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“Yes.” The breathy confession seems to surprise even her when she turns scarlet and tries to cover her face. “I’m sorry —”

I release her curls to skim the warm curve of her cheek with the pad of my thumb. To capture her chin and force her face higher.

“Good girl.”

My lips close the sliver of space between us and capture hers as if sealing the promise. Her sweet whimper sings through me. Courses through my veins. Fills my head.

When she goes up on her toes, arms circling my shoulders, soft breasts settling against my chest, I momentarily lose it. I forget everything, except the perfect weight of her fitting all the parts of me that matter. I forget that I shouldn’t be wrapping her up in my hold like I will never let her go.

It’s only the faint scuffle of feet somewhere in the distance that reminds me why I shouldn’t lift her up against a shelf and fuck her.

I break the kiss, heart hammering in my ears. I can’t catch my breath or my senses as I turn my head to glance at the open doorway, expecting Bryan but finding Van doing a check of the pathway for people, I’m guessing.

In my arms, Everly is staring up at me with dark, hazy eyes and lips begging me to come back.

I briefly wonder if I should apologize. I have no business telling her who she’s allowed to be with, never mind fuck. She’s not mine, yet she will never belong to anyone else. Not for as long as I’m alive to end the fucker.

“Get your things, sweetheart,” I tell her softly.

It takes a lot to find the strength to let her go, but I do. I detach and take a step back. Then another. I put several feet between us before I can release the breath lodged in my chest.

Everly doesn’t move. She stands where I leave her, watching me with a plea I can’t do anything about and a question I’m terrified to answer even silently to myself. There is hunger in her expression I have no right to, but I want. Oh, how I fucking want to consume and devour her. To violate her in ways that will ruin her for any other man. I want to splay her naked and open across my bed and trace every inch of her with my tongue until she’s a sobbing mess of raw nerves.

It amazes me how viciously and painfully I ache for her. Have ached for her for five years. Three years longer than Bron ever had her. I loved her before Bron even knew she existed. It was her innocence, her sweetness that kept me in check. Kept her safe from me. Watching her from afar was enough. Then Bron brought her home and my world cracked at its foundation. My heart shattered. I felt sucker punched and murderous all at thesame time, but I tucked it all up. I stuffed my feelings into a box and kicked the box into an open flame. All for nothing because here I am all over again.

Behind her, Van returns and our eyes meet. His has the same feral expression he’d worn last night, right before stretching Everly on a second finger. That almost taunting stare, like he’s daring me to stop being a little bitch and take her.

Then what?

I could fuck Everly every second of the day until neither of us can walk, but then what? She’s so young, while I’ve nearly lived my life with a divorce and a kid her age under my belt. She’s never even had sex. What do I even have to offer her, except a lifetime of ridicule from the town she loves? Maybe picking Bryan is the better option here. The safer option.

No. Even as I think it, every fiber in my soul wants to run him over with my truck.

So what am I doing?

I open my mouth. Not entirely sure what for, though I know I need to say something when my phone springs to life in my back pocket. The interruption is a saving grace and an annoyance even before I peek at the lit screen.

Bron.

I haven’t heard from my kid in over twenty-four hours. Not unusual. He seldom checks in with me, nor do I expect himto. The fact that he’s even calling can only mean he wants something.

Still, I step out into the blistering sun and answer.

“Yeah?”

“Hey, I’m trying to find Everly. She’s not answering her phone. Have you seen her?”

I glance back to where she stands next to Van, eyes fixed on me and all I feel is a surge of protective aggression. A wall of heat that tightens my fingers on the phone. It’s a possessive need to protect her from anything that might hurt her — including my son.

“Yeah, she’s with me.”

I hadn’t meant for it to come out like a warning, but I hear it even if Bron doesn’t.

“With you? Why the fuck is she with you? I’ve been calling her all fucking morning. Where the hell is her phone? Tell her to stop being a bitch and—?”

“Hey!” I snap, cutting him off. “Are you serious right now? Since when is it okay to talk to the person you’re with like that?”

To Everly.