Page 11

“What kind of tea are you feeling?” He makes his way to the kitchen, dwarfing everything in his path. The countertops, the cupboards, the table, the teacups, the kettle.

Why does it turn me on so much? The size of this man? The weight of his body? The sheer force that lives in his arms, his shoulders, his back?

Dear Lord, I need help.

The kids holler down the hall as Hank steps back into the living room, tea steaming from a delicate flowered teacup my mother kept from my grandma’s days. “I’m going to get the kids tucked in. You’re not going to move, okay?”

I’ve been a mother since I was twenty-two years old. There’s not been much time to slow down. I went through the motions every day, and I took care of other people because I love taking care of others. But here, in this one moment of interaction, I realize I’ve never been taken care of myself.

Not like this.

Not with genuine intent.

Ben did things for me out of obligation, and I always felt the payment of that obligation coming. This feels different. Everything with Hank always has.

I take the teacup and matching saucer from his hand and sip the chamomile he’s steeped for me.

“That’s the one that helps you relax, right?”

“Yeah.” I nod, my heart full at the fact that he’s somehow remembered the exact tea I like at bedtime. “That’s the one.”

“Good. I’ll go make sure the kids are in bed, and I’ll be back out to sit with you for a while,” he hesitates, “if that’s okay.”

“Of course that’s okay.” I say the words though none of what he’s just said is okay. One more second alone with him and I’m going to lose my cool.

The command in his voice is too much. The way he cares is too genuine. The way he looks is everything I’ve ever fantasized about, and the way he handles me is exactly what I need.

Trouble is, he’s my brother’s best friend. My dead brother’s best friend. He’s the one man on Earth I can’t want.

Why can’t I get that through my head?

Probably because I’m spending too much time with Hank. If we’re going to work together, we can’t hang out together. If we’re going to hang out together, we can’t work together. One has to go and I need the job. Seems we have our answer.

I make a plan to thank him kindly for his help when he gets back. I’ll nod, I’ll give him a hug, and I’ll fake exhaustion, excuse myself to the bedroom, and let him know I’ll see him tomorrow. It’s the safer course of action. Much safer than sitting on the couch next to him while my body brews up some inappropriate sexual storm.

It’s a plan.

Unfortunately, when he stalks back down the hallway, shoulders wide, ink shadowed in the dim light, I can’t speak. I can’t speak, I can’t breathe, I can’t do anything except want as he sits next to me. The couch creaks under the weight of his body like a wild animal call, lowering every last one of my defenses until I’m leaning against his chest in comfort, closing my eyes like nothing else matters but this moment.

Chapter Six

Hank

Allie cuddles in against me, her head on my chest, her hand resting on my leg.

She’s peaceful, relaxed, and tired.

She trusts me.

I shouldn’t be hard.

I shouldn’t be letting my mind run wild with thoughts of what I’d do to her.

That would be sick.

It would be sick if I were to think about how tight her creamy, little pussy is. It would be sick of me to think about tucking my hand into her panties as she slept. It would be sick and utterly disgusting if I were to imagine suckling her full tits as she bounces on my lap. It would be sick if I were to think about filling her up, then ordering her onto her knees to lick me clean.

I hold her close in my arms, breathing in the scent of vanilla in her hair as her chest rises slower now, as though she’s fallen asleep.