Page 10 of A Convenient Secret (Merged #3)

And for what? Okay, a few important connections, and valuable intel for Merged.

But mostly to keep Lily here longer. I think. It makes no sense. I hate when things make no sense.

I’m making nonsensical decisions. Nonsense leads to a lack of control. That’s dangerous.

By the time I step into my house, I’m practically vibrating with annoyance.

The night started all wrong. Not only because I went to the event for all futile reasons, but because I met with my lawyer just before .

A custody battle is the last thing I need at the moment.

And his suggestions to bullet-proof my case were completely unacceptable. I wish I’d never met Kendra. The thought only deepens the darkness in my mind. Without Kendra, I wouldn’t have Zoya and Zach. I can’t imagine that.

I drop my keys by the elevator door and start undoing the stupid bow tie. I can feel her presence before I even cross the living room.

Pausing at the window, I contemplate if a third whiskey tonight is a good idea. Will I pay the price tomorrow when Zoya attacks me in my bed before dawn?

After the week I had—after the day I had—I need one more. Fuck it.

Walking over to a buffet table in the dining area, I open the bottom cabinet and take out a bottle of Macallan.

I pour myself an inch and take a sip. It spreads through my limbs in the expected languid way, but it doesn’t give me the relief I seek.

I don’t know where Lily is, but I know she is here.

That’s enough to make my skin tingle, and not in the worst way. It gives my cock ideas, too. But it also makes me feel more at home than ever before. Perhaps because I know I can reclaim my home once she leaves. Yeah, let’s go with that logical conclusion.

“Wow, the James Bond look suits you well.”

I whip around and almost drop the glass. Lily stands across the room on the last step. Her eyes have a sleepy, glassy look, and her head is flat on one side. She is beautiful.

If this is her just-woken look, how would her just-fucked look compare? Something tells me it would be like a new potent hit. As if I wasn’t addicted enough.

“You slept.” It’s an observation—because now I need to know where she slept, pervert that I am—but it comes out as an accusation.

Narrowing her eyes, she opens her mouth, but then she sighs like a comeback is not worth the trouble. Like I’m not worth the trouble.

“I fell asleep reading with Zoya.”

We stand there in the large room, the lamp, the lights on the terrace, and the New York skyline casting shadows around us. Lily’s eyes shine so brightly, I can’t move my gaze away.

We don’t move for I don’t know how long, while I wish I was younger or she was older. While I wish I had no kids, or she would feel the same attraction. I wish for things that I can’t control, and that scares me.

“Daddy.” Zoya’s sleepy voice snaps me back to reality .

“Zoya, sweetheart, did you have a bad dream?” I cross the floor.

I put my foot on the first step, and my arm brushes Lily’s. An electric current zaps through me. It probably scorches vital gray cells in my brain because I hand her my whiskey. “I’ll be right back.”

I rush upstairs and scoop Zoya into my arms.

Why did I say that? I practically asked her to wait for me. Fuck.

I put my sleepy daughter in her bed and pick up her white, plush unicorn from the ground. “Did you lose Mr. Corny?”

She hugs the toy tight to her as I kiss her forehead.

“I want Lily to stay,” Zoya whispers before I reach the door.

So do I. So do I.

“Sweetheart.” I return and sit on her bed. “Lily has a different job. She was only helping us. She helped to find a new nanny.”

“I don’t want a new nanny. I like Lily. Even Zach likes hew, but he doesn’t want to say it.”

I sigh. “I like Lily, too, but she is not a nanny.”

“I’ll miss her.” Zoya’s eyes mist with unshed tears, and her typical pout makes its appearance. Only this time, I’m pretty sure it’s not a manipulation tactic. And as if her sadness is contagious, suddenly I’m filled with regrets .

So many fucking regrets. About Lily. About my kids. Even about Kendra.

I wrap Zoya in my arms and kiss her crown. “It’s late. Get some sleep, so we can chase pigeons tomorrow.”

“It’s Satuwday tomowow? No wowk?”

“No work tomorrow. Good night, Zoya.”

“Good night, Daddy.”

I look through the adjacent door at my sleeping son. Even Zach likes her, but he doesn’t want to say it.

Just my luck that my kids would take to the one nanny I can’t have. Goddamn Lily, with her sunshine personality, pulling people into her orbit.

By the time I get downstairs, my irritation seeps through me, and I’m ready to shove Lily out of the door and never see her again.

That determination dies a quick death when my gaze lands on her.

She sits on the armrest of the double-seater, her profile to me. She’s staring at the flickering lights of the city, my glass in her hands.

I don’t dare to move, rooted at the base of the staircase. She is completely still, as if mesmerized by the view, unaware of my presence.

I’ve been watching her through my cameras the whole week, but this genuine moment in time doesn’t compare .

She must have run her hand through her hair because it’s slicked back, showing her exquisite cheekbones. She’s not wearing glasses, which is probably why I noticed her sleepy eyes before.

