Page 51 of Filthy Rich Single Daddies

"Only for you," he teases, taking a step back, leaving me with the ghost of his touch and the promise of more.

He turns and follows in Cohen’s footsteps, leaving me alone with the rest of my boxes. Alone—just as I wanted, just as I always am. The silence settles over me, a shroud of solitude that's both comforting and suffocating. I sink to the floor amidst the boxes, surrounded by everything and nothing all at once.

I’m just about finished when the kids come rushing into my room to tell me dinner is ready. I force a smile, pushing aside the hollow ache that’s settled in my chest.

“Thanks, you two, I’m coming,” I tell them, brushing off the dust from my jeans as I stand.

As I follow them down the hall, their laughter echoing around me, I try to shake off the weight of my own thoughts.

By the time I reach the dining room, I’ve tucked the feeling away, locking it up tight. But as I take my seat, Cohen’s eyes meet mine from across the table, unreadable yet intense, and I know—whatever this is, whatever we are—it isn’t over. Not even close.

Living here is not going to go well, I can just feel it.

The hours slip by, filled with the clink of cutlery and the chatter of conversation. For a moment, I allow myself to belong—to be part of this mismatched group—and it feels dangerously close to contentment.

"Sky," Theo nudges me gently, passing the salt. Our fingers brush, sparking a silent conversation that says more than words ever could.

"Thank you," I murmur, keeping my gaze fixed on the crystal shaker, avoiding the knowing smiles that might lurk on the faces of our companions.

When the meal ends and the kids scuttle off for a bath and bed, I linger for a moment, watching the easy camaraderie between the men who have unexpectedly become a part of my life. They're clearing dishes, bantering, sharing a bond I'm only peripherally a part of.

I push back from the table, the scrape of my chair against the floor breaking the comfortable hum of conversation. “I think I’m going to call it a night,” I say, stretching to mask the sudden tightness in my chest.

Theo doesn’t hesitate. “I’ll walk you.”

I open my mouth to protest, but the knowing glint in his eyes tells me it would be pointless. He’s never been one to hide what he wants, and apparently, I’m no exception. I should be mad; I laid clear boundaries, and keeping this quiet was one of them. But I'm not angry. And I don't know why.

As we move down the hall, Theo falls in step beside me, his presence a steady warmth against my side. When we reach my door, he stops me with a gentle hand on my arm. Before I can react, his lips brush over my shoulder, then my neck—soft, lingering, deliberate.

“You’ll get used to having me around again,” he murmurs, his breath sending a shiver down my spine.

I don’t get the chance to respond. The weight of another gaze prickles against my skin, drawing my attention down the hall. Austin stands at the entrance to the hall, his posture rigid, his jaw clenched. But it’s his eyes that hold me in place—dark, intense, burning with something unspoken.

My breath catches.

It’s not anger. It’s something else. Something dangerous.

And it sends a whole different kind of shiver through me.

Chapter 16

Cohen

Lightning fractures the night sky, a web of electric veins illuminating my bedroom in sharp, fleeting bursts. I'm lying in bed, sheets tangled around me, anticipating the next rumble of thunder.

I’m not sleeping. Haven’t been for hours. The storm is relentless, but it’s not the only reason I'm awake.

Skylar.

She’s here, under the same roof, her presence a silent siren call that drowns out even the storm outside. I can almost feel the weight of her in this house, an invisible force that pulls at me, demanding my attention, my focus, everything.

She…doesn’t seem to want me the way she does my brother and Theo. But, damn if she doesn’t get under my skin—the way she walked into my life, into this home, and unsettled me so thoroughly.

A sharper crack of thunder snaps me back to the present, and I sit up, running a hand through my shaggier-than-usual hair.The shadows dance on the walls as the storm rages. It’s chaos, a perfect reflection of the turmoil inside me.

Skylar Deveraux. Just thinking of her name sends an unfamiliar jolt through me. There’s something about her—a fiery independence, a challenge in every word she speaks. And beneath that, something else...a guarded vulnerability that she keeps hidden away, locked tight behind a fortress of sass and sarcasm.

There’s something so familiar about her that I can’t put my finger on. Maybe it’s just the fact that I want to put my fingers on her. Every. Damn. Inch of her.

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