be scared right now. But I’m not.
I squirm, hating how my body betrays the feelings I know I should have, how I should react.
Declan fists my hair, pulling my head back tightly. The other hand moves up and claims a nipple. He pinches and pulls so hard that I let out a yelp.
“But you?” His voice is dark, filled with anger. Hatred maybe. “You fucking lied to me. And I’m going to punish you, Samira.”
He releases the hardened bud, and I hiss at the burn that follows. His hand wraps around my throat again, so tight that his nails dig into my skin. I fucking hate the burning need to suck in air. It brings me back to the worst day of my life. Crippled, unable to move, while my husband bleeds out everywhere. I squeeze my eyes closed, trying to maintain some type of calm before the panic can take over.
