Page 32 of Wes

“Trish, any idea where Wes is at?” Which is a rhetorical question since my assistant watches the man like a hawk.

“In the common room.”

“I’m heading there myself. Care to take a break?” I slant my head.

She jumps to her feet. “Do you have to ask?”

Chuckling, we stroll down the corridor and up the stairs to the second floor. Halfway up, a thought pops up in my head that makes my step falter.

I blurt, “Do you like Wes as a fan of Muse of Darkness? Or do you have romantic feelings for him?” As the words come out, I realize I might be out of line. “If you don’t mind my asking, that is.”

She guffaws. “Not at all. You’re always looking out for me. And the answer is easy. As a huge fan of the band, I was totally starstruck when he first arrived. I’ve come to admire his dedication to the kids and all. But I wouldn’t say I have feelings for him. At least, not romantic ones.”

“Good.” She snaps her head around to gaze at me with a suppressed smile playing on her lips. I rush to add, “I don’t want you to get hurt, that’s all. Wes is a self-proclaimed player and a proud bachelor.”

“If you say so,” she replies with a snicker when we get to the largest room on the second floor.

Even though half a dozen sofas, and the same quantity of armchairs, are scattered around the place, kids of different ages have gathered around Wes on the floor.

He sits in the center of the Persian rug with an array of toys of different shapes, upside down wastebaskets, and thick books arranged in a semi-circle in front of him. With two sheets of paper rolled into tubes, he bangs the improvised drum set. Although I don’t recognize the song, the kids know it and sing along with him.

Trish presses her hands over her heart and leans to say into my ear, “I love this song so hard. It was their first number one hit.”

Mark, one of our toddlers, has climbed over Wes’s lap and fallen asleep, sucking his thumb. My heart explodes at the scene.

Another little one, Felicity, is slumped against his back, her chin resting on his shoulder, as she holds on to him with both arms around his neck. She grins at me, showing off her four teeth and cooing. Afraid she’s choking the man, I take a step toward them, intent on picking her up. The girl burrows her face in his neck, squeezing him harder.

I throw my hands up in the air, laughing. I return to Trish’s side, and we watch Wes begin to sing a different song. When I pay attention to the words, my stomach sinks like a boulder. Wes is teaching the kids about musical notes in a fun way. The catchy beat and simple lyrics make it easy for them to reproduce.

Until fifteen-year-old James gets bored. “We’ve been singing these for hours. It’s more fun when you improvise.”

“I’ll do you one better. Bring me your guitar and I’ll show you something I’ve been working on.” While James scampers to a corner of the room to grab his instrument, Wes drops the impromptu sticks on the floor and strokes the black curls on Mark’s forehead. His gentle fingers push the hair away from the boy’s face before he runs a thumb along Mark’s nose.

We lock eyes and my knees turn to jelly at the tenderness I see on his expression. When it’s chased away by raging desire, my bones melt, not to mention my panties.

“Here you are.” James returns with the guitar and hands it to Wes.

Without releasing my stare, he places the instrument on his lap mindful not to wake up Mark. He plucks the strings, and a heart-wrenching ballad fills the room.

A couple of minutes into the song, Trish blurts, “That’s so beautiful.”

James adds, “What’s it about though? Sing the words, dude.”

He faces James. “No lyrics yet. But I can tell you what this song’s about.” I sigh as his delicate melody touches my soul. His gaze returns to mine. The fire in his eyes short-circuits my synapses. “It’s about the woman who makes this world a better place with each breath she takes.”

And just like that, his words wreck my heart.

12

WES

If Maria wants me just a fraction of how much I crave her touch, I’m the happiest man alive. Watching the way she heaves with shallow breathing; I choose to believe she does.

As I return the guitar to James, I say a silent prayer that she stops fighting the attraction between us. I can’t go on much longer like this. I scoop Mark up in one arm, bring Felicity around, and secure both kids against my chest. I push off the floor, bouncing the little girl up as I surge to my height. The toddler squeals with joy and I guffaw, catching and hugging her. When I’m about to send her flying up again, Maria pops up to my left and snatches the girl away.

Half scoffing and half scolding, she says as she leans her forehead on Felicity’s, “Enough amusement park rides for today. You’re far too small for all that adrenaline, munchkin.”

She settles the kid astride her right hip, but the toddler keeps jerking her body up and down, clapping her hands. Maria bursts out laughing, closes her fingers around a tiny wrist, and kisses the girl’s palm. “I know it’s addictive.”

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