Page 38 of No Knight (My Kind of Hero #3)

Ryan

This is awkward. On top of awkward. With a side of awkward.

“So what is it you do, Ryan?” Leticia—or Letty, as Matt calls her—has an accent that bears more than a transatlantic hint. Clodagh, meanwhile, sounds as though she’s from the States.

“I’m a trader at a hedge fund.”

“Wow. Interesting.” Her gaze slides Matt’s way.

I’m guessing she’s thinking my job makes me perfect for him, like we’re peas in a pod.

Or maybe she’s thinking the opposite, like he needs a stay-at-home wife.

Or maybe I should just stop overthinking every goddamn thing, because it’s none of my business. “In London or ...”

“Oh. New York, though I was offered a position here a month or so ago. It’s just a pity it didn’t work out.

” A pity is one way of putting it. And the other is a plain euphemism.

I swear I wouldn’t ordinarily be so laid back about this, but for my life being a kind of take-a-ticket shit show currently.

Do I want to stay? Matt asked. I was so excited to be here. The achievement felt immense. Do I want to go back to New York? Not really. It’s not my home. But then, nowhere is.

“Really?” I’m not sure if that’s pity or consternation pinched between her brows. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Maybe she knows what it feels like.

“Thanks,” I murmur, actively keeping my eyes from Matt. My skin still feels shivery when I look at him after our little interaction. “ I must have some rights, ” he said. And then that line that made me feel like I was about to burst from pleasure. “ I did put a baby inside you. ”

Lord, the husky timbre of his voice and the suggestion in his delivery. Was I imagining things? It felt like we were about to kiss. And that’s a whole can of dangerous worms. It simply can’t happen, not if I want to stay. And I do want to stay, I realize. I think it would be a good thing.

Modern families come in all guises, and I want my little bean to have more people in her life than just me.

People who love her. I could do it on my own, for sure.

I’ve done everything else in my life solo.

But that doesn’t mean it’s the best way.

So I’ll stay here for now. And if things work out, maybe I’ll give birth here.

“How do you two know each other?” Letty asks as the old-fashioned kettle whistles and Matt moves it from his fancy-looking range.

“We met in Manhattan last year.” Just a few months ago, for one glorious night. “At a wedding.”

Her eyebrows lift as she stares at her brother’s back. “You keep your cards close to your chest.”

“What?” he replies, playing ignorant. This probably feels so weird for him too.

“New York,” she says again. Muses, maybe.

As Matt turns, a whole but silent conversation seems to pass between the two. Like I said, awkward, topped with awkward, with a side of awkward.

What am I supposed to do in this situation? Or even say?

If I’d known his family was coming, I might not have agreed to move in with him right at that moment.

If for no other reason than to save us this .

.. situation. There’s the kid. Clodagh.

And her little wiggling ears. Though that feels like a bullet dodged right now as she watches TV.

Cartoons seem like a pretty good distraction for a five-year-old.

But I feel like an interloper right now.

Though Leticia seems nice enough, her reception seemed tinged with a light frost. Or maybe I’m imagining things.

I wonder what she’ll think when she finds out about our little bean. Or the fact that I’m moving in. She’ll probably think I’m a freeloader out to trap her wealthy brother.

Maybe I should insist on a tenancy agreement and have some paperwork drawn up. Something to reassure them both. All?

I usually make a point of not giving a flying fuck for the opinions of others, but this baby will be part of their family. I want them to not hate me, at the very least.

I hope they’re a nice family. They sure raised a good man.

“I didn’t realize I had to keep you informed of my movements.” Matt pours hot water into a floral china cup the size of a soup mug. He glances my way and winks and—dammit—my boobs begin to tingle.

I fold my arms immediately. My nipples are probably blinking like disco balls—and that is not my fault given he’s the guy that turned my sexual faucet back on after it had happily been on the fritz.

I guess hormones could be to blame, which would still make it his fault by my reckoning.

I haven’t once suffered a pregnancy scare in my life, so I’m blaming our current reality on Matt’s super jizz.

“So ... you guys are dating?”

“No,” I say at the same time as Matt retorts:

“Nosy much?”

“Don’t be giving out to me,” she says with a laugh.

“My family,” he begins with a pained glance my way. “Sadly, they’re as mad as a bag of spiders.”

“And he’s the king of them,” she says, leaning in. “You should see how smart he looks in his frock coat with the fancy golden epaulets.”

“Sounds like something I ought to see,” I say, like this is the first time I’m hearing this.

