Page 16 of A Convenient Secret (Merged #3)

“It’s okay, Dad, we will figure it out together. Or maybe, one day, Mom will explain it to us.”

Am I making a mistake by fighting Kendra on this? Keeping her away from the twins? The two times I gave her a chance, she bailed on them. I will protect them with my life, if needed, against another abandonment.

“Good night. Don’t stay up too long.” I turn to Zach before I leave his room. He nods, his focus already on the airplane he’s swooshing through the air.

I trudge over to my office where Lily is waiting for me. The door is ajar, and I take a moment to organize my thoughts.

She stands in front of my library, craning her head to inspect the books on the higher shelves.

In her jean shorts and a long-sleeved yellow blouse, she looks out of place in the dark room. She pads farther along, stopping at the antique solid-wood table that used to belong to my grandfather, and then my father.

She inspects an old photograph, and then another one. Tucking her hair behind the ear, she tilts her head here and there, studying the scattered papers on the wooden surface.

While order reigns everywhere in my life, my hobby is the only place where unfinished and unopened prevail. I like it that way.

I take a deep breath and walk inside.

Lily whips around, putting her hands behind her back like I caught her snooping.

“I’ve never been here before,” she blurts out, verbal expulsion her go-to when she’s frazzled.

I put my hands in the pockets of my slacks. Fuck, my arm hurts. “This is where I fire nannies.”

Her eyes widen before she catches my poor attempt at lightening the mood. “It’s good I’m not your nanny then.” She smiles.

I wish she wouldn’t. Her smiles are like bullets, killing me slowly.

“Kids would disagree.”

“Zoya maybe.” She chuckles humorlessly, shifting from one foot to the other.

Several feet separate us—with my desk to my side and the old table behind her, there is nothing between us. Only unresolved issues—some real and some in my head—and pent-up energy.

“Zach has just asked me to inquire if you would stay.” I’m a grown-up man; I can put my stupid temptations into a vault—along with the messy feelings I don’t dare name—and put my kids first.

“He did?”

“Would you?” In my mind, I’m already planning a new schedule that will minimize our interactions.

Her forehead creases. “You would want me to?”

“I think it would be best for Zoya and Zach.”

She nods. “I would have to quit my job.”

“If you’re willing to start on Monday, I will take care of things with Summit Solutions.”

She thinks for what feels like an eternity, and then she nods. “Okay.”

A boulder drops from my shoulders, immediately replaced with imaginary shackles. Let’s hope I survive this. And after last night, I mean it literally.

I look around my office. My tidy desk, my messy antique table, my organized books. All of it usually gives me a sense of order. It doesn’t seem to work tonight.

“I asked.” Not the conversation I thought I would have with her. My new nanny. My new permanent nanny. Fuck.

“Asked?” She frowns, and her glasses slide down her nose.

“I asked Zach why he hates all the nannies.”

Her lips form an O . My cock thinks it’s an invitation. Fuck .

“It’s not my place to ask, but—” Lily starts.

“You’re going to ask anyway,” I groan, and she startles.

She must think I’m upset with her, when the reality is way more prosaic and tragic.

I’m upset with myself. For my lack of control. For what she does to me. For all the forbidden feelings.

She stares at me, her eyes pleading for way more than an explanation of my nanny issues. For forgiveness. For anything. She must have been on pins and needles all day, waiting for this conversation. About last night.

Fuck. I thought by ignoring her I’d be doing us both a favor, but today she needed an update. Feeling like a complete asshole, I answer her unfinished questions. “They believed that without a nanny, their mother would come back.”

Lily whimpers, her hand flying to her mouth, pain palpable in her expression. Again, I hate her a little for that. For her compassion. Something I don’t deserve. The kids do, but her reaction only reminds me of how quickly she built a connection with them.

Yeah, I definitely hate her for that. Because she can’t stay.

Can she? Isn’t it me who is robbing everyone here? She doesn’t even know I want to get rid of her because I can’t control my primitive emotions. Fuck. And haven’t I offered her the job, anyway? What the fuck is wrong with me?

“How is your arm?” She changes the subject.

She asked about Kendra last night, and I avoided the answer. She understands a lot about my family dynamics. All in the span of one week.

She understands I’m not ready to share that fucked-up story. I respect her for that. And hate her a little. Why does she have to be so perfect?

“It’s fine,” I grumble.

She takes a few steps closer. “Will you press charges?”

“No.” I don’t have to think about that one.

An audible sigh of relief leaves her. Was she worried about that all day? Fuck. I can’t catch a break around her. A world-class asshole—the one thing I’m not failing at.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

I nod curtly. “But you need to tell me why you sleep with a knife.”

She meets my eyes, a war brewing in them. “It’s New York. It’s normal to have protection.”

“Mace in your bag, sure, but you slept with a knife in my home.”

She accepted I’m not ready to talk about Kendra. Shouldn’t I extend the same understanding to her? If she confides in me, we would remove another layer of boundaries. Not a good idea.

“It’s a habit,” she insists.

“Goddammit, Lily, you stabbed me. Don’t you think you owe me an explanation?”

I must have taken a step or two toward her without realizing, because her scent hits me, spreading through me like a potent drug.

“You barged into my room.” She pokes at my chest.

“I told you to lock the fucking door.” Fuck. No control or common sense around this woman.

She takes another step, and now we are way past personal space. “And why? Tell me, Declan, why did I need to lock my door in your perfectly safe house?”

I glare at her, my nostrils flaring. Her chest heaves, her cheeks tinted pink, her eyes sparkling.

She is so close, and so beautiful. Like an angel of revenge, upset with me, fiercely protecting her secret and not knowing how much she’s challenging my restraint.

Something inside me snaps. “Fuck it.”

I cup her nape, yank her closer, and leaning in, I fuse my lips with hers. A soft gasp escapes her, but she immediately wraps her arms around my neck and parts her lips.

Somewhere on the periphery of my mind, the voice of reason suggests something about stopping, but I squash that suggestion.

My tongue darts out, and I explore her sweet mouth. I wasn’t prepared for this… I fantasized about this woman, but the reality exceeds any dream.

She tastes like forbidden fruit, like sin and innocence. Kissing Lily is like nothing I’ve ever experienced.

Kissing has always been something I considered a necessary part of a physical relationship.

Never have I thought a kiss could feel like this.

Essential. Lifesaving. Vital.

At almost thirty-seven, I finally understand what being weak at the knees means. Because I may hold this woman, but I need her supporting me even more than she does.

I angle her head slightly, feral with the need for a closer connection, for better access, to take from her all she would give in this moment of insanity.

Lily receives my attack with such eagerness that within a few moments I’m practically fucking her mouth with my tongue. Her body flush against mine, I revel in the feel of her.

She moans into my mouth, and my cock twitches. I walk her backward, my mouth fused with her sweet lips the whole time. We don’t need air as the world fades away and it’s just us .

She yelps when she hits the table, giggling.

It’s the lovely, innocent sound that reminds me of where we are. Who we are. I jump away from her like she’s just burned me.

“We can’t…” I shake my head like I could erase the last few minutes from my memory. From her memory.

“Why?” she asks, her lips swollen and so inviting. And now I know their taste, so I look away.

Raking my hand through my hair, I retreat to the other side of the room. What have I done? “You, me, us… I can’t.”

“Why?” she repeats, a genuine confusion in her tone.

I turn to her, and I wish I hadn’t. She looks just-kissed—by me—and if that doesn’t make me feel like I have a claim on her. Like she could be mine… Fuck, the complication of it hits me with a dose of icy reality.

“Because you’re not erasable, Seagull.”