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Chapter Twelve

Adeline

What was that saying about intentions and the road to a particularly hot place?

I’d had such good ones when I slipped under Lars’s covers last night.

Keep the baby at eye level without smothering her or having her fall off the side of the bed.

I wasn’t lying when I said she was fussy in the crib.

Oddly, I also felt safer in his bed, like knowing it belonged to him was a tangible thing I could hold onto.

But then I realized I should probably have changed the sheets first because they smelled like hot, studly hockey player.

Thankfully, I had a baby on hand to keep me honest because if Mabel hadn’t been playing chaperone, I might have let that tantalizing man scent tantalize me all the way to an orgasm.

I had set an alarm for 4:30 so I could feed Mabel and take myself back to the guest room. He wasn’t supposed to know I’d even been here.

Instead he arrived home early and I was on hand to contribute to the narrative of Adeline’s embarrassing crush on Lars Nyquist. My dad’s teammate no less!

I’d certainly walked—or slept—into that one.

I’d also acted like a frightened little rabbit when I saw him silhouetted in the doorframe.

Large, hulking, reminiscent of my Greek ogre.

Annoyed with myself, I stretched, and my fingers brushed Bear. He must have fallen out of Mabel’s bassinet. I would return him and go back to the guest room where I belonged.

On my way downstairs, I passed the guest room with its open door. Mabel was in the crib, already asleep, which meant Lars had worked fast, feeding her and putting her down. Clearly becoming a pro at this parenting lark.

Guilt panged me at hearing the pitter-patter of the shower. What a great guest I was, evicting the poor guy from his ensuite. I dropped Bear in beside Mabel, set him near her hand so she would feel him when she awoke, and that’s when I heard it.

A moan.

The door to the bathroom was ajar, and that sound could mean only one thing: Lars was having a private moment.

Another moan went up, more of a groan this time. That was how lust sounded, and it immediately found a corresponding throb between my legs.

I had to leave. I couldn’t stay here while Lars did that .

Yet, I remained frozen, like that night on a Greek isle a couple of months ago. Only this time, it wasn’t fear that molded my feet of clay.

It was desire.

Something about knowing the difference made me braver than I’d felt in a long time. Oh, it was all wrong, but it was also feeding something within me, something a little crazy. I was never the one who took chances or made moves. Rosie said I’d never met a line I wanted to cross.

This felt different. This felt like a situation I could handle.

What I truly wanted to handle was whatever Lars Nyquist was stroking in there.

I wanted to touch him, taste him, feel him, and because I would never have a chance to, this might be the closest I would get.

A little eavesdropping to fuel the lonely nights ahead.

Harmless, because he would never know. As soon as he finished, I would exit stage left.

The moans were increasing in volume, which meant he must be close. I gripped the dresser, pushed my thighs together, and tried not to think too hard about the sheer wrongness of what I was doing.

“Oh, oh fuck, ohhh .” Then one groan that had to be Lars’s climax coupled with a very loud “Adeliiiiine!”

My mouth fell open. No, that couldn’t be right. I must have substituted my deepest fantasy for that final cry of release, taking the desire to be in Lars’s sexual crosshairs to its logical conclusion. Of course, he would think of me when he came. That was all part of my wicked fantasy.

I played it back in my mind, rewound to the moment before, and … shit, that really happened.

“Adeline?”

Oh. This time, my name was not spoken as a groan or punctuating an orgasm, but in shock. Maybe even disgust at my creeper behavior.

And this creeper was pretty bad at covering her tracks.

I snapped my gaze to Lars who stood before me, his broad shoulders beaded with moisture, a towel raised to his chest and draped down the center-line.

It covered most of the good stuff, but I still got an excellent view of sheer, tightly-packed muscle on either side of it.

Those thick thighs I’d dreamed of. The curvature of his rock-solid ass.

Hints of the V-cut. All there, for my viewing pleasure.

“What are you doing here?”

“I …” I gestured to the sleeping baby. “Mabel must have pushed Bear out of the bassinet. I brought it back in and didn’t realize you were, uh, busy.”

Busy. What a word choice!

Lars continued to stare, his cheeks darkly flushed, his lips a straight line of disapproval.

“How long were you out here?”

The query was bitten out. He didn’t know how much I had heard, but even if he assumed I’d heard that last part—my name on his lips when he came—then that was hardly my fault.

You stayed, Adeline. You stayed to listen, though you knew it was wrong.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to …”

His eyes darkened, swallowing all the blue. “Didn’t mean to what?”

I barely managed to gut the word out. “Listen.”

I wasn’t sure what I expected. A denial? An apology? A quick ushering me out of the room? Whatever it was, it wasn’t this.

Deathly, accusing silence.

I finally broke it. “I should leave.”

“Yeah, you should.”

Humiliated, I took a step backwards and my heel caught on something.

Before I could stumble, Lars and his battle-hewn reflexes grasped my elbow and kept me upright.

The movement brought him close, too close, and all that separated us was a towel, a hairsbreadth of erotically charged space, and the flood of embarrassment that was rushing in to fill it.

“Careful,” he murmured, low and husky, more warning than counsel.

His fingers burned through my skin, rivaling my shame in a flush across my body. I pulled away, sidestepped the overnight bag I’d almost tripped over, and fled the room on rubbery legs.