Page 12 of One Forbidden Night with Her Orc Boss

“Listen, there’s something deeper at work than physical attraction. I hope you feel that in your heart, like I do in mine.” With his free hand, he takes my hand and places it over his heart, which is pounding as hard as mine. “If I commit, I commit one thousand percent.” Theifmakes my panic rise. How does he decide if? What does that entail? How broken will Lucy and I be by the time he’s made his choice?

Stinging words on my lips itch to attack him. But he stills me with one look. Stern, knowing, understanding. “Let me finish, firecracker. I’m committed. To you, to us.”

He leans in and kisses me, softly but thoroughly, slicing through all my resistance.

A crash from inside the house shakes me out of whatever moment this is. Push Captain aside, only to have him beat me through the door and to Lucy, who knocked over the chair she was pushing across the kitchen. She startles as we burst into the room, but then gives us her dazzling chubby-cheeked smile. “Hi Mommy. I’m making soup!”

My soup pot is on the floor, filled with liquid and a variety of spices, judging by the scent of the room. The flour tin is open beside the pot, empty.

“Honey, it’s bath time. Say goodnight and let’s get your water started.” Her little shoulders slump as she mumbles goodnight.

“See you tomorrow,” I say to Brann, feeling on the inside the same as Lucy on the outside—disappointed and fragile. Keep my head down; I can’t look at him, because I don’t know what I’ll say or do. I turn to follow Lucy down the hall to our bathroom, but he catches my hand and pulls me toward him. A sliver of space between us.

“I’m not going anywhere. I’ll sit right there and read a book. We’ll talk once she’s in bed.”

Nodding, my heart flutters in anticipation.

Chapter 8

Brann

Trying to readThe History of the Medieval Worldwhile listening to Beckett and Lucy go through their nighttime routine is like being stuck miles down the road from my favorite band playing with only the faintest sound of their music traveling to my ears. It’s a tease—their laughter together, Beckett singing to Lucy, the sloshing of water in the tub as Lucy plays. And then the gentle murmur as Beckett reads to Lucy.

I’ve always said I hated kids. Didn’t want them. Don’t want to be around them. They’re tiresome, smelly, loud, and unreasonable. But since Lucy wound through my legs at Moonlit Grounds, she’s somehow entwined herself into my heart. I still can’t imagine myself being a father, especially at my age. But there’s no denying that I love being Lucy’s friend. Her calling me Branny was an arrow straight to my heart.

Now I have to convince Beckett that I’m what’s right for her. I don’t know much about her past, but it doesn’t take a crystal ball to see that she’s been terribly hurt. Or that my position of authority over her scares her. I can only hope that the flame between us is enough to burn away her hesitations.

When Beckett, no—Natasha—comes out, I’ve long given up the pretext of reading, cleaned up Lucy’s soup creation in the kitchen, and am pacing the length of her tiny living room, scanning her bookshelves to understand what she enjoys, as well as studying the photos of her and Lucy on the shelves. It’s easy to focus on their matching smiles and Lucy’s effervescence. But upon further study, I see the pain and tiredness in Natasha’s eyes, and I want to rip apart limb by limb the person who caused that exhaustion and sorrow.

Natasha’s scent mingles with the lavender of Lucy’s bath, growing stronger as she approaches me cautiously. “Sorry that took so long. She was pretty hyped up becausesomeonegave her a giant cookie right before her bath.” Her words are pointed, but there’s a small smile on her face. While she looks tired from a day of work and parenting, there’s none of the haunted, hollow eyes from the photos on the shelf.

“Sorry isn’t necessary. I’m the one invading your evening routine. You have a lot of history books.”Way to non sequitur, Brann. Why not sit down to discuss the merits of catapults versus trebuchets?

“Yeah, I studied medieval history in college. I had plans to teach. Then I discovered I loved search and rescue. It quickly surpassed the idea of teaching. But I still love reading about history. That all went away when I got pregnant with Lucy and my boyfriend, her father, decided he was too young to be a dad.” She pauses, staring at her books. “Would you like some tea?” She’s turned and walked into the tiny kitchen before I have a chance to answer.

I follow, a puppy eagerly following their person. She fills the kettle, pulls out a box of tea, and two mugs. “You didn’t have to clean up Lucy’s mess. But thank you. Now, pick a tea.”

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