Chapter 22
Riley
Spence stands shell-shocked in his underwear and his undone button-down shirt as his jaw feathers.
I crossed a line.
I shouldn’t have, but I crossed a line.
And . . . now I’ve made it awkward.
Fecking hell, you absolute moron, Riley O’Malley. You couldn’t let a good thing keep on, could you.
My heart races, pushing against my ribs like if it can escape this humiliation, it will. Every eejit for themselves.
“I’m sor—”
Warm hands cup my face.
He’s shaking his head.
Why is he shaking his head?
Is this the part where Spencer tells me I’ve ruined our professional, if somewhat arranged friendship with my big damn mout—
Spencer’s expression changes, twisting between doubt and determination as he mutters, “Fuck it.”
His mouth crashes over my own.
Hands moving from my jawline and into my hair, he presses his warm, hard body to mine.
Oh, feck.
Holy Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and Christ . . .
I melt into him as his tongue coaxes my lips apart, sweeping in and exploring. And I let him in. I let him hold me up.
I am powerless to do anything more.
Every fiber of my being unravels and rewires itself with his touch, his closeness. His hunger. I find myself needing him back, as much if not more.
My hands track up his chest.
God, he feels so good. Every toned muscle and chiseled angle is warm and pliable under hand. Strength that is soft and welcoming until it’s needed.
His heartbeat pounds into my palm as I trace my way up his neck. It’s then that his arm moves down my back and hauls me onto his hips.
My back meets the wall by the door.
My hands crawl into his hair.
Oh god . . . feck.
I can’t breathe.
I don’t want to breathe.
Spencer breaks away from the kiss, breathless, and his forehead meets mine. “I’ve lost count of the weeks I’ve wanted to do that, Riles. And fuck, it was so much better than I could have ever imagined.”
My legs are wrapped around his waist, his hard ridge pressing into my throbbing center. I am acutely aware that the line we crossed is so far back in the rearview mirror that it’s faded to nothing.
I can barely breathe, let alone respond.
Breathlessly, I manage, “Was this a bad idea?”
He groans, rolling his forehead. “Fuck, I doubt anything that involves you is ever a bad idea.”
I huff an indignant laugh.
“Has anyone ever told you that you are so delusional, Lockwood?”
His hand grips my chin, tilting it up as his head moves away and our gazes connect. “Only when it comes to my girls.”
My ovaries just went up in flames, only the ashen remnants of them ever to be found again.
My girls.
Like I am a permanent fixture in his life.
He really is delusional.
My chest caves under a weight that I can’t hold off.
“Put me down, Spence,” I breathe.
He shakes his head, his hand cupping the back of my neck as his forehead meets my own again. “No. Can’t do it.”
Emotion swells in my throat, and I have to clench my jaw to tamp it back. I loosen my grip around his waist, and my feet meet the floor. With a gentle touch, I guide his hand from my neck.
Staring anywhere but directly at the blue eyes that are brimming with confusion, hurt, and immense need, I slip his shirt from his good arm before carefully taking it down off his bad shoulder.
“Remember to stay in there for as long as you can,” I say quietly and slip out the door.
Pulling it shut, I lean on the cool, hard wood and let my head rest on it. Eyes shuttering closed, I haul in the first useful breath in the last five minutes.
I shouldn’t have done that.
I should have kept my mouth fecking shut.
Because never before have I ever felt an intensity like that. A warmth that feels like home, from the briefest of touches from a man.
There is no way in this lifetime I will ever be able to have all the things I want. Not when they are literally an ocean apart.
Ivy is crawling.
“Oh my god, Spence!” Ivy is on all fours, heading down the hallway toward the back screen door. Or, more likely, to the dust bunnies dancing in the morning sunlight.
Spence scrambles from the living room where he and Brady are mounting the TV on the wall, sliding across the floor in his socks. His jeans and T-shirt are clean and neat, unlike his unruly blonde hair that looks like he’s run his hands through it over and over since he got up.
From the damn sofa.
Which will not be happening tonight.
I meant it when I said I’m on the sofa. That this is his home.
“Holy shit!” His hands crawl through his hair again, and I can’t help the soft chuckle that echoes up my throat. He stops by my side.
His scent pins me where I stand.
