The Gamble

20. Raif

What the fuck?

I pause at the entrance to the kitchen, already late for my first meeting, when the sight of Lavender stops me in my tracks. She’s still wearing her pajamas, the cute ones that seemed to be such an inexplicable temptation last night.

Maybe it was the easy access.

Maybe I need my head examined after making fucking her so difficult. As she’d walked from the bathroom, I’d almost chased her.

“Are you watching?” Lavender points a spatula in Daisy’s direction, like a conductor with a baton. The little girl nods from where she’s sitting on an adjacent countertop, her hands pressed under her thighs as her polka-dotted pajama-clad legs swing back and forth in anticipation.

Neither of them notices me lurking in the shadows of the doorway.

Lurking in my own home, for fuck’s sake.

“Oops,” my hot little wife says as the spatula clatters noisily to the floor, inadvertently torturing me more as she bends from the waist to scoop something up from the floor.

My cock stirs to life instantly. I’m going to have her like that, the animal inside me declares, staring at the length of her tan, toned legs. I’ll make her bend and grab her ankles and fuck her so hard from behind, my grip on her will be the only thing to stop her from toppling. The corner of my mouth hooks upward because that would require her trust, and we’re not there yet.

“Five-second rule, right?” She glances right for Daisy’s agreement. “I bet you could eat your breakfast off this kitchen floor.”

Daisy giggles, and Lavender lifts her arms above her head, inadvertently exposing a sliver of skin and the dip of her waist. She leans one way, then the other with an exaggerated jut of her hips as though limbering up for something.

“One, two, three!” Her elbow pokes out sharply before she angles her body back, like a soccer player about to catch the ball on her head.

But that would be too conventional for Lavender because, as it turns out, she expects a crepe to the face.

“She?” she announces with an infectious, if muffled, delight as she turns to Daisy, now offering me her lovely profile.

“You did it!” my niece says, clapping her hands like a demented seal.

“Peash a pish! Waish.” She holds up her hand, her jaw working as she bites. Then begins to suck the crepe into her mouth.

Good fucking Lord.

“Your turn now,” she announces, once she’s swallowed it.

No, don’t let your mind go there. You’re stronger than that.

She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, pointing her spatula at Daisy, who is already shaking her head.

“No, thank you.”

“You’ve got to!”

Daisy shakes her head. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I might get messy,” Daisy replies, looking genuinely distressed.

“So? Messy can be fun.”

Fuck, yes. Messy can be wonderful.

Daisy looks slightly panicked, more so than she should be. But Lavender is speaking again.

“Messy would be if I put chocolate sauce on yours,” she taunts, hopping sideways in the direction of the fridge. “I’m sure I saw some in here.”

“No, don’t!” Daisy shakes both hands in front of her. “I don’t want it to get in my hair.”

“What about cream?” Lavender waves the spatula again. Daisy gives her head another determined shake. “You’re sure? There’s bound to be some in the fridge. There’s enough food to feed an army in there.”

“Uncle Raif likes it to be full.”

“Does he?” Her head quirks.

Daisy nods. “Always.”

“He should be the size of a house,” she murmurs absently as she tries to understand something she won’t ever manage. Not with her life experience.

Discipline, I offer silently. That’s why. Which is something that seems to have been sorely lacking in Lavender’s life. But wherever her mind went, it doesn’t dwell as her focus returns to Daisy.

“Come on, Daiz. Think of the washing up it’ll save.”

“We have a dishwasher,” Daisy replies, her voice getting smaller. “And maids.”

“Yeah, but…” Lavender’s words flounder. Her arms, too.

“I don’t want to get told off.” Daisy’s words fall in a rush.

Why would she… who?

“Being told off is okay, you know,” Lavender says, patting her on the head with the spatula. “I used to get told off all the time when I was your age.”

“You did? But why?”

“Because I was a very naughty girl.”

That I can imagine… I give my head a shake because wherever that delightful ribbon of consciousness might take me isn’t useful this morning.

