Page 22 of A Convenient Secret (Merged #3)

Lily

Celeste

Caleb hired two day nurses and a night nurse, a nutritionist and a dog walker.

Saar

Jesus.

Cora

I didn’t know you had a dog.

Celeste

We don’t.

Saar

Is it for Amelie’s future dog (laughing emoji)?

It takes a village to raise a child.

Celeste

I don’t like this village.

Cora

Typical man, trying to help without asking how.

@Celeste at least you get more sleep.

Saar

I’ll talk to him.

Celeste

I’ll talk to him. But first I have people to fire.

Saar

Should I prepare our guest room?

He won’t throw her out with the baby.

Cora

(laughing emoji) I’m sure she meant for Cal.

T urning off my alarm, I stretch my arms over my head, a smile spreading across my face. I slept like a baby, the memory of Declan’s fingers grazing between my legs forming into a full, three-dimensional, high-definition wet dream.

I take a quick shower and put on fresh clothes. I wish I’d packed something more sexy. Teasing Declan Quinn and making him snap is fucking empowering. The power I seem to have over him is a new uncharted feeling for me, but it is damn good .

And scary.

I don’t quite know how to handle the man, and my head spins at the thought of his hands on me, his mouth on my lips.

I lose myself in him, feral with need and curious to explore more. More of his body, but also more about mine.

I’m a twenty-five-year-old woman, and I’m only now embracing my sexuality. Having the chance to discover it with Declan seems like winning some imaginary orgasm lottery.

His fingers only brushed my embarrassingly wet pussy, and I know that an orgasm caused by Declan would be life-altering.

The chemistry and heat between us are undeniably unique. Not that I have much to compare to, but I don’t think it’s normal to feel like this.

The outline of his erection scared me a little. How on earth is he going to fit that thing inside me? That wasn’t an average cock. Fuck, I’m so unprepared for this.

Clad in a simple white T-shirt and a short, black, A-shaped skirt, I venture out, ready to ogle Declan as he prepares breakfast.

“Fuck,” his voice comes from his bedroom.

“Money in the jaw,” Zoya calls from her room before she skips into the hallway .

Declan appears in his doorway, and my steps falter. He’s bare-chested, only a towel around his waist, and the sight has me pushing my thighs together. I should have taken care of my need last night, when he left me all riled up after we got interrupted.

Now I’m going to have to walk around with this lustful desire all day. What was I thinking?

Our eyes meet, and even imprisoned in his gaze, I’m painfully aware of his glistening skin, and every single bulge and dip around his sinewy shoulders and chest.

I’m so distracted, I don’t even realize he’s glaring at me. Is he pissed? His enamel is certainly taking a toll, his jaw working.

“Good morning.” I find my most cheerful voice.

His gaze drops to his daughter. “Zoya, I’m running late. Zach,” he calls.

Zach comes out. “Morning.”

“Take your sister downstairs. Today we’re having cereal. You’re in charge.” His tone doesn’t leave room for negotiations.

“Why is he in chawge?” Zoya puts her hands on her hips.

“Zoya,” Declan warns.

“Oh boy, Daddy is in a mood.” She sasses him with a dramatic eye roll, and I want to high-five her.

Both kids make a beeline for the stairs.

“Slow down.” I glance at Declan and turn to follow the kids.

“Lily,” his voice booms behind. “A word.”

Filled with anticipation, I almost skip across the floor like Zoya. Pull yourself together.

When I reach his door, I realize he already walked in. If this was a romance novel, he would shut the door and pin me against it.

In the reality of Declan’s dark soul, he’s already putting on his shirt. I falter. I’ve never been here.

His room is large, luxurious, and airy, with white curtains billowing around the glass walls. It’s in such contrast to his personality.

In the middle, the bed looks larger than king-sized, the white bedding so at odds with the man.

The sheets are crumpled, and I can’t help but think about his body rolling in them… With me if possible.

There is a freestanding mirror in the corner, and I see him in its reflection, moving about his walk-in closet. Unfortunately he already shed the towel, his ass clad in briefs as he puts on his pants.

“Have you found an apartment yet?”

His question throws me. I didn’t expect this topic. I thought he would set the rules for us fooling around, or the exact opposite: go back to insisting the two of us are not an option .

He slides his arms into his shirt, the muscles bulging.

“Lily?” he urges, his tone showing about as much patience as a toddler in a toy store, ready to throw a tantrum.

What was the question? I look away, hoping to find my wits.

