Chapter 23
Spencer
Ives is crawling like superstar. She babbles away as she explores every inch of the cottage with me hovering behind. Her little knees are red from the hard floor, but she shows no sign of stopping.
Baby-proofing.
Gotta get some gates up and contain her wandering, or neither of us will get anything done. I know Riles is on summer break, but she deserves respite. Not being crawl-patrol every waking Ivy hour.
“Spence, give us a hand? The bracket’s in place.”
I was so homed in on Ivy, I almost forgot Brades was here.
“Sure, bud. Give me five to contain the kiddo.”
I scoop Ives up and toss her in the air.
The squeals melt to giggles as I blow raspberries on her soft little belly under her T-shirt.
With every little sound that slips past her lips, my chest grows warmer. Grabby little hands curl around my hair, tugging at it.
Cradling her with my good arm, I lift my other to pry her fingers from my hair. Pain shoots from my shoulder to my elbow.
Fucking hell.
I ditched the sling when Brades got here. Hard to help when you’re one-armed. Still, I think I only really have use of the left.
“Ah, kiddo. Let go, hey?”
Her little hands fall from my hair and take to exploring my face.
Her blue eyes sparkle as she tracks her tiny hands over my jawline, her finger pushing between my lips.
“Urgh, Ives. You taste like floor, bubby.”
She wriggles and points to something behind me.
I spin back and track down the hallway. Her play mat sits by the sofa, and I put her down. She makes for the fluffy bunny Riley bought a few weeks back and sits playing with it for a minute before its mitt gets shoved into her drooly little mouth.
What’s up with the constant drool?
“When you’re ready, super dad.” Brades raises an eyebrow at me, holding out a level. “Double-check it, bud.”
I lift the level and rest it on the top of the bracket.
The bubble sits dead center of the section. Perfect.
“Looks great.”
“Well, if you’re happy, I’m happy. Let’s get it up there.”
He checks his watch. He’s been doing that all morning.
“You got somewhere to be?” I ask.
“I—”
His phone vibrates in his pocket, and he slips it out, swiping the screen. Whatever he was waiting on must have been important, judging by the disappointment that drops his face.
“Not any more,” he says softly, tucking his phone into his back pocket. “You good to lift?”
I toss the level back into his tool bag. “Sure. You okay?”
“Yeah, nothing new.”
“Brade—”
“Lift, super daddy.”
I shake my head with a chuckle. “Only if you never call me that ever again.”
The shit-eating grin that splits his face seems to cure the disappointment from a moment ago.
He leans down and lifts his end. I do the same, wincing even as I take most of the weight on my left arm.
By the time we have it up and a few bolts to hold it to the bracket on the wall, my arm is aching so bad my gut churns.
This is worse than I thought.
I glance back to Ivy’s play mat.
She’s fucking gone.
“Ah, shit,” I growl.
Brades leans around the TV. “What is it?”
“Ives has crawled off.”
“How far can she get? The back door’s closed.”
“Yeah, but she gets into everything.”
“Two more bolts and you’re off the hook, dynamo dad.”
I roll my eyes at him, and he twists in a bolt on his side. I do the same, checking that the weight holds before I bolt down the hallway.
Riley will have my guts for garters if I let anything happen to Ivy.
Ivy is down for her afternoon nap, and I’m sitting on the front porch when Riley’s little car rolls into the driveway. Sunlight streams through the old weeping willows dotted around the cottage. Not moving from the seat, I watch her as she kills the engine and sits staring at the little house.
“Come on, Riles,” I whisper.
As if reading my mind, or possibly my lips—who knows, the woman has many talents—she grabs her bag and pushes from the car. Closing the door behind her, she crosses the small grassy area in front of the porch. A moment later, she sits on the swing by my side with a heady sigh.
“Talk to me, O’Malley.” My voice is low and soft, a stark contrast to my stupid heart racing its way through my chest.
She purses her lips before her dark eyes lift.
“I’m sorry I bailed . . . I—” She swallows, her throat bobbing over and over.
I haul her into my side and press a kiss on her hair. “Don’t, Riles. We’re a team, remember? You are just as important to me as Ivy. I need you to tell me when I’m being an asshole or . . .” Fuck, I don’t want this to be true, but . . . “Inappropriate. Did I get this all wrong, O’Malley?”
She huffs a pained sound, her head leaning on my shoulder. “I’m not sure.”
Well, that doesn’t give me much to work with.
Clearing her throat, she sits up, her hands twisting her long dark ponytail below the navy velvet scrunchie. Pulling her hair over her chest, she shifts on her seat and meets my gaze. “I—” Her brows fall. “We should get the crib done before bed.”
My gut sinks.
Did I read this whole thing wrong?
Women have always been an easy concept for me to grasp. Show them a good time, make sure they’re safe, and send them off after a bunch of orgasms. Never text or call. Nobody wants that.
But Riley?
She’s complex. Intricate, like an elegant puzzle designed for only me to solve. Every dark angle, every nuanced word, every sultry look that she sends my way has me desperate to know what it means and looking for more.
