Page 160 of Fiery Romance

There’s no doubt in my mind that I want these kids to be a part of my life forever.

But what am I going to do about their dad?

CHAPTER16

RULES OF WAR

CLAY

I’ve stepped backfrom Island for a handful of days and it’s already killing me.

My only relief is the security tapes of her salon which give me a live feed of what she’s doing at the shop.

I knew, before driving over here, that Abe would be in Island’s company. I also knew that she was working on his hair. What I didn’t expect is how the finished look would totally transform my son.

I freeze in the doorway, my eyes locked on Abe.

Regan runs straight toward me, her dark legs pumping and her giraffe-themed leggings stretching over her knee.

“What do you think, daddy?” she yells happily.

I swing Regan up into my arms, still not taking my eyes from Abe.Is he the same person?“Wow, soldier. You clean up well.”

Abe runs a hand shyly through his cut which is still black rather than blond, but at least now it looks presentable.

“Thanks, dad.”

“It’s edgy but classic,” Island explains. “It suits you really well, Abe.” She’s rotating the barbering apron in her fingers and carefully avoiding eye contact.

“Thanks.” Abe blushes. “I wasn’t sure I’d like it, but I do.” He gives his hair a ruffle and I can see a hint of myself in his demeanor.

Oh yeah. The girls are going to be all over him in a few years.

“Your handsome face did half the work for me.” Island squeezes his shoulder.

He doesn’t rebuff her affection.

Shouldn’t surprise me. Of course Island would charm my son. There is no one on the planet who wouldn’t fall at Island Hayes’ feet after spending time with her.

“I helped wash his hair, daddy,” Regan says proudly.

“Good job, sweet pea.” I kiss her cheek. Lightly patting her back, I say, “Go get your stuff. It’s time to go home.”

“Okay.” She darts off.

“Abe, go help your sister.”

My son trots after Regan, still running his hands through his hair as if he can’t believe it’s his.

Once they’re out of ear shot, I storm closer to the woman who turned me—a man with morals, clear lines, and social boundaries—into a stalker.

Island backs away and nervously picks up a broom to sweep Abe’s hair from the floor.

My fingers curl around the broom to stop her.

She freezes.

“Thank you, Island. What do I owe you?”

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