Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 135300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
“Your job is dog food now,” she teases.
I snort. “Come on, it’s one start-up I decided to fund. The owner’s a nice guy and hungry for a win. Big social media presence with lots of dogs all over social media. Zero chance Brady Pruitt screws me over.”
I mean it, too.
After the debacle with OptiSynth, I’m never getting tripped up again.
“Exactly. This is my house and my responsibility. If you’re under my roof, you just worry about your updates with cute dogs.” She taps my chest with her finger playfully.
That wins her my teeth when I kiss her again.
“What the hell will I do with you and our kids and no work?”
Our kids.
Her eyes blaze, and I think she gets it.
They don’t call her Mom.
Not yet.
It hasn’t been long enough, and they still have a real mother who pops in and out of their lives when she starts feeling guilty.
Margot won’t ever replace Daria, no, but there’s no hiding how thrilled the kids are to have some motherly affection at home.
No hiding how awestruck that makes me, either.
We’re becoming the family I always wanted.
Whole.
Undamaged.
Somehow, a living miracle.
“It really is freezing in here,” she says with a shiver. “Can you turn the heat up and start the fire? I’ll go make sure the pipes haven’t frozen.”
“Sure.”
She heads off through the house while I go to work.
First big improvement here needs to be better insulation. We already have a list for this year.
“Kane?” she calls once she’s back in the kitchen. “Is there any salt in the toolshed? We should get the ice off the porch before we forget.”
“I’ll check in a sec.”
I stand in the doorway, watching her ass bob as she bends down to look under the kitchen sink.
One day, we will come back here alone, minus the kids.
All so I can bend her over every surface of this kitchen and fuck her to ruin.
Upstairs, the kids whoop.
I’m sure they’re bouncing on their beds.
Whatever.
Today, I don’t mind too much, especially if it keeps them busy.
“No frozen pipes in the bathrooms?” I say as I stroll toward her.
“Nope. Mrs. Griffith did her job.” She turns, ass perched on the edge of the counter, and I step between her legs. She grips me with her knees as she says, “You know, Mr. Saint, this is very risky.”
“And very necessary. I had to fuck you here sooner or later. And I prefer fucking soon,” I mutter, leaning down to kiss her.
The bloodlust is instant.
My body overwhelms my brain, urging me to take her now, even though I know that can’t happen.
“You’re forgetting something,” she moans against my mouth, digging her nails into my neck.
“Making you explode on my mouth?”
“Your children.”
“Dunno. They’re busy upstairs,” I growl.
“Not busy enough,” she says firmly. “And they’re definitely not old enough to catch us like this.”
“We need more locks on the doors,” I snarl.
“You can’t lock your children in their rooms, Kane.”
“I can and I will.” But I’m laughing as I pull away. “We’ll have it your way for now, I guess.”
Just in time.
Dan comes pounding downstairs and darts past us, out the front door.
“Careful on the steps!” I call, squeezing her hip. “Why don’t you set your old bedroom up as your new office? I’ll bring in the rest from the car.”
Sophie tumbles down the stairs next, hair flying loose from its ponytail.
“When we’re done unpacking, can we play outside?” she asks.
Having them play outside is exactly what I want, but I pin on a stern expression.
“Only if you layer up. Coats, hats, gloves, the works. It’s bitter out there.”
“I know, I know. But can we, Dad?”
“Sure, Soph. As long as you don’t go anywhere near the lake.”
“They wouldn’t be that stupid,” Margot says from my other side, giving them both a wink.
“Yeah! We don’t wanna drown,” Sophie says with a quiet dignity as she heads for the car and Dan, who’s back hauling the next load of stuff in.
“See you upstairs,” I say to Margot and head back out to the car for a few last things. We’re not here for that long, so we shouldn’t have that much stuff, but somehow, we still have a carful, more than half of it for the kids.
When I get back upstairs, Margot’s in her old bedroom, the window cracked and a viciously cold breeze sneaking through the gap. There’s something charming about the beauty of her silhouette against the white landscape outside.
I’m lost for words.
Some people are worth the fight.
Worth the fuss, the blood, the sweat, the tears.
Worth the road to forever, paved with hell.
I know that deeply now, just like my failed marriage taught me some people are worth cutting loose.
Margot showed me how good it feels to love, if you can find the right person.
“Thinking about how it feels to be a famous designer yet?” I ask as I go into the room fully, and she laughs, turning around.