Chapter 59
Anton
‘Hades, no,’ I tell my dog in the hallway as I prepare to open the front door. ‘Sit.’
I’m using my most commanding voice, the one that’s had women scrambling to their knees for decades, but my dog is either too stupid to understand or just not fucking scared of me.
I shoot him the look that’s brought multiple employees to tears, to no avail. With a huff, I open the door.
What a fucking sight. Gen on my doorstep, with damp hair and a sundress and, best of all, what looks like an overnight bag. The little beauty.
‘Well, hel—’ I begin, but before I can even finish saying hello, my stupid mutt has barrelled forward and is shoving his nose in her crotch.
‘Hi, gorgeous boy!' she croons, dropping her bag on the step so she can squish his face. 'Aren't you a beauty!’
‘Hades,’ I say sternly. ‘Come here.’ No one else gets to put their face there. Especially not my fucking dog.
To his credit, he backs away from her mournfully before throwing himself down in the middle of the threshold and rolling onto his back, paws clawing at the air and scrotum on full display. Needy, much?
Gen laughs as she picks up her bag and steps around the dog. ‘Hades? Please tell me you named him ironically.’
‘Afraid not,’ I say. ‘He's not quite the Prince of Darkness I was hoping for. He's a doberman, for fuck's sake. He's supposed to be scary.’
‘Sounds like the perfect analogy for you. Neither of you are quite as scary as you seem, are you?’ she says, giving me a once-over, and I instantly forget about my dog.
‘Not with you around,’ I tell her, stepping towards her.
She runs an appraising hand down my upper arm. ‘This domesticated thing looks good on you.’
By domesticated, I assume she means my rolled-up shirtsleeves and the tea-towel slung over one shoulder. I shoot her a grin that aims for charming. ‘Why thank you.’
I dip my head and take a moment to enjoy the pure, but not remotely simple, pleasure that is kissing her. I find her lips with mine and slide a hand around the back of her neck while tugging her against me with a hand on her gorgeous, shapely arse.
I don’t stick my tongue down her throat, mainly to prove to myself that this woman hasn’t obliterated every last vestige of my self-control, but I do linger over several gratifyingly slow slides of my lips against hers.
Until I hear—and feel—the irregular thud of two pairs of feet tearing down the top flight of stairs.
Fuck’s sake. I reluctantly withdraw.
‘What the hell is that?’ Gen asks, her eyes wide.
‘The Terrible Twins,’ I tell her. ‘Don’t worry. They’re on their way out.’
I can see from the wary expression on her face that she has not factored in meeting any of my kids quite yet, but I’m not particularly bothered. If I have my way, she and my kids (and probably ex-wives) will coincide at some point over the summer in Antibes, anyway.
And if I really have my way, down the line, she’ll be their stepmother.
I turn and put my hands on my hips. ‘Hey!’ I yell in my deepest Warning Voice. ‘Take it easy!’
They ignore me.
They always do.
They catapult themselves down the final flight of stairs so fast they’ll probably break an ankle and most definitely leave friction burns on the woollen runner. I stand and watch in Unimpressed Dad mode as they slither to a halt at the bottom of the stairs in a pile of hair and limbs.
‘Girls,’ I say, ‘this is my friend Gen.’
‘Hi,’ Annabel says. ‘Dad, my Uber account’s not working.’
‘I disabled it. Say hello to Gen properly, please.’
‘Nice to meet you, Gen,’ Amie says. She’s marginally the less feral of the two.
‘You what?’ Annabel shouts. ‘Why’d do you do that?!’
‘Because the last cab you took home was forty-five quid,’ I tell her evenly. I will not rise.
I will not.
‘It was peak pricing!’ She’s still shouting. No fucking volume switch.
Just like her mother.
‘It was seven-thirty at night.’
‘We could’ve got raped!’
‘Again. It was seven-thirty at night. And you don’t need it tonight. Clem’s place is a ten-minute walk from here.’
She puts her hands on her hips, mirroring my stance, and scowls at me, thrusting her lower lip out in a pout for good measure.
Again, just like her mother.
‘My darlings,’ I say, ‘I suggest you both scarper quickly before I make you go and change those pathetic excuses for dresses.’
‘It’s called fashion,’ Annabel says as she pushes past me in her mini dress. ‘But you wouldn’t know ‘cause you’re too old.’
‘Got it,’ I say mildly, holding my hands up in what I consider a remarkably good-natured gesture of defeat. ‘Now piss off, loves of my life.’
Amie wraps her arms around my neck, and I lean in for a good hug. ‘Night, Dad. Love you.’
‘Love you so much, angel,’ I say into her glossy hair. ‘Annabel, get over here.’
She obeys sulkily, because she knows the rule. We never walk out on an argument without a hug and an I love you.
Life’s too short.
I gather them up in a messy, uncomfortable group hug.
‘Love you,’ Annabel mutters.
‘I love you,’ I tell her. ‘Now, get out of here.’
I shut the door behind them with a sigh and lean against it for a moment before making a beeline for Gen, who looks totally shellshocked.
‘Sorry about that,’ I tell her. ‘Bit of a baptism of fire.’ I wrap my arms around her, and she reciprocates.
‘They’re absolutely stunning,’ she says. ‘Are they identical?’
‘They’re not, but they’re really fucking similar,’ I say. ‘Or they were until Annabel started wearing far too much eye makeup.’
She laughs against my chest. ‘It’s very odd and very sweet to see you in Dad mode.’
‘It’s very emasculating,’ I correct her. ‘No one in this fucking house is scared of me. Including my fucking dog.’
‘Poor baby,’ she says, smiling up at me. ‘No wonder you’re so aggressive in bed. I didn’t realise all that alphahole behaviour was a desperate cry for help.’
‘Alpha what?’ I wonder aloud.
‘Don’t worry,’ she says. ‘You can remind me who’s boss later.’ And she stands on her tiptoes, pulling my head down to kiss her.