Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
Victor stared at the wall and sighed. He’d been sitting at the island in his kitchen for a full fifteen minutes without moving, listening to the distant voices of Pip and Belle drifting down from upstairs.
He couldn’t make out that they were saying, but every now and then, he could hear Pip’s giggle or Belle singing something.
He’d been in this same listless state for the past five days, ever since that second ill-advised kiss with Belle.
There were too many things playing on repeat in his mind, distractions he couldn’t shut down.
It had become so noticeable to his teammates that he’d stopped going to workouts at the training facility, sequestering himself in his own gym for hours on end.
If he’d just been a grumpy asshole, none of his buddies would have questioned what was wrong, but his typical annoyance for the world at large wasn’t what was coming through.
Instead, he’d just gone quiet, too numb inside to summon any emotions—good, bad, or otherwise.
Dean had tried to talk to him a few days ago, but Victor had blown him off, claiming he was fighting off some bug and he’d be back to normal soon.
Dean, the smart-ass, asked if he could come back a little less like his normal self.
Victor hadn’t had it in him to laugh or grin or smirk or even toss the guy the middle finger.
Which was when his coach realized it wasn’t a bug, and he became concerned.
Victor had dodged a couple of phone calls and ignored four texts from Dean since then.
The man had already offered him good advice, but Victor hadn’t taken it before laying two major kisses on Belle, pushing her away after both.
He’d fucked up royally. He’d seen the hurt in her eyes the other night, when he’d told her why they couldn’t be together. Victor wasn’t sure there was any coming back from that, even if he wanted to.
Especially not in lieu of everything that had happened since.
That night, after Belle left him alone on the patio, he chugged down the rest of his beer, trying to pull himself together and will his painful erection away.
The woman was hell on his libido. All she had to do was walk into a room and he was flying at half-mast. The moment he caught a whiff of her perfume or heard her adorable laugh, he hit three-quarters.
And the second he cut the distance between them, touching her, kissing her, his cock grew hard enough to drill holes into concrete.
Once he’d been able to walk upstairs that night, he headed toward his room—only to pull up short just outside Belle’s room. Because he’d heard the telltale sound of buzzing and her soft, panting breaths.
Jesus.
He should have fucking kept on walking, but the masochist in him didn’t do that.
Instead, he’d remained by the door, listening.
It had taken everything he had not to walk into her bedroom and finish the job for her, because he hated the idea of her finding pleasure with anyone, or anything, that wasn’t him.
He’d told himself all summer—fuck that, for nearly three years—that Belle wasn’t his, that he had no claim on her, but he knew now, he’d been lying to himself.
Whether she was his or not didn’t matter because in his mind, she belonged to him. And not in some lukewarm, “she’s attractive” way. But in a caveman, chest-beating, drag-her-to-his-lair, keep-her-there-forever kind of way.
By the time her breathing had grown shallower, his cock had been rock-hard again, and he cupped it with his hand through his shorts.
If it had only been the two of them in the house, he might have pulled it out and stroked it, but there was no fucking way he could do that with Pip right across the hall.
So he’d squeezed himself through his cargo shorts, the touch nowhere near enough to calm him down.
Especially when Belle had gasped and—fuck him—called out his name.
Victor knew in that moment he had to get the hell away from that door, because he was two seconds away from slamming into her room and unsaying all the mature, adult, “correct” things he’d just said to her by the pool.
Walking to his room, he’d bypassed the bed, heading straight for the en suite bathroom, stripping off his clothes as he went.
Once he was in the shower, it hadn’t taken him more than a dozen strokes before he was there, coming hard as he cried out Belle’s name.
Not that it helped. The shower was torture, and the water had gone cold before he’d left it because he had to jerk off twice more before his stupid dick would go the fuck down.
Victor wasn’t sure what he’d expected to happen after he brushed her off for a second time…but God knew he hadn’t anticipated suddenly living in this too-professional, all-business nightmare of the last five days.
Belle had taken his words to heart, becoming exactly what he called her when he grumbled about her arrival in his house at the beginning of the summer.