She has me. Hook, line, and sinker.
Only never before today has this tension between us felt so one-sided.
Riley rises and walks inside. I stare out into the green field of tall, dancing summer grass. The crickets are starting to make a racket, letting us know the day is winding down.
I push to my feet and wander inside.
We need to get this crib done before our tiniest assistant wakes up.
Riley isn’t in the living room or kitchen, so I pad to Ivy’s room.
The crib panels sit in a pile, the hardware on the floor by them. But no Riley.
I track to my bedroom and push the door open quietly. Ives is out like a light, snoring her tiny sounds as always. The room is dim with the curtains drawn.
Something moves in the corner in the shadows.
As my eyes adjust, Riley’s elegant curves register. She’s down to her bra and panties, reaching for a box on the top of the old wardrobe. And missing it with every little hop and swipe she takes trying to grab it.
I move on silent feet until I’m behind her.
“Need a hand?” I whisper, reaching up over her and grabbing the box down with one hand.
Riley freezes, my chest to her back. I lower the box in front of her, my arm penning her against my body.
My bad arm hangs at my side, useless.
“Tell me I’m an asshole, Riles. Tell me this isn’t what you want,” I breathe.
Her hands slide around the box. With every rise and fall of her shoulders, her body rubs against mine. I’m hard instantly.
Fuck me sideways, this woman drives me crazy with the slightest thing.
“Thank you,” she whispers, not turning around. Not answering my question.
I step back.
She shivers, despite the summer heat and the closed-off room. Her long hair is loose, tips dusting over the small of her back.
Blood bounds through my veins, need coursing like an out-of-control bull straight out of hell’s gate. What I wouldn’t give to wrap that gorgeous dark hair around my fist and . . .
Ives snuffles, rolling over in my bed.
Right, the crib.
I pad from the room and head for Ivy’s. I’m sorting out the panels when Riley appears at the end of the one I’m holding.
“It’ll be easier with two,” she says softly.
She’s too quiet. Reserved, like something’s keeping her small. Not like Riley O’Malley at all. Where is the hotheaded, super-organized firecracker I’ve come to adore?
Fuck.
Did I do this to her?
It was inappropriate.
Fuck. FUCK.
My hands turn clammy around the crib panel. “Riley, I’m so—”
“Let’s get this done. I need to start supper.”
She isn’t looking at me.
She won’t look at me.
We line the panels up, and I sit on the floor to twist in the long bolts for the base. With all four sides tacked together, she sinks beside me to help with the bottom slats.
I want to fix this awkwardness between us. I can’t stand that I have royally fucked this up.
“Pass me another?” Riley says.
I hold out a slat for her to take. Only when she tries to, I don’t release my grip. “Talk to me, Riles. Tell me I fucked this up, and I will fix it, I swear.”
Her dark eyes meet my own and . . .
They are consumed by fire.
Good girl. Let me have it.
Come on, I want to see the Riley I know is in there. Not this small, in-her-head version that’s making me anxious.
“Slat, Spencer.”
“Not until you tell me what’s got you all caught up.”
Her face hardens, her grip tightening around the light wood.
That’s my girl.
Fuck, give it to me, Riles. Go on.
“You are an utter eejit, Spencer Lockwood. You know that?”
I tug on the slat, and she shuffles an inch closer.
“For what, O’Malley? Go ahead, flay the flesh from my goddamn bones,” I grind out.
She tugs at the slat again. When it doesn’t budge, she glances to where our hands almost meet.
“I’m waiting, sweet girl.”
Her top lip flinches. “I am not sweet.”
“Not entirely true; you have your moments.” I give her a ridiculous smile and wink.
Wink? Did I really just wink?
Yup, fucking lost it over this little woman.
Her eyes narrow. “And I am not your girl.”
The first part may be a little true . . . But I’d bet everything dear to me that the last part is her lying through her teeth.
I tug the slat hard, and she slides into my space.
“Wrong again, O’Malley.”
Our faces are inches apart now, her chest rising and falling under the tank top that barely covers the addictive swell of her breasts. A section of her belly peeks out before her denim shorts cover her elegant hips.
Cross-legged, she leans in and hisses, “Is that what you think of this, all wrong?”
I tilt my head, studying her face.
“Riles, baby, you have been the right thing since the day I barged into your campus room and found you half dressed. I can’t get you out of my head. Out of my damn dreams, or my daydreams. The only thing wrong about all this is how far away from me you are now.”
Her expression dances through almost every human emotion possible before her grip on the slat changes.
Knuckles whitening, she tugs on her end of the slat. I lean forward, but her strength is not enough to slide me closer to her.
Still, hope inflates.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
God yes, Riles.
I’m beyond desperate for her at this point. Hard as steel in my jeans, heat bounding through my veins. I’ve lost access to most of my grey matter with her scent shrouding me, her breath washing over my neck.
The only cure for my insanity—which, if I’m honest, has held me captive for months now—is her.
In my lap.
My kisses over her skin.
Her in my lap.
My fist in that stunning fucking long hair.
“What are you waiting for, Riles?”