With her imperfectly perfect crooked nose, her profile is arresting.

She lifts her hand and puts the glass to her lips, taking a sip from my drink. Her lips touch where mine were moments ago, and I hit a new low. I’m jealous of my own glass.

“I hope you don’t mind. It’s better than vodka.”

I startle. “Of course.”

She giggles and slides back, down across the armrest, plopping into the soft cushions of the sofa. “I don’t drink hard alcohol, and Saar and Cora got me drunk on vodka once.” She shivers. “But this is good.” She takes another sip and sighs.

The sound is soft, and has nothing to do with me. And yet my body reacts, and my cock stirs. Fuck. My. Life.

Abandoning any remains of common sense, I walk over and sit beside her. It’s a fucking two-seater, but somehow I feel indecently close. There are feet of sitting surfaces around us, and I choose to squeeze in with her here.

I take the glass from her. “You better pace yourself if you’re not used to this. ”

“Fair enough, but I can see the appeal. It makes me feel lighter.”

I take a sip and savor it, hoping to feel lighter. All I feel is coconut, her warmth, and persistent heaviness.

It’s been a shitty week altogether.

I’m failing my firm, because I know I’m the best to run the London setup.

I’m failing my kids, because my work cuts into my time with them.

I’m failing to protect them from their viper of a mother.

And amid all these problems, instead of looking for solutions, I’m sitting here with a woman who makes me feel level, even though she’s the reason I’m so unsettled.

I sigh.

“That kind of a day?” Lily takes my tumbler and puts it to her lips. I don’t see it because I’m staring into the space in front of me, but I still see it in my mind. Her lips.

“That kind of a week,” I murmur. Just stand up and let her go.

She chuckles. “I guess I started your hell of a week. I’m sorry.”

I’m not.

“You’re good with them. I’m glad they had you while they couldn’t have me.” I don’t tell her they didn’t have much of me because of her. That’s a confession I’m not yet admitting to myself. And obviously failing at that, too.

She reclines her head, resting it on the backrest. “I kept them safe and occupied.”

I slide forward and mirror her position, closing my eyes, grateful for the strange sense of peace. “Stop being modest. It doesn’t suit you.”

She giggles. “Okay, I won’t.”

I turn my head to the side and look at her. The pretense at obedience again. She is mocking me, and I love it.

But even while teasing, her compliance makes all my hair stand on end, my body tingling with the need to dominate her in other ways.

She also turns her head, and now her face is just inches from mine. We inhale each other’s breath, the taste of whiskey lingering between us.

My eyes drop to her lips.

She darts out her tongue.

I angle myself toward her and drape my arm over the backrest behind her. She is even closer now, as we stare at each other like this was the only thing on our agenda.

I don’t think I ever allowed myself to look at her for this long. It stirs something in me. It’s like discovering a new painting, or finding a hidden gem of antiquity.

Like seeing the kids wild with joy I don’t understand.

Like everything I ever enjoyed has collided in this moment, in the woman beside me, and I can finally breathe and allow myself to simply absorb this rare pause in my life.

To absorb the attractive and very young woman who shares whiskey with me.

Her crooked nose adds to her allure. That minor flaw makes her more approachable, real. I want to trace my finger down its curved outline.

The delicate column of her neck bobs. If I lean a few inches, our lips would meet. As if my thought had telepathic abilities, Lily’s lips part. She swallows again.

Would it be possible that she wants the same as me?

That’s preposterous.

And even if she does, I should know better. She’s so young. I don’t have room for a fling.

I jerk back against the backrest again, desperately searching for the train of our conversation.

“They will miss you,” I say, hopefully picking up a reasonable thread.

Any thread that takes me away from her full lips. That aristocratic jewel of a nose. Or those bewitchingly enigmatic eyes.

“I’ll miss them too.”

The honest regret in her voice shocks me. She spent a week with them, and she genuinely cares about them. Not because it’s a job. Because she likes them as much as they like her.

“Lily,” I groan, wishing I could stop her from bringing value to my life. Hoping against the odds that, somehow, she may just disappoint and make things easier for me.

“Declan,” she sighs, mock-mirroring my desperation, and fuck, I want to hear my name on her lips more often. In different situations. “I’ll be happy to hang out with them again. They are wonderful kids.”

“You would do that?”

Is she just generous with her time, or does she want to spend time with us? Not that she should.

“Why not?” She hands me the glass.

“You spent a week with them; it’s not like you have any obligations to my family.”

Why am I talking her out of it? Zoya would be happy. And probably Zach. I would hate to… to love it. It’s the worst idea.

I need her out of my life. Having her around and not having her is pure torture. It impacts me negatively… My time with the kids, my performance at work. It’s a recipe for disaster.

“I wouldn’t do it out of obligation. I had fun with them. I didn’t think I could do it, but in the end, it was actually quite rewarding.”

“Then stay.” My brain-to-mouth filter is broken. Have I just said that?