I train my focus back to Ivy. Clearing my throat, I sigh as a smile lilts over my lips. “She’s a clever little girl.”
Spence leans into my side, his mouth dropping to my ear. “We couldn’t have done it without you,” he whispers.
I bat at his face playfully.
His hand wraps around my wrist. “I mean it, Riles.”
The words are low, gravelly, making my stomach flip. My last breath wedges in the bottom of my chest. I swallow, trying to fight off the sensation, bliss searing through every inch of me and threatening to take me down.
I turn, putting space between us. “She did it all by herself, Spencer.”
I duck around him and make my way to the kitchen.
I want to revel in this happy milestone. I want to scoop Ives up and hug her tight. Kiss her little face and tell her how clever she is. But I’m not her parent.
I’m not her mother.
I’m the hired help.
So, I leave space for Spencer to do it.
As I reach into the top cabinet for a mug, I hear him playing with her, praising her for the clever girl she is.
He’s a great father.
And I have a suspicion that he’s always been a good man, he was simply living a facade of wealth and weighty opinions up until now.
I make a coffee and pad back to the hallway.
It’s empty.
Footsteps fall in behind me.
“I think family life suits him,” Brady says.
I turn back to find the man in his work clothes—jeans and a flannel shirt rolled up at the sleeves—with light brown hair over dark eyes.
“I agree.” I give him a soft smile before sipping my coffee.
“I know it’s not my place to say anything, bu—”
“Then don’t, Brady.”
He studies my face before giving me a brief nod. “Yes, ma’am.”
I huff a wobbly sound as he turns on his heel and goes back to mounting the TV.
He’s a good friend. Better to Spencer than his own family is. I know the relationship between the Lockwood siblings is strained, but I was hoping that connecting Ivy with Stace would help bridge the gap they seem to not be able to move over on their own accord.
I think it helped?
Besides, Ivy will need a female role model in her life when I’m gone. Unless Spence starts dating again . . .
My grip on the mug tightens. Tension creeps into my body.
Breathe, Riley.
This is what has to happen. I won’t abandon one family for another. I could never do that to my brothers and sisters.
“. . . a hand?”
I look up to find Spencer at the end of the hallway, his hand gripping the back of his neck, eyes pleading.
“Sorry, what?”
“Give us a hand with this crib? Ives is sticking everything in her mou—”
“Shit, Spencer. Screws.”
I fly past him to Ivy’s room. The hardware is scattered over the floor. Ivy is sitting by the crib panels, banging the screwdriver on the floor. Her little squeals grow wilder with every thud it makes.
“Ives, no, baby.”
I grab her up and pry the screwdriver from her hand.
Her bottom lip falls.
“No bubba. That’s dangerous. Bad Daddy.”
A soft chuckle filters in through the door. I spin back to find Spence leaning on the doorjamb, arms crossed over his chest.
Why is he always doing that?
“First time anyone has called me that.” The cheeky smile he’s trying to tamp down, and failing, kicks up one side of this mouth.
“Spence, you can’t leave her with this stuff. Babies shove everything in their mouths. The last thing we need is a trip to the emergency room.”
We.
“I mean—you, the last thing you . . .”
He’s in my space a heartbeat after the words tumble from my lips.
“You fight this hard about everything, Riley O’Malley?”
I can only stare up at him, arms huddling Ives into my hold. “Yes?”
He lifts his right hand before wincing and shifting on his feet. His throat bobs, jaw feathering, as he sucks in a breath.
“Riles . . .”
I manage to press a hand to his chest. “Don’t, Spence.”
Ignoring my plea, he leans in, forehead resting on mine as he releases a low groan. “Riley O’Malley . . . what have you done to me?”
Heat prickles the back of my eyes.
I can’t do this . . .
I pry Ivy’s grip from my tank top and hand her to Spence. I’m out of his orbit a heartbeat later, gaze stuck on the floor as I mutter, “I’ll be back later to help with the crib. Make sure you keep her out of here.”
Rushing from the room, I stalk down the hallway and grab my bag, phone, and keys.
“Riley?” Brady says, kneeling on the floor with tools scattered around him. “You okay?”
It’s the last hit my heart can take. I fly out the door and to my car.
Before I realize what I’m doing, I’m heading to Stacey’s. This time I’m not mad at her brother.
It’s me I can’t get a grip on.