The pair begins to bicker in a way that makes me both happy and sad.

They say you’re not supposed to miss what you haven’t had, but I’m not sure that’s true.

There are plenty of times I’ve yearned for a connection.

For family. And just as many times I have thanked Providence there wasn’t an us to suffer.

“Uncle Matty, may I pleath have a hot chocolate?” Clodagh asks from the huge sectional on the other side of the room.

Which is pretty much where Matt led her the minute she appeared at the bottom of the stairs.

So much for cartoons being a perfect distraction as she kneels on the cushions to wave at me.

I wave back and hope she’s not in the mood for asking more awkward questions.

Because kids aren’t dumb. They’re perceptive.

“Why not,” Matt says. “But we’re out of marshmallows.”

“This house is bullthip!” Clodagh playfully thumps the back of the sectional.

“Excuse me?” her mother demands. “What did you just say, young lady?”

“This house is bullthip,” she replies happily.

“Where on earth did you learn that?”

“Uncle Seb. When he was back from university.”

“Your brother is at university?”

“He’s the baby of the family,” Letty replies.

“A happy surprise,” Matt murmurs. “Or so the story goes.”

That look. I bite my lip to stop myself from smiling back at him.

“At least he’s no longer a teenager,” Letty says, oblivious to the look that passes between us. “They’re God’s cruelest gift to parents, I’m sure.”

“He was a pain in the arse for us all,” Matt interjects. “You’re not gonna be a rotten teenager, are you, Clo?”

“No, I’m gonna be a printheth!”

“Good girl.”

“God, I hope so,” Letty mutters. “Because it seems unusually unfair to spend the first twelve or thirteen years learning on the job. You don’t drop them on their head, they learn to speak, to say nice things, and become tiny, funny humans.

” She glances her daughter’s way, her eyes soft.

“You think you’ve got the job cracked—you’re nearly there.

Then puberty hits. And you realize you’re rubbish after all. Because they tell you so. Often.”

“Wow, that sounds rough.”

“It is. I’ve watched friends deal with theirs. Teenagers,” she adds with a sigh. “You can understand why some animals eat their young.”

“I couldn’t eat Seb. He stinks,” Matt says, as he sets a fancy cup and saucer in front of Letty.

“Not anymore. Not now that he’s into girls.

Thirteen-year-old boys think a bar of soap is for hiding their pocket money under,” Letty says, turning my way as though the information might be useful.

Good thing we’re having a little girl. “Then at sixteen, they seem to remember what sopa is actually for.”

“Not me. I didn’t stink,” Matt insists.

“You’re the eldest, so who would tell?”

“Have a pastry,” he says, sliding the box her way. In other words, shut up about smelly boys.

She gives a slight lift of her hand. “Thanks, but no.”

“Clo can have one, though?” He glances his niece’s way.

“Sure.” Her mother shrugs. “Why not.”

“Yum!” the little girl hollers as she clambers over the back of the sofa.

“Clodagh,” her mother scolds. “You know better than that.”

“Ah, leave her. It’s only furniture. Ryan?” Matt kind of pivots on his heels to face me. “Would you get me the hot chocolate out of the pantry, please?”

“The pantry?” The pantry in a house I have never been in before now. But I guess I now know why there aren’t appliances (or pretty much anything) cluttering the countertops.

“Yeah.” He jerks his head left like he’s trying to send me a signal. “I think I left it next to the mixer.”

“Cool beans.” Is something I’ve never ever said in my life as I slide from the stool.

But he obviously wants me out of the way.

As I cross behind Leticia, I point to the only solid door I can see, the other one glass and clearly leading to a fancy-schmancy wine cellar, one that seems to contain a decent amount of whiskey too.

Anyway, Matt nods, so into the pantry I go.

It turns out not to be anything as simple as a pantry but a whole other room—a whole other kitchen, almost. Maybe Matt preps meals in here.

He did say he could cook, as I recall. Or maybe he has a fancy chef and this is his domain.

I can’t decide if the setup is excessive or a really good idea as I make my way to the shelf at the end, where the fancy-looking mixer seems to be stored.

“Got it?” Matt calls out.

“It isn’t next to the mixer,” I shout back. A few seconds later, the door opens. “What am I doing in here?” I whisper as Matt steps inside.

“This.” In front of me now, he rests his hand on my shoulder and leans in, bringing with him the warmth of his body and the scent of soap and cologne.

Everything south of my waist pulls tight at a sudden and very visceral memory.