“Everybody is naughty sometimes.”

And some people are naughty more than they ought to be.

“You look like that worries you, Daiz.”

Daisy’s expression results in a pinprick of discomfort in my chest. What kind of worries can a little girl have? No pudding for not eating her greens? Come to think of it, she always clears her plate.

“When was the last time anyone told you off, doll?”

Daisy shakes her head.

“I can keep a secret, you know.”

“I can’t say.” She purses her lips as though the words might escape.

“Course you can. You can tell me anything. I’ve seen it all—the good, the bad, and the smelly. I have four brothers after all.”

“And two sisters,” Daisy adds with a tiny smile. “I’d like a sister. I’d even settle for a little brother.”

My heart plummets because that’s not going to happen.

Unless her shit of a father finds another meal ticket.

Some people shouldn’t be allowed to procreate. Some people might even have an accident to prevent another child’s suffering.

“Sisters are highly overrated.” Lavender gives a twist of her lips. “Weren’t you listening when I told you about all the rotten things they did?”

“You did rotten things, too,” Daisy says in a small voice. “Like when Daniel drank the last of your chocolate milk, and you punched him in the stomach.”

Lavender smiles. “Now, that was a mess. But he never drank the last of my milk again.” Lavender folds from the waist so her eyes meet Daisy’s. “I’ll give you one of my lot if you like.”

“You can’t give people.” Daisy chuckles.

“Your uncle might have something to say about that.” Lavender”s quiet murmur is a touch sardonic. But Daisy isn’t listening as she clasps her hands together as though in prayer.

“I really want a baby sister. Or brother.”

“I suppose that’s a better idea than me gifting you one of mine. Then you get to be top dog,” Lavender, the middle child of a large brood, replies. I suppose that answers some of my questions about her attitude. “But back to breakfast.” Her attention flicks to the wall clock above Daisy’s head. “I have to get dressed for work. And here’s the thing. No one is going to tell you off when there’s only you and me in here. In fact, I’m going to dare you to eat your breakfast the same way as I did.”

Daisy begins to shake her head.

“I double dog dare you,” Lavender adds, ticking Daisy under the chin.

“I’m scared.”

“Of a tiny pancake? There’s no need to be. Know why?” Lavender asks, hopping sideways over to the fruit bowl. She reaches for a banana, peeling it quickly before shoving half of it into her mouth. She bites. Savagely.

Fuck. I almost felt that.

“Shee?” she says, chewing around it. “If you’re scared”—she swallows—“you can just bite it off.”

I stifle a chuckle. Good that she doesn’t seem scared of cock. Or else I’d be revising my fantasies right now. Real or imagined, I’d like my cock to stay attached to my body.

“Come on,” she cajoles, and at last, Daisy gives a determined nod.

Lavender helps her pour a little batter onto the electric crepe maker before running the wooden implement through it. The pair flip it together, and then, sliding her hands under my niece’s arms, she lifts her down from the counter. The pair begin to count down.

“Five. Four. Three. Two, and…”

“Go!” shouts Daisy, louder than I’ve ever heard her voice before.

Lavender flips the crepe, and it lands squarely—roundly?—on Daisy’s face. “Well done!” She whoops. “Munch… now!”

My niece begins to chomp, and I’m surprised (and relieved) I don’t need to administer the Heimlich maneuver. I can’t help but smile at the scene before me, though I have a strong sense that I’m missing something. The reason for their connection, maybe? Daisy is always frighteningly polite, but trust is something she doesn’t often give.

Lavender kneels and hugs Daisy in congratulations. The little girl’s arms slide around her neck, and she seems to whisper something to her.

Lavender pulls back, her expression soft. “That’s not going to happen anymore.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I’m very smart and extremely conniving. Do you know what conniving means?”

Daisy shakes her head.

“That’s because you’re a much nicer person than me.”

“But you’re a nice person.” My niece’s expression is very solemn. “Or Uncle Raif wouldn’t have married you.”

