Page 140 of Between Passion and Revenge: Part Two
“Et voila!” I say, pulling my arm back dramatically. “Thought gone.”
Raiden giggles.
I lean over to kiss him again.
“Don’t worry about?—”
A quick knock has me frowning at the door, and I turn to face the noise as it opens. Storm walks in with a baseball cap pulled low on his forehead, his head tilted down.
“I’m so sorry I’m late,” he huffs, then winces when he looks at Tempest to see she’s already asleep. He turns his attention to Raiden, who sits up with excitement practically radiating off him.
I stand, taking a wordless step back to let Storm take my spot.
“Hey, Champ. I’m sorry I missed so much of bedtime. I had some important things to take care of. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have missed a minute. Forgive me?” Storm places his hands over his chest as he delivers his plea, but Raiden nods his assent before Storm can finish speaking.
“I’ll make it up to you,” Storm whispers. “Tell me about your day.”
Raiden smiles and goes into detailing his day, and I take that as my sign to give them more space. But before I can move, Storm grabs my hand, lacing his fingers in mine without taking his attention off Raiden.
I freeze in place, his unexpected touch doing all sorts of things to my body and my mind. He’s just holding my hand, so this shouldn’t impact me this much. But against the backdrop of this intimate moment with us and our children, I’m overwhelmed.
You’re pissed at him. Remember?
I tug on my hand, but Storm’s grip tightens.
“Storm—”
“Hold on a minute, Sweetness,” he says with a brief grin in my direction. I huff, about to say something, anything, when Tempest rolls over and shouts.
“Get out of my room!” She throws a pillow at Storm’s feet. I whirl around, gasping, and track Tempest’s gaze where it locks on my hands connected with Storm’s.
“Tempest Amaya, what has gotten into you?” I ask, censure heavy in my tone. She growls, faceplanting into her mattress.
“Hey,” Storm whispers. “Let’s give her space. Dr. Wilson says it’s important to enforce that boundaries are to be honored.”
I look at him as if he’s grown a second head. Who the hell is Dr. Wilson?
Storm leans back over to Raiden and whispers something to him. Our son launches himself into Storm’s arms, and something in my heart crackles when Storm’s shoulders drop and he squeezes tighter.
Still, he doesn’t let go of my hand.
This is trouble.
I’m vacillating between so many emotions, I’m annoyed with my damn self.
Storm guides us out of the room, closing the door with a quietsnick, but he doesn’t move to leave the hallway. Instead, he turns and rests his back against the doorjamb.
Beneath his dark cap, I can feel his eyes on me.
“Thanks for showing,” I say, trying to keep my voice neutral. I’m unsure if I am genuinely grateful or if I’m saying the words to be snarky. Maybe a mix of both?
“I’m sorry I was late,” he replies with a wince. “This evening has been stupid, but I didn’t want to miss saying goodnight.”
“It would have been okay for one night,” I offer graciously, folding my arms across my chest as I lean on the opposite wall. The hallway is slightly larger than average, so about six feet separate our bodies, but I feel like he’s right on top of me anyway.
His energy surrounds me.
“It wouldn’t be okay,” he says back, his tone serious. His previous words float through my memory:This is the last night I spend away from my kids.
