Chapter 11 Take Me Home （Margot） #3
“I’m sorry if you feel like you came here for nothing,” he rumbles. “I know how that goes, putting in effort, only to walk away empty-handed after driving yourself up the wall.”
“I don’t feel like that.” I half smile. “You remember what I told you about Sophie last night?”
“Yeah. She had to point out how old I am.”
I giggle. “Besides that, I mean. I started working on her shoe design this evening.”
For a second, I think he’s about to shut down on me.
His shoulders stiffen, and for a hot second, I regret saying anything.
But then he draws a slow breath and relaxes again, studying me with cool green lidded eyes.
“I appreciate you helping her out, duchess. More than you know.” He sighs. “Soph, she’s never been good at being different. When she was younger, it was really hard. Other kids can be fucking brats at this age, and when they know she had a dad on top of it who was—” He hesitates.
“A famous world-class hockey star?”
“Close enough. But yes,” he growls. “Yes, they get real nasty. They’d tell her how much she disappointed me.
Pure bullshit. I’ll never be anything but proud of my girl.
Same with Dan, and he got in trouble a couple years ago.
Punched a boy who mouthed off about her feet in front of him.
That was a fun parent-teacher conference, let me tell you. ”
And he shifts closer again.
This time, his knee scrapes my outer thigh.
I’m feeling stars instead of seeing them for the first time, even as my heart aches for poor Sophie.
“That’s horrible! It must’ve been so hard for your family. With her feet and the crappy comments, I mean. I never even asked her what’s…” I trail off.
“What’s wrong with her?”
I wince. “Why does she need those shoes?”
“Ah, yeah.” He rakes a hand through his thick hair, and I try—I really try—not to stare at the way his biceps bulge like Hercules’ second coming.
“The technical name for it’s pes planus, which just means flat feet.
Most folks live just fine with it, but hers is severe.
Her arches should’ve developed around age six, but they didn’t turn up like the doctors hoped. ”
“Oh. So she’s been wearing the ortho shoes since then?”
“Basically. A few more years, and I might try taking her in for surgery, if she wants, but she’s a skittish girl. She hates hospitals to hell and back, and the procedure we could try isn’t a total guarantee.”
“They are stressful. Especially for a sweet little girl.”
My heart swells with empathy.
“When I took her in to speak with the specialist last time, she nearly had a panic attack and we had to leave. He said surgery’s an option, but there’s also a slight chance she’ll grow out of the worst of it. I’m still hoping it might fix itself and we won’t need to do anything.”
“Does that happen?”
“It has. There’s a chance, or so they say.”
I nod hopefully.
Poor Sophie.
She’s definitely the kind of little angel who doesn’t deserve this.
“So the shoes help support her feet, right?” I ask.
“Yes, and manage her pain,” he tells me. “She’s unlucky. Like I said, a ton of people have flat feet and don’t wind up with problems at all.”
“I’m so sorry.”
I dwell on his words.
She’s blessed to have a lovely supportive dad and a caring brother, a stable home, but it’s so unfair that she has to go through this.
One day, I’ll have questions for God.
Nice questions, but still…
“As far as disorders go, it could be worse,” he continues.
“She had claw toe when she was a kid early on, and there was no way around that surgery. Her hospital experience wasn’t the best. My ex insisted on flying her to Minnesota for it because she didn’t like how short the NYU doctors were, so what did they know?
Completely stupid shit, going all the way to Mayo, when Soph could’ve been back at home the same day, recuperating. ”
“There’s the anxiety,” I say sympathetically.
“Yeah, right the fuck there.” He stares into the water. “The shoes are more of a temporary fix, a wait and see. If it gets worse, we’ll have no choice but to consider the corrective surgery.”
“But if they get better, like you said, then there’s no need to put her through another ordeal.”
“Glass half full. I like that, especially if it’s beer,” he jokes.
My smile burns my face off.
“Whatever, though. I just wish she didn’t need the damn shoes while we’re waiting. It’s hard on her emotionally,” he says, his expression dark.
“Does she still get bullied?” I ask.
“What do you think?” His eyes flash darkly.
My face flares, hotter than ever.
“Oh, sorry. Kids can suck when people are different. Same for adults. But at least they have time to grow out of it,” I say. “I don’t think I know a single person who hasn’t been bullied at least once when they were little.”
“Even you? Or did the Blackthorn name scare them straight?”
