Page 47 of His Daughter

I was at the counter, Lena in her swing chair beside me, drumming her hands on the table. I spooned baby oatmeal into her mouth. She spat half of it onto her bib. I wiped it and spooned again. She grabbed the spoon, examined it, and put it in her ear.

"That's not where it goes, sweetheart."

She looked at me like I was the one who didn't understand.

Declan walked in. I heard him before I saw him. He was in a white T-shirt and gray joggers, his brown hair still damp from the shower. He moved to the coffee machine without looking at me.

I shifted left so he could reach the cabinet. He opened it. His arm passed behind my head to retrieve a mug. I remained still until he closed the cabinet.

I was aware of exactly where he was. Three feet to my right. Then two, when he reached past me for the sugar. Then four, when he moved to the island.

"Good morning," he said, finally.

"Good morning."

Lena slammed both palms into the oatmeal and shrieked with delight. Mrs. Parrish appeared, cloth in hand, and wiped it without breaking stride. She moved through the kitchen between us.

The only honest person in the room was a baby covered in oatmeal.

I hadn't slept properly in three days. Every night, I lay on my side in the guest room and replayed the kiss. I wondered how I could have been so weak. How I let myself fall into his charm, his trap, or his lips.

Now Declan leaned against the island, drinking his coffee, scrolling through his phone. His thumb moved across the screen. I remembered that thumb. That part of him was exceptionally talented. It knew how to tease and flick and…

My phone rang. I looked down to see Margot’s name. Declan nodded at me before walking down the hallway.

My eyes followed his retreating back as I answered the call. "Thea, I need you here."

I set the spoon down. "What happened?"

She sighed. "It’s the usual. We have a mother of two here. She has nowhere to stay. Her boyfriend kicked her out, and she has a very suspicious black eye.”

"Did you call the shelters?"

"I called four. They're full. Every single one. The Hale funding is for the placement model — it can't touch emergency housing. And our emergency housing fund is…" She stopped. "It's empty, Thea. We have nothing."

I was on my feet. "I'm coming."

I carried Lena to the nursery and settled her in the crib with a toy. Mrs. Parrish was in the hallway.

"I need to go out. Can you watch her for a couple of hours?"

"Of course, Ms. Calloway."

I went looking for Declan. I checked his office. Empty. He wasn’t in his bedroom either. I walked deeper into the penthouse, past the living room, past the second bathroom, and heard the rhythmic thud of impact coming from behind a closed door at the end of the hall.

I opened the door.

The gym was small — a converted room with rubber flooring and a heavy bag hanging from a ceiling mount. Declan was beside the boxing bag. Shirtless. His back was to me, and the muscles across his shoulders contracted and released with each hit, the skin sheened with sweat. His boxing tape was dark with moisture. His joggers hung low on his hips.

I stopped in the doorway.

I knew this body. I'd touched every inch of it in the dark of his bedroom, my palms flat against his chest, my fingers tracing the line from his shoulder to his hip. The memory was so vivid I could feel the warmth of his skin under my hands. His back. The ridge of his spine.

I gripped the doorframe. My knuckles went white.

Focus.

He turned, saw me, and stopped mid-swing. He wiped his face. He was breathing hard. A bead of sweat ran from his collarbone down the center of his chest. "What's wrong?"