She was the world’s most efficient Mary fucking Poppins. The perfect nanny—and nothing more.
No more movie nights.
No more cooking dinner together.
No more grocery shopping trips.
And no more patio talks after Pip went to bed.
Nowadays, they were simply two strangers, sharing a house and co-parenting a child with the minimum amount of association they could manage.
Belle continued to do the morning shift, while he took the world’s longest runs, followed by intense hours-long workouts in his gym.
By the time he showered, they’d had lunch and Pip was down for her nap.
Belle no longer hung out in the living room during Pip’s naps but instead hid in her own room.
The midday activities all happened out of the house, and Victor wasn’t included in those trips to the park or the library.
Once they returned home, Pip found him for “pool time,” but Belle didn’t join them.
The first morning after that second kiss, he’d found a chart tacked on his refrigerator next to that week’s menu.
Apparently, Belle had decided a new list was required—and this one told him which nights were his to cook and which were hers.
The three of them still ate dinner together, but the conversations were driven by Pip, the two of them talking to the little girl rather than each other.
After dinner had previously been his favorite time of the day. Before he fucked shit up, they all usually watched a movie together, or played a game, or did a puzzle before the bath and bedtime story routine, followed by that perfect quiet time on the patio.
All of that was gone now, as he and Belle took turns finding ways to excuse themselves after the meal.
One night, Belle went out with a couple girlfriends.
Another, he retired early, claiming he had a headache.
By tacit agreement, they’d found bullshit excuses on alternating nights…
because they were still a great fucking team.
Except instead of working together seamlessly, perfectly, they’d figured out how to nail doing the same, just separately.
But there were repercussions. And the worst one wasn’t the loss Victor felt over not having Belle to talk to anymore…
but the fact that Pip could tell there was tension between them.
His wise, observant niece had asked him this afternoon in the pool why Belle never swam with them anymore.
And two nights ago, after he’d finished reading her a bedtime story, she wanted to know why he looked so sad.
Kids saw everything, and Pip was no exception.
“Hey.”
Victor looked up, frowning when he spotted Belle standing just inside the kitchen door. That was another new development that he couldn’t stand. The physical distance she maintained between them.
Then he realized just how deep in his head he’d been, because he hadn’t even heard her come down the stairs.
“Hey.”
She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “I went ahead and helped Pip take her bath. She’s in her pajamas and set up on the couch, ready for movie night.”
He nodded without saying anything.
“You remember I have a date tonight.”
True to her word, she’d given him two days’ notice, dropping the date information on him the night before last. Nice of her to give him extra time to stew in his jealous fury over her going out with Sean, the prick, again.
Jealousy flickered. Low. Persistent. And beneath it, something else.
Something he couldn’t fully name yet. Didn’t want to name. Because once he did…
It would change things.
Victor closed his eyes briefly, taking a steadying breath, trying to beat back the green-eyed monster clawing to get out. “I remember,” he said, unable to mask the sheer menace in his tone.
If Belle heard it, she gave no indication.
“I shouldn’t be too late,” she said. “We’re just going out for a drink.”
Victor nodded, studying Belle. She hadn’t just cleaned up Pip while she’d been upstairs.
The woman looked incredible in her floral sundress and strappy sandals, her hair pinned up in a loose bun with a couple tendrils waving around her face.
She’d done something to enhance her bright brown eyes, making them look even bigger, and her lips…
Fuck. His gaze locked onto her mouth, with that shiny lip gloss, and got stuck there.
Seeing her looking so gorgeous as she prepared to go meet another man hit him hard.
Something feral stirred within him.
Victor rose from the island, every semblance of control stripped away.
She was his.
And some stranger was about to take her out for drinks when he’d been standing three feet away from her for years, wanting to touch her, take her, own her. Maybe none of that was P-fucking-C, but the beast was the one in control right now.
Belle’s eyes widened as Victor stalked forward, not stopping until he stood right in front of her. She’d backed up a step upon his approach, but because she’d hovered near the doorway, she couldn’t move more than that before her back was against the wall.