“You’re sure he didn’t think I might save him some money?” She pushes to stand, and I take that as my cue. Daisy spots me first, though I press my finger to my lips.

Hush.

“Looks like breakfast is taken care of,” I announce, leaning into place my mouth next to Lavender’s ear. Daisy giggles with delight, and I jerk back just in time as my wife spins to face me, and her palms land on my chest. My wife. Where the fuck did that come from? “Morning.” I cover her hands with mine. No escape for you.

“Hey.” Her cheeks are a delicious pink as I tip forward and press my lips to hers. They flicker but don’t quite pucker.

“Sugar,” I murmur, pulling back. “I was kind of hoping you’d feed me a little sugar in bed this morning.”

“If you’re expecting breakfast in bed—” Her words halt at my playful expression.

“Now, who’s a spoilsport,” I whisper under my breath.

“We had crepes, Uncle Raif,” Daisy says, unusually giddy.

“So I see.” I turn to my niece, glancing at the mayhem in the usual pristine kitchen. Bowls. Jugs. A variety of different-sized spoons. There’s more than a splash of milk on the countertop, a sugar crunch underfoot.

“Would you like some?” she asks as I peel a little crepe from her fair hairline.

“Maybe I’ll just have this piece,” I say, studying it between my fingertips. “Saving the washing up, I see.” I smile Lavender’s way.

“That was the plan,” she singsongs back.

“Where’s Sam?” I know he didn’t make this mess, but the kitchen is the chef’s domain.

“There have been two messages this morning,” Lavender says brusquely, turning and flicking the crepe maker off. “Apparently, both Sam and Maria have come down with some kind of stomach thing.”

“Well, shit.”

“That’s not what they said, but it could be.”

I slide her an exasperated look.

“Uncle Raif!” Daisy chastises. “You said a bad word.”

“How do you know it’s a bad word?”

“Because she’s got ears,” Lavender retorts, swiping up a bowl and pulling the dishwasher door open.

Daisy nods earnestly. “Two of them. And I’ve heard people say that word before,” she says. “Lots of times.”

“Not in this house.” Because I’ve been very careful around her and made sure everyone else has, too. But she’s still nodding.

“Who?” I force myself not to look at Lavender, though my money is on her.

“Leo said it when he came into the kitchen when you were still in bed. Antonio knew it was a bad word because he smacked Leo on the back of the head.”

“I see.” My gaze slides to Lavender, bent at the waist, all round arse and bare legs. “I take it Leo brought the message?” No answer. “Lavender?”

“Hmm?” She still doesn’t turn.

I force my gaze to the ceiling because that is a sight that could drive a man to—

Fucking Leo.I’m gonna blind the bastard with a shit-covered stick.

“Lavender!” I bark. Her body jerks upright. Daisy’s little body just jerks, too. Fuck. “Sorry,” I begin, making a gesture to my ear. “That was a little louder than I meant.”

“Uncle Raif mustn’t have his hearing aid in,” Lavender says, narrowing her gaze.

“Uncle Raif doesn’t wear a hearing aid,” Daisy says, coming to my defense. “He’s not that old.”

“But maybe I should.” I’ll probably be bald and need a pacemaker from stress before the year is up. “Why don’t you go and get dressed?” I slip my hands under Daisy’s arms to lift her down. “Looks like you’re coming to work with me.” I’ll make some other arrangement on the way. Fucking school holidays.

“Or you can come with me,” Lavender offers.

“You don’t need to do that.” I promised her yesterday that Daisy would be none of her concern. But look at the scene you just walked in on, whispers a little voice inside me. It’s true I’ve never seen Daisy relaxed around someone new. It took her months to raise her gaze to mine when I spoke to her.

“I’ll bet my workplace is way more fun than his,” Lavender says, ignoring me but for the thumb she hooks my way.

“How?” Daisy asks, her voice small.

“Well, I work in an art gallery, and I hear you’re quite the artist yourself.”

