Page 138 of Rescued by the Single Dad

Rising up a little, he gazed down at her. Her cheeks still held a sexy flush and a thin layer of perspiration beaded along her chest. Her eyes were bright and looked at him with so much fucking love, so much fucking understanding, his rhythm faltered for a moment. Then he stopped completely.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

He shook his head and closed his eyes for a moment. He didn’t fucking deserve this woman.

This incredible, giving, understanding saint of a woman.

And yet, she wanted him. She chose him.

“Clint ...?” She untangled one of their hands and cupped his cheek. “You okay?”

Opening his eyes, he leaned into her touch. “I love you.”

She smiled. It was a sad smile. One that made his eyes sting even more, and that knot in his throat tripled in size. He couldn’t let her leave without telling her. Without letting her know that she had changed him and made him better in so many fucking ways.

“I love you, too,” she said, bringing his mouth down to hers.

He started to move again, and she met him thrust for thrust until they were both panting and moaning. His balls cinched up hard against his taint, his lower belly heated, and when Brooke finally let go for a second time, Clint found his own release.

She held onto him. Clung to him. Wrapped her legs around his waist, arms around his back and let him stay there. Safe inside her, even soft.

This was home, to both of them, home to each other.

But some things just weren’t in the cards.

They led different lives in different worlds.

He needed to let her go more than he craved that final release.

At some point, he eventually rolled off her. The reality of the situation punctuated what just happened between them more than the climax did. They made their trips to the bathroom as separate as their lives would soon be. Then, without hesitation, she crawled back into his bed, into his arms, and promptly fell asleep.

And Clint did everything in his power not to think about tomorrow.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Brooke snuck out of Clint’s bed before he woke up the next morning. The last thing she needed was for Talia to go searching for either Brooke or Clint and find Brooke not in her bed. They didn’t want to give the little girl any more false hope than she already had.

Brooke had enough false hope for the both of them, anyway.

Even though last night should have been considered a mistake, it didn’t feel like one.

But it also didn’t feel like the closure she thought it would be.

If anything, it just made things worse.

It just reaffirmed everything. It was real. Mutual.

Dear God, he told her he loved her.

Then she said it back.

So no, they weren’t in a bad place anymore. Things were amicable—she hoped—but maybe that was worse.

A clean breakup because it was simply a matter of wrong place, wrong time, and not him cheating with a movie extra.

The house was still quiet when she made her way downstairs and brewed a cup of tea. Then she opened the back patio and sat in the red Adirondack chair, curling her knees up to her chest. She’d put on some sweats and one of Clint’s hoodies that she found hanging up on the coat rack. It smelled like him.

Musky and earthy. Manly and woodsy. With just a hint of hops, or maybe that was barley?

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