Chapter Ninety
Phoenix
“Aunt Emmy!”
Shit.
“Aunt Maila,” I corrected, checking the heat and closing the grill in time to see Lincoln spring out of the pool and sprint across the lanai. The kid was faster than a damn gazelle.
Soaking wet, he hit my sister front and center, hugging her hard.
Before I could open my mouth to scold him, a small hand landed on my forearm. “It’s okay. They’re fine.”
I glanced down at a woman who’d trespassed her way through every one of my defenses.
She smiled without reservation. “Look.”
“I am.” At her. Bikini, hair wild, cheeks flushed. Best birthday ever. I wasn’t even pissed about the surprise dinner party anymore.
My little intruse laughed. “At them.” She glanced toward the open sliders to the house.
Tearing my gaze away from her, I looked.
A head taller than my sister, talking animatedly, Lincoln gestured wide with his hands and grinned.
“Wild stab,” I said dryly. “He’s telling her about fishing with you this afternoon.” I had to admit defeat an hour into our beachside excursion to catch dinner. I owned a yacht, but my woman’s fishing skills were far superior.
“Of course he is.” My little trespasser’s grin matched my son’s. “Now go say hi while I grab the appetizers. And a smile wouldn’t kill you.”
It might. “I’ll make you a deal.” Grasping her hip, I pulled her in close. “Tell them to take Lincoln out to dinner. Then strip, and I’ll show you a smile.”
Color flushed her cheeks as she put a hand on my chest and shoved. “Nice try, but you’re going to break bread with your sister, eat the pompano Linc caught, and tell me how great my food is.” She jerked her head toward Maila and Lincoln. “Now go. Say hello like you mean it.”
“I always say what I mean.”
She laughed. “I know. That’s the problem.”
“Intruse.”
“Queutard.”
Ah. “Creative.” More so than her enculé or tête de n?ud when she was pissed. “But incorrect. I’m not a manwhore.” I only fucked one woman.
“No, but you’re horny all the time, and I looked that one up. It means horndog.”
I knew what it meant. “We’ll work on your French insults later.” When I had her under me.
“Why?” she asked innocently. “Are you taking Linc and me to France on your big boat?”
“Ship.” I took note of how she always put Lincoln first. “And you hate the Paragon.”
“Oh, I do. I absolutely loathe all of your ostentatiousness.” She winked.
Brat. “No, you don’t.” But she did hate permanence or anything resembling wealth because she’d never had either. She’d also been told she wouldn’t live past her teen years. My woman was a survivor. “If you want to go to Cap d’Antibes, say the word.” Lincoln hadn’t been on the Paragon yet.
“The word.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed my cheek.
I grabbed her by the nape and brought my forehead to hers because I needed to address something. “I want you to eat today.”
Her eyebrows drew together in confusion as she smiled. “I eat every day.”
“The specialist said your numbers are fine.” I brought her in closer as I held her tighter. “You’re healthy. You’re safe. I’ve got you.” I kissed her once. “Eat what you’d like today, Isla.” It wouldn’t hurt her.
Her smile fell. “Will.”
“You’re okay, intruse.” I’d made fucking sure of it.
Dragging her to the doctors I’d found had been the hard part.
She’d fought me every step. But for all our sakes, we needed more intel than random appointments around the globe.
I didn’t fault her brother. He’d worked with what he’d had—mainly an uncooperative patient.
I’d worked with what I had—a woman who fell apart under me, loved my son, and smiled like she fucking meant it.
Asking her to go to the appointment instead of telling her had sealed the deal.
Now we could all rest easier. Most of all, my little intruse didn’t need to fucking run. Not from life with me and Lincoln.
My woman inhaled. “You got the steaks from the local butcher? The same kind you got last time you made them for you and Linc?”
“Yes.” I knew now how important locally sourced food was to her. I’d also learned that she loved cheese but stuck to a no-dairy diet because of her diagnosis.
“They did smell good that day.” My intruse slowly nodded. “I’ll think about trying a bite.”
Purposely not pushing any more, already planning on feeding her from my plate because I got off on it, I took the nonnegative response as progress. “Bonne fille.” I released her.
Her face flushed. “You play dirty.”
I wasn’t playing. “Only in the bedroom.”
She laughed. “Oh, your antics extend way beyond that.” I got the smile. The one that was only for me. “Now go be social.” Fluttering off, she hugged Maila on her way into the house. “Be right back, grabbing some food!”
Lincoln unconsciously rubbed his stomach—one of his many tells, all of them a kick to my chest. This one, though, weighed the heaviest on me. No matter how many times we told Lincoln to help himself to anything, he didn’t touch food without being given permission first.