Daisy’s eyes are suddenly bright. “An art gallery with artists?” She doesn’t wait for an answer, her cotton candy morning hair swinging around as she asks, “Can I go with Lavender, Uncle Raif? Can I be an artist today? Please?”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Uncle Raif,” Lavender drawls with a silky-sounding sulkiness. “Don’t be such a party pooper.”

I frown her way. Didn’t she learn last night that rubbing me up the wrong way leads to… well, I guess me rubbing her up the right way?

And to me jerking off in the shower. Alone.

I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or disappointed to find her sleeping once I’d dried off. Sleeping or pretending. It was hard to tell. And then this morning, I’d woken to an empty bed.

“If you want me to come with you, I will,” Daisy says, her tone forlorn. Who knew I was so unpopular?

“Of course you can go to work with Lavender. If she’s sure that’s okay.” I glance her way again. Last chance to get out of it.

“I wouldn’t have offered otherwise,” she answers snippily.

I see that. Of course I do. I also see this woman has facets I hadn’t anticipated.

“Mondays are usually a slow day.” She shrugs. “We’re overstaffed.”

“Well, okay. Still gotta get dressed, kiddo.” Before I’ve even finished my sentence, Daisy dashes off.

“Nothing too fancy,” Lavender calls after her. “Old clothes.” She turns back to the breakfast detritus.

“Leave the mess. The maids will be in soon.”

She slides me a mocking glance over her shoulder. The next thing I know, I’m pressed up against her, my hand next to hers on the countertop, our fingers almost touching. She gives a soft gasp as I press my mouth to her ear.

“How else am I supposed to impress you but with clean, pressed laundry?”

She offers me her profile, her lashes a dark sweep and her mouth a tempting pout. “I said I’d be impressed when the machine does that itself.”

“Thanks for the clarification,” I whisper, mildly disappointed she didn’t take the bait.

“I have to get dressed.” She makes to move when I trap her between the sink and my body, pulling her hips into mine in a not-so-little reminder of what she missed out on last night.

“You like to pretend nothing impresses you.” I slide her hair from her neck. Burrow my lips into her neck. “But I see it when I get you off. When your eyes glaze and you begin to squirm, I think you might give me anything.”

“Are you fishing for compliments again?”

“It’s what you reduce me to, princess. You’re so harsh in the cold light of day.” I scrape my teeth over her delicate skin. She swallows audibly, her fingers turning white as she grips the sink. “Don’t you have anything nice to say?”

Fuck compliments, I think. I want to see more of this. Feel more of her.

“Yeah, don’t hold your breath.” She turns her head, her half smile as sweet as an arsenic-dipped cherry. “Or maybe do. But just for an hour or so.”

“You don’t mean that. At least, not before I fuck you.”

“I’m sure I’d cope without your dick.”

“And I’m sure you’re curious.”

“You know what that did to the cat,” she taunts.

“Speaking of felines”—or dogs—“don’t answer the door to my men dressed like this again.”

“I don’t see the connection.”

“I don’t want them hanging around for scraps.” I pluck at the hem of her T-shirt. “Unless you’d like me to castrate them.” Fucking Leo.

“There’s no one around. Husband,” she amends heavily. “No need for the jealousy act.”

“Who’s acting?” I growl, sliding my hands around her waist. “You owe me something, and I want it. The longer you keep me waiting, the harder you’ll pay.”

The way her eyes light up, it almost seems she takes that as an incentive.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m in the back of the Bentley, and Leo is driving me into the city. His gaze keeps catching mine as I stare fucking daggers at him in the rearview mirror, still pondering that shit-covered stick.

Fucker.

I stretch my neck and hear it pop. Meanwhile, Leo sticks his finger in his shirt collar.

My phone buzzes, and Lachlan’s name lights up on the screen.

“It’s a little early for you,” I say, not bothering with a greeting.

“Not even.” His response sounds happier than normal. “How’s marriage treating you?”

“That’s what you called for? A little voyeurism?”

“Well, yes, if you must know. Color me intrigued when my client insists on tying huge sums into a prenup for a marriage that’s supposed to be all business.”