The moment is over in a blink as he pulls back, gently shaking a jar of hot chocolate mix. Harrods, of course.

“If you knew where it was—” I give a little squeak as he ducks quickly and presses his mouth to mine. Just a peck, nothing sexual, but a sneak attack. And he looks all kinds of pleased with himself. I’d better not be having a boy, I think, staring at him. He’s too much.

“I wanted to get you alone. Not like that,” he adds as I open my mouth to protest. His hand hovers over my waist for a moment, ultimately dropping to his side. “Should we tell her?”

“About the baby? Shouldn’t we wait?” A chicken begins to cluck in my head. “I know twelve weeks is what they say.” The rest of my sentence echoes in my head. But I’m not ready.

“What they say? Say about what?”

“Twelve weeks seems to be a convention. People wait until then in case ...”

His hand finds mine. “Don’t think like that. Not at twelve weeks, fourteen, or forty.”

“We’ll tell her before forty weeks,” I say, trying to joke while feeling anything but funny.

“We don’t have to say anything to her. Not yet.”

“But do you think Clodagh might blab?”

He gives his head a quick shake. “I don’t think she knew what we were talking about.”

I pull a face, unconvinced.

“She probably just repeated what she heard.”

“I don’t know.” But the way he’s looking at me is distracting. It makes me feel all kinds of unnecessary things.

“Besides, that’s what cartoons, pastries, and hot chocolate are for.”

“Distractions. Good thinking.”

His reply is a quick, reassuring squeeze to my fingers before he turns. I follow, of course. Because that ass. I mean—

“It was on a high shelf,” he announces as he exits the pantry.

“Short joke. Great!” I retort as though this is our regular shtick. Rather than taking my seat again and enduring another undignified hop and heave, I lean against the end of the island and watch Clodagh do it instead. But first, she takes a quick detour into the kitchen.

“I didn’t say anything,” Matt says, holding up both hands.

“But you used the cup,” she says, producing a glass cookie jar full of money from a low cabinet. The kind of money that folds.

“You can’t even read!” Matt scoffs.

“Can too,” she retorts, all short-person adorableness as she clambers back into her seat.

“What does it say, then?”

“I’m f—” Clodagh stops as she finds her mother’s hand over her mouth. “You tried to trick me!” she complains as it drops. “That’s not very nice, Uncle Matty!”

“Neither is the cup,” her mother murmurs, tapping the rim of the saucer.

I glance down and realize there are words printed among the flowers, twining like vines. I’m fucking radiant, the twining script reads.

“He has a few of these,” Letty offers. “One of them looks perfectly ordinary, until you’ve finished your tea and look down and read You’ve been poisoned .”

“Matt!” His name comes out in a gurgling chuckle.

“Do you have brothers?” Letty asks.

My gaze dips, but only briefly. “I’m an only child.”

“Lucky you,” she adds, but I can tell she’s only kidding.

“Ahem!” Clodagh shakes her cookie jar again.

“No way,” Matt complains as he pulls milk from the fancy fridge, then fires up an equally fancy coffee machine. “The deal is you only get money when the words come out of my mouth.”

“I have words.” The little girl frowns at her uncle’s back.

“They’d better not be rude ones,” Letty censures.

“Mommy.” Clodagh turns in her seat to face her mom. “Where do babies come from?”

My heart literally plummets, and Matt’s arm pauses midair as he reaches for a cup.

I know the answer to this one, the answer in our case, at least. Alcohol, reduced inhibitions, super sperm, and defective prophylactics.

“Well, honey, that’s not really a conversation for right now.” Her mother brushes Clodagh’s hair from her face, the gesture quite tender.

“Yeah, but where do they come from?”

“Amazon,” Matt says, now pouring milk into a little pink cup. “They have everything.”

“No, Uncle Matty,” the little girl says with a laugh. Is it me, or did that have a tiny edge of gleeful malice to it?

“Then maybe the machine at the arcade.” He makes a snapping motion with his hand without turning around. “The one with the claw.”

“Please, Mommy. I want to know!”

“You know where they come from.” Her mom’s tone turns firm.

“Yeah, but how do they get in your tummy?” she demands, pressing her hands to her torso.

“Why have you got such a bee in your bonnet about this right now?”

“Clo,” Matt interjects, “come and press the button on the coffee machine. It’ll make your hot chocolate extra frothy.”

But Clodagh knows her uncle’s game as she looks her mom dead in the eye and says, “Because I want to know how Uncle Matty put a baby in Ryan.”