“No,” I say, hating that the morning starts with me admitting how my life is not at all under control. In such stark contrast with his.

“My housekeeper just called. She needs to leave for a few weeks; her mother is sick.” He buttons his shirt. “Would you be available to stay with us for about three weeks to help me run the household?”

“You want me to move in?” I enunciate each word, like saying it slowly will make the situation easier.

He walks out, and without looking at me he marches to the mirror to tie his tie.

“I understand it’s an inconvenience, but if you get additional responsibilities, it makes sense you stay here with us.”

Is that his way of making sure we have more alone time together?

“Sure. I’ll bring over my things—”

“Don’t worry about it. You’re doing us a favor; the least I can do is take care of your things.” He straightens the knot and walks back to his closet .

Us? Who is us in this equation?

“Just send my driver over.” He walks out again, putting on his suit jacket.

Damn, the man can wear a suit. I lick my lips. He comes to me, and again, with his gaze-avoiding superpower, he reaches above me. My breath catches, but I immediately feel like an idiot when he pushes the door open.

So this is how it’s going to be? Let’s just go back to the Ice Age.

I take a deep breath and grip his arm. A current zaps through us, and he jerks away, his gaze finally landing on me.

“Declan, we should talk—”

“No, we shouldn’t.”

I huff. “I would like to talk about it.”

“There is nothing to talk about, Lily. I apologize for my lack of control. But if Zoya’s interruption taught us something… I’m not available.”

So he got scared again. I step closer, frustration zipping through me. This man is infuriating. “And yet you can’t control yourself around me.”

He closes his eyes briefly on a deep sigh. “Let’s keep this professional.”

“Just like last night?” I challenge. I want to rile him up, so he finally gets his head out of the gutter.

“Lily,” he warns. “We both know this is for the best.”

“I don’t know that.”

He turns, his steps long and fast approaching the staircase. “Don’t be a brat; you’re just proving my point.”

His words are like a slap. This is how he sees me? A brat? I rush behind him, but I’m forced to push my anger aside. He effectively dismisses me, moving the conversation to the topic of the children.

“You don’t need to take over all housekeeping responsibility, of course, but if you can manage the meals… You know how to cook?”

It’s beyond frustrating to talk to his back. But fuck, I’m not letting him win this round.

“Of course,” I lie as we enter the kitchen.

Zach cocks his head, but doesn’t say anything.

“When I said squares, I didn’t mean they need to be geometrically correct.” Cora rises to her tiptoes as if she can get a better view of the cutting board over the screen.

“You could have said small pieces then.” The knife slides, grazing my finger. “Shit.” I put it between my lips.

“Did you nick yourself? I should have just cooked meals for you. You’re a danger to yourself in the kitchen.” Cora walks around her kitchen in the bistro with ease, probably finishing her fourth order while she tries to coach me on FaceTime.

Moving in with Declan has been quite torturous. The man exhibits such a level of control that I almost admire him.

Or he turned off any attraction he might have harbored. After another two weeks of an awkward—at least for me—cohabitation, I’m wondering if it was all just in my head.

It doesn’t matter, because Declan is not going to pursue anything with me. And even if there was a chance of anything—and my pussy weeps at the idea—he would probably switch it off again easily.

That only exposes me to getting hurt. He’s really doing us a favor. After a week of sulking, and another week of getting my lust under control, I realized we need to find a new flow to our relationship.

I’ll serve a delicious homemade meal, and we will talk. Bury the imaginary hatchet. He may not want to fuck me, but I can’t work for him if he treats me like I’m invisible.

At least the kids have been amazing. Tiring and challenging, but definitely rewarding. We’ve had so much fun together.

Another positive thing was to discover the freezer was fully stocked with homemade meals. God bless the housekeeper, because I’ve been slaying my new responsibility. Okay, except for a few burned meals and broken dishes, but I’m getting better.

That last streak of luck unfortunately ran out, and after two nights of takeout, I need to provide the family with a homemade meal.

“Remind me again why you are trying to cook for a man who’s been ignoring you?” Cora looks at the camera, deadpan. All the while, she is chopping carrots at the speed of a ninja. How?

“To prove a point.” I manage to slice off another small piece of chicken breast without skinning myself.

“Are we adding arsenic to the sauce?” It’s concerning how excited she sounds about the prospect.

I snort. “No. We’re not. I tried to stab him, remember? He’s immortal.”

She laughs. “He’s an asshole.”

“That too.” A part of me wants to defend him, but I need to focus on yielding this knife without losing a finger.