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Ivy stands in the doorway, rain-damp hair clinging to her cheeks, eyes blazing. Her jaw tightens when she hears my voice—and I know immediately she’s jumped to the wrong conclusion.
“Oh wow,” she spits, arms crossed. “That didn’t take long.”
“Ivy—” I start.
She holds up a hand. “Don’t. ‘You’re my favorite girl’? Are you serious right now?” She laughs bitterly and turns on her heel, already storming off toward the bedroom.
I follow without thinking. “Ivy, wait.”
She’s halfway to slamming the bedroom door when I catch her arm—not hard, just enough to stop her.
Her skin is warm. Her breath comes fast. Fury practically radiates off her.
She’s standing directly in front of me, her short 5’3” frame staring up and firing off at me.
“Oh, I see how it is,” she snaps, spinning on me. “I’m the tornado—your wild vacation mess tearing up your room and your life—and she’s your little crumb cake? What, are you just handing out nicknames so you can keep track of where you met us? Storm girl in paradise, sweet treat back home?”
She jerks her arm free, glaring. “Let me guess—crumb cake’s waiting for you in some picture-perfect small town while I’m here playing the distraction. And what even is that? Crumb cake? Seriously? What is she, five?”
I open my mouth, but she barrels on, rolling her eyes. “God, I can’t believe I let myself think—”
“She’s six, actually,” I say quietly.
Ivy freezes.
I hold her gaze, voice even. “Her name’s Laura. She’s my daughter.”
“What?” Ivy’s breath catches. She looks from the picture to me, guilt flickering across her face. “Oh my god.”
“It’s fine,” I say. “You didn’t know.”
“No,” she whispers, shaking her head. “I just—God, I’m sorry. I thought…” She trails off, visibly crumpling. “I’m an idiot.”
“You’re not. You were hurt. I get it. So that’s why you’ve been so distant?”
“Yes,” she finally admits, blushing. She reaches out and takes my hand, her grip soft but earnest. “The other night… I overheard you on the phone. You said ‘I love you’ and ‘I miss you’ and—I don’t know, it just hit me wrong. I was embarrassed, angry… I didn’t know how to react.”
She pauses, looking away before pressing my hand to her chest—right over her heartbeat. It’s rapid.
Her voice dips, shaky now. “Now I understand. God, Carter. I’m so sorry.”
The moment stretches between us—heavy, but not in a bad way. Her eyes search mine, full of guilt and something else.
“No,” I say, voice dropping an octave as I step into her space, “I should’ve told you about my daughter. At dinner. Or maybe when we were sipping cocktails and calling you my wife. That would’ve been the perfect time to mention you were also a stepmom for the night.”
She lets out a breathy laugh, but there’s something nervous behind it. Guilt. Curiosity. Want.
“I messed that up,” I murmur, reaching for her face. My thumb brushes her cheek, tracing the droplets clinging to her skin. She’s warm underneath, even though she’s dripping wet.
She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move. So I do.
My hand trails down her side. Over the swell of her hip. Around the curve of her ass. I cup it firmly, letting her feel how much I’ve been holding back.
She gasps, her eyes locked on mine.I lean in, so close my lips graze hers when I speak. “I don’t want anyone else, Ivy. It’s you. It’s been you since the second you stormed into my life like a goddamn tornado.”
She trembles. My cock throbs against the seam of her jeans, hard and aching.
I press into her, letting her feel it. Her breath catches. Her lips part just enough for me to slip my tongue against them—just a taste—before I nip her bottom lip, tugging it gently between my teeth. She moans, soft and sharp, her nails digging into my forearm.