“I wish!” I cover my face briefly. “You think I’ve always been this glamorous? My brother was the cool kid. I didn’t learn how to stand up for myself until my boobs grew in—and then I had to figure out how to deal with boys leering and girls whispering jealously behind my back.”
Kane’s eyes heat when I mention my breasts, though he doesn’t break his gaze.
“I try like hell to do right by my kids and teach them respect. Wish everybody else would put in half the effort.”
“For sure. But I survived the teen years, and Sophie will too. Especially if I can come up with something to help her… They’ll just be a design, though. They’ll have to be sent off to be custom made with her specs in mind. But it’s a start.”
“Her shoes are already special orders,” he says. “I’m sure that can be arranged.”
“Oh my God,” I tease. “You have her shoes specially made and you made them black?”
The water swirls around us as he makes a sudden move toward me. Laughing, I fall back.
“There were three color choices: grey, white, and black. Or are you telling me I have the fashion sense of a rock?” he asks, moving closer now.
Humor gleams in his eyes, fanning the wicked blaze I’ve been fighting in my core since the moment I slid into the water next to him.
“Just a little. But you know what, you can learn. And you’re doing a great job as a dad.”
“Yeah? Hell of an endorsement, duchess.” He settles beside me, close enough so our arms touch.
“It must be hard work, being such a good man. You should let go sometimes, you know? This stalker thing has everyone rattled, but we’re still on vacation. Both of us.”
“Let go how, woman? You sound like you have suggestions.” When he looks at me now, there’s no more humor in his eyes.
And there’s no mistaking it.
The stark bright question in his eyes.
The warmth of the water whisks through me, melding with my pulse, and I twist closer to face him.
His hand drops to my waist, and even though I can’t feel the heat of his fingers through the water, it lashes hot need through my bones.
“Maybe this,” I whisper, swinging my leg over his thigh.
Growling, his other hand lands on my hip.
You could cut this night with scissors, so thick with desire.
And when his eyes close, I press my body against his.
Underneath, he’s already hard as a brick, and it feels like acceptance.
He’s letting me make the move even though he could easily pin me down with no objection.
“You’re fucking crazy,” he snarls.
“I’m okay with crazy.” My voice is so small.
His hand squeezes my hip—hard—and his other hand moves to my back, molding me against him, tormenting my skin with a hunger to connect.
We both know what happens next, but there’s still that delicious, slow drop.
The very second my heartbeat starts to drum too loud in my ears, when my legs shift apart for his hand, when time itself freezes and we’re just simmering in possibility.
Maybe, baby.
Tonight, maybe I don’t want to think.
Maybe I want to be destroyed.
Then he makes a guttural noise that might be a groan, a growl, or something unspeakable. Either way, it’s animalistic, chaotic, and when he kisses me, it’s an earthquake.
Holy shit!
Kane’s restraint snaps, and then he’s everywhere.
His mouth is soft, but he nips my bottom lip as I rock against him, already drunk on his kiss.
His tongue slides into my mouth.
He tastes like blueberries and thyme.
Heat floods me.
“Seriously, did you—”
“Yeah, I’m addicted to your muffins, woman. I ate another one after dinner. But only half as obsessed as I am with finding out what that mouth does besides sass.” His finger slides over my lips, silencing me.
God, I’m in pieces.
And I grind my hips more deliberately this time, settling against him until the pressure intensifies.
I moan helplessly.
He swallows the sound, pulling it out of me, drowning me in a growl.
“Keep it down. The kids are sleeping,” he whispers against my jaw.
Oh, crap, yes.
The kids.
Before, that was enough to throw me off of him like a ten-thousand-volt shock, but now I just tilt my head back, giving him access to my neck.
This man doesn’t need to be asked twice.
Kane’s cock grinds against me as he goes to town, huge and pulsing and needy.
Every thrust of his hips makes me feel him, his length dragging over my thigh like he’s marking me.
Sweet Jesus, I have to bite my bottom lip.
The stars overhead blur like diamonds as my eyes roll.
“Kane, Kane… don’t stop!” Under a minute and I’m already begging.
Yikes.
And as the hand on my hip slides up to my breasts, as he sucks my throat, as he delicately kisses the shell of my ear and breathes more molten lust into me, my surrender deepens.
His fingers tweak my nipples before he pinches them.
A fire burst zings straight to my core.
My pussy throbs until my thighs clench his other hand, teasing and so close to bringing me home.
“Shit. You know I’ve been thinking about these since the day you barged in?” he whispers gruffly.
“You did the barging, but—really?” I’m frozen. “I wasn’t even wearing anything that showed them off.”