“What do you want, Lachlan?” I bite out, not interested in his digging expedition.

“Apart from knowing if she was worth it?”

“Watch your fucking mouth.”

My lawyer falls quiet, and I know I’ve made my point.

“Well, I have good news. I’ve just heard from the brief of your least favorite person.”

“Dennison’s lawyer called?” I sit straighter as my chest tightens. What the fuck is Daisy”s daddy dearest up to now?

“Yup, first thing this morning. But what’s even more interesting than that call was the one I got last night from the private investigator we’ve had on him.”

“Yeah?”

“Guess who he’s been banging.”

“I don’t fucking care.”

“Oh yes, you do. Who’s been the biggest pain in your arse in this whole thing?”

I make a point of glancing Leo’s way, though it’s Lachlan who has my attention. “The social worker?” My tone is incredulous—there hadn’t been one whiff of impropriety. At least until now.

“One and the same. Little Miss The-Rights-of-the-Father-and-the-Child,” he says, pitching his voice higher, “has been fucking with us all along. Fucking us over while fucking that deadbeat.”

“So what do we do with that?”

“We could go to her employer. The courts. Ruin her career, put him on his guard.”

“Would it change anything?”

“I suppose that would depend on who we were assigned next. I’m sure they’d be very careful, but there’s every chance Dennison could twist it. Allot the blame to her. Say he didn’t do anything wrong. And technically…”

“We wouldn’t be able to disprove it.”

“We only have proof of her misconduct.”

“Don’t tell me there’s no way you can spin this. That’s not what you get paid for, Lochy.”

“I have an appointment with his brief this afternoon, and they don’t call me Lucky Lochy for nothing. Let the negotiations begin.”

“Fuck, all these months, and it’s really going to be that simple.”

“Madness, right? He’s going to give up his rights. I’ll have the deal signed today. The only question that remains is the number in his head.”

“Whatever it is—”

“It won’t be anywhere near our last offer,” Lochy persists. “That bastard deserves the bare minimum.”

He deserves much worse than a subpar payoff, but I can’t murder my niece’s father. Not if I want her in my life because there are some things you can’t hide. I have thought about it, sometimes obsessively. This whole experience has been the one time I’ve ever felt powerless in my adult life.

“Well done. I’m glad we’re putting this to bed.” Glad doesn’t cover it. I feel my chest expand like I’ve been holding my breath for far too long.

“Speaking of beds, I assume you want me to hold off filing this marriage paperwork until then?”

Hold off. And then what? Shred it? Make our marriage little more than a few words exchanged in front of witnesses on my payroll.

It’s not even consummated yet.

My mind begins to spin. The reason I needed Lavender—the primary reason, that is—will be null and void come this afternoon. I’ll have Daisy for good. Her father will be out of our lives except for access visits he’ll eventually tire of. Before dropping out of our lives.

I could cut her loose. Rewind. Return our lives to as they were last Friday afternoon. Only, a time before Lavender seems so long ago.

“…I’ve already called Gib.”

Gibraltar? At Lachlan’s voice, I surface into the present again.

“I spoke to Moreno. Told him to lock the documentation away until he hears from me.”

“Right.”

That she’s Brin Whittington’s sister was always secondary to my cause. It wasn’t even supposed to be her, but that’s on her brother. If he hadn’t fucked up, I would never have sought her out. She was just too good an opportunity for payback.

If she found out…

Fuck, I don’t even want to imagine.

“…and that’s five mill you’ll save at the end of the day. Not to mention your car.”

Could I? Humiliate her and dash her hopes? Not that I… No. She hasn’t built her hopes on me—her hopes and dreams are in an art gallery that isn’t even bricks and mortar but a glorified shipping container with a rent that’s still crippling her bottom line.

Could I leave her in that mess?

It’s not like she’s poor, I guess.

For the second time today, I experience that pinch of discomfort in my chest.

I feel protective of her, I realize with a jolt. And how I feel about that is…

Fucking perplexing.