Page 142 of The Right Wrong Promise

There’s just duchess, me, and an F5 spinning heartache.

She’s so soft, so sweet, but for once I’m not desperate to haul her off to bed and fuck her this instant.

This is enough right now.

More dangerous, maybe, because this kiss says a lot of the things I can’t put into words right now. And I can’t avoid the tenderness.

Not when she’s whisper-soft and it tastes like we’re signing a secret pact in quiet, lingering kisses.

This thing with her is unholy.

This thing will skin me alive when it ends.

Until then, I mean every silent word ensouled in my lips.

I’m damn grateful she’s with me, and I get to stay in this house, protecting her from lunatics.

Predictably, just as the heat creeps to my balls, the door flies open behind us and Dan comes bounding onto the porch, followed by Sophie. They both laugh at catching us in the act.

“Seeee?” Sophie croons. “I knew they’d be doing it.”

“Hey.” I don’t let Margot go even though she jerks back from me. There’s no point pretending we weren’t just kissing when we’ve been busted by these nosy little hounds. “What are you two doing?”

“We finished our homework!” Dan says smugly. “Sophie said you guys would bedoing it. So I had to come and see.”

“You’re too young to know what that is, little man, and too old to not understand the concept of privacy.” I snort loudly.

“Kissing!” Sophie supplies, her face red. “That’s what he means.”

Margot giggles, one hand covering her mouth, and I can’t help the smile that sneaks out.

The rest of the day’s woes fade as I grab my son in a headlock and ruffle his hair until he’s begging for mercy.

“Dad! Dad, no! I swear I won’t mess with you again. It was Sophie’s idea!”

Big promises from a boy who loves drama more than a seventy-year-old barfly.

“Okay, you two,” I say. “Now that you’re done sneaking around, how about a movie?”

15

HOME STRETCH (MARGOT)

In the end, we settle intoMoanaand a nice sense of normalcy.

Kane gets the kids hunkered down with blankets, the doors and windows firmly locked, while I whip up a quick blueberry sauce for ice cream.

After I heard about the Babins and their crazy business, I wanted to toss all the blueberries they gave us, but that seemed like a waste.

Now, as I bring the blueberry sundaes into the room, I’m glad I kept our stockpile. Dan and Sophie’s eyes light up like Christmas.

“It’s not Dole Whip fit for the movie, but it’s pretty tasty,” I say, handing them both heaping bowls.

We share grins.

I think it helps ground them back in Maine, quieting their chatter about jetting off to Hawaii or French Polynesia to live out their adventure fantasies as Maui belts out songs on the TV.

Oh, to be nine years old again.