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He hesitates on the doorstep, though, his gaze straying to the staircase and up, where his kids are lying sick in bed, and my heart flips over. Nothing like a big, brooding man all torn over his children being unwell.
This is dangerous for my heart. Very dangerous.
I have to keep reminding myself Matt Hansen isn’t the man for me. No matter how handsome, how sexy, no matter how much I’d like to ease the torment in his dark eyes… lusting after him, falling for him is a bad idea all around.
You know it.
My rational brain knows it. My body has other ideas, though, getting all hot and bothered whenever he’s near.
He finally leaves, and the act of cleaning up vomit, soothing feverish kids and cooking broth for them takes my mind off all the ways my body wants Matt.
Virgin to slut in one night, I swear… this is so ridiculous. Especially with him pushing me away afterward and this uneasy truce between us.
But I won’t think about that. Not again.
Mary calls my name from upstairs, so I hurriedly fill two bowls with broth and take them to their bedroom.
Poor kids. They look like hell, tired and cranky. Ugh. I pray to God I won’t catch his bug. At least the room doesn’t stink of vomit anymore.
I set the tray down on Mary’s bed, tuck napkins over their laps and make sure the broth isn’t scalding before placing the bowls in front of them.
Not surprisingly, they aren’t very hungry. Cole wants to hear a story, so I grab one of the books from one of their still unpacked boxes and read them the story of Alexander and his Terrible, Horrible, Not good, Very bad Day.
I think it fits, even if it’s for children older than Cole. He seems to like it, small head cocked to the side, blue eyes bright. Mary stirs her spoon in the bowl, flicking me glances. I can see she likes it, too.
Getting into the rhythm of reading is easy. Acting out the story is second nature. Got lots of practice under my belt with Gigi and Merc.
The book distracts them enough to eat some of the broth and bread I put on the side.
“Another story,” Cole whines the moment I’m done. Mary makes puppy eyes at me and pouts.
Oh God… They’re so frigging cute. How can I ever say no?
Much like their terrible brute of a sexy daddy, these kids are irresistible…
Chapter Twenty-Five
Matt
There’s a cat stuck to my door.
A fucking cat, a cleaver sticking out its side, its blood and guts smeared all over the light wood, dripping to the floor.
My stomach turns, and I swallow bile.
Christ.
But this time… I glance up at the security camera the company installed a few days ago. Gotcha, you bastard.
I take out my phone, log into the footage.
And… there’s nothing from today. Literally nothing. Just black. What the hell?
I lower my phone and stare at the dead cat a moment too long, my head pounding, my heart hammering so fast against my ribs I feel light-headed.
I’m gonna kill Ross. That fucking bastard.
But first I call John Elba and report what is going on, because he told me that’s what I should do if anything happens and because I’m an idiot believing this will convince him to take action.