I’d been quietly telling him a few times a day to go grab himself something to eat.
The first week after Isla came back, every time I gave the order, Lincoln would say he wasn’t hungry.
Then he’d rub his stomach. After that, I’d switched to telling him to grab something specific—a protein bar, piece of fruit, one of the sandwiches Isla would leave in the fridge.
That’d worked. Not only because he was hungry, but he wanted to please.
Which was simultaneously crushing to witness but also made me proud. My son was benevolent.
And my little intruse was turning out to be altruistic.
Isla had taken another approach to the food issue with Lincoln.
She fed him. Three to five times a day. Real food she made.
The kid inhaled everything she put in front of him, then thanked her.
Isla played it off, but she fed off the appreciation.
I was just grateful.
Isla was happy, and Lincoln wasn’t underweight anymore. He’d also grown another two inches. I bought him new clothes again, but the guilt from when I’d first laid eyes on him didn’t ever recede.
The more time I spent with Lincoln, the luckier I felt, but my hate for the Vice Admiral compounded. I’d missed fifteen years of my son’s life because of him. Shit should’ve been different, on so many levels that I had to compartmentalize all of it. Bring it down to facts.
Lincoln was thriving.
Isla was healthy.
Maila was—fuck, I didn’t know where that was going.
Alpha and I would be fine.
And I was getting a second chance at life on my own terms—mainly, I was fucking present for it.
Scanning the yard, the lanai, the view into the house through the sliders, my woman in the kitchen, I headed toward my sister and my son.
Gripping Lincoln on the shoulder, I nodded at Maila. “You tell your aunt about the fish you caught?”
“Yep!” Lincoln subconsciously leaned toward me, but he didn’t hug me like he did Isla and Maila. “Even told Aunt Emmy how big they were.”
“Maila,” I corrected.
“Nope.” My sister smiled at Lincoln before glancing at me and locking it down. “He gets to call me Emmy.”
“Aunt Emmy,” Lincoln said proudly before looking past her. “Hey, where’s Uncle Adam?”
“He’s still in the car, taking a call.” Maila eyed me, but addressed Lincoln. “Why don’t you go get him.”
“Okay.” My son took off.
I scanned my sister’s face. “Maila.”
“Will. Happy birthday.”
“Thank you.” She was up to something. “The Alpha I know would’ve told you to wait for him before coming inside.” Then he would’ve entered first like the door kicker he’d been trained to be.
“The Alpha you knew was ten years ago, and he’s my husband, not my bodyguard.” My sister glanced toward the open sliders and smiled. “Isla, thank you again for inviting us.”
Carrying a tray of cut-up fruit, vegetables, cheeses, and nuts that she’d spent an hour artfully arranging, Isla smiled back as she set the food on the outside dining table.
“I’m just glad you could make it.” Flanking me, my woman tucked in and leaned her head against my chest. Then she snaked an arm across my abs.
“Linc’s been excited since I told him last night. ”
Palming my woman’s nape, I looked down at her as I tipped her head up.
“Last night?” The little minx hadn’t told me until late this morning—right before she’d wrapped her mouth around my cock—that we were having company for dinner.
I’d fucked her twice since then. Once in the shower, a second time after she’d put on that bikini.
Lincoln had been in his music room when she’d sauntered out of the bedroom, informing me she was “dressed” for our dinner party, but that I was overdressed in my jeans and T-shirt.
I’d bent her over the kitchen counter.
Then I kept her from showering again. My release was still inside her, she smelled like me, and now I was ready for this dinner to be over.
Isla played innocent. “Didn’t I tell you then too?”
She knew damn well she hadn’t. “No.”
“Hmm, I thought I did.” Her hand coasted down to the waistband of my jeans. She hooked a thumb through a loop. “You must’ve been busy. With work.”
I was busy. But not with work. She knew what I’d been doing.
Fisting the hair at the back of her neck, I pulled hard enough so she’d feel it, but not so hard that anyone else would notice. “Grill’s ready. I’m going to put the steaks on.”
“Perfect.” She dropped her arm from my waist. “I’ll grab drinks.”
My sister glanced between us. “I’d like to talk to you two first.”
Isla crossed her arms, not low by her stomach in a defensive gesture, but high across her breasts like the woman was getting ready for battle. “If this is about Linc, he’s doing fine.”
I fucking loved this woman.
Maila’s usually locked expression softened. “He is. Although I do think he should be in a private school where security is controlled.” My sister glanced at me. “Having said my piece on the subject matter, though, I do understand your motivations for keeping him virtual.”