Page 62 of Silver Fox's Secret Triplets
I reached for her before I could stop myself, pulling her toward me. She came willingly, her hands finding my chest as I backed her against the edge of my desk. Her eyes were wide, uncertain, but she didn't pull away.
"I hate that I still want you," I said, my voice rough.
"Duncan—"
I kissed her before she could finish the sentence, my mouth claiming hers with a desperation that bordered on violence. She responded immediately, her hands fisting in my shirt as she kissed me back with equal fervor. This wasn't gentle or romantic—this was raw need, the physical manifestation of everything we couldn't say.
I lifted her onto my desk, stepping between her legs as she wrapped her arms around my neck. Her fingers tangled in my hair, and I groaned against her mouth. This was madness, kissing her in my office while my anger still burned hot in my chest. But I couldn't stop.
She pulled back slightly, breathing hard. "I love you," she whispered.
The words should have made me happy. Instead, they made me want to put my fist through the wall. "Don't say that."
"Why not?"
"Because you don't get to say that after lying to me for years."
She flinched, but didn't look away. "I love you anyway."
I was about to respond when the door opened without warning. Nick Martinez stepped into the office, his attention focused on the papers in his hand.
"Duncan, I need you to look at these contracts before?—"
He looked up and froze. Ivy scrambled off my desk, her face burning with mortification as she tried to smooth her disheveledhair. I stepped back, putting distance between us, but the damage was done.
Nick's eyes moved between us, taking in Ivy's flushed face and my rumpled shirt. A slow smile spread across his features.
"Well," he said, closing the door behind him. "This is interesting."
25
IVY
Coming home felt different this time. I carried Elena on my hip while Sammy and Chrissy ran ahead toward the front door, their energy finally returning after three days of fever and restless hotel nights. Sammy's cheeks had lost their flushed appearance, and his breathing had returned to normal. The relief I felt was overwhelming.
Mom met us at the door, moving slowly but with more steadiness than I'd seen in weeks. She wore her favorite blue robe, the one Dad had given her for their anniversary years ago, and her face held more color than it had since the chemotherapy started. She knelt carefully to embrace the children, her surgical mask temporarily forgotten in her joy at having them home.
"I missed you three so much," she whispered, gathering them close. "Grandpa and I were so worried."
"We stayed in a hotel, Grandma," Chrissy announced proudly. "There were little shampoo bottles in the bathroom."
"And the bed was bouncy," Elena added, wiggling in my arms until I set her down.
Sammy remained quiet, still clinging to my leg. The illness had left him more subdued than usual, content to stay closerather than explore. I smoothed his dark hair, grateful beyond words that the worst had passed.
Lauren helped me carry in the collection of bags, toys, and medical supplies we'd accumulated during our hotel stay. "I'm so glad you're all home," she said, setting down a bag filled with sippy cups and snacks. "This house felt too quiet without them."
"Thank you for everything," I told her as we worked together to sort through the children's belongings. "I couldn't have managed without you."
"That's what friends are for. Besides, these three are pretty hard to resist." She glanced at her watch. "I should head out, but call me if you need anything. I mean it."
After Lauren left, I spent the afternoon doing laundry and trying to restore some semblance of normalcy to our routine. The children were content to play quietly in the living room while Mom supervised from the couch, her energy still limited but her spirits clearly improved by their presence.
I was folding tiny T-shirts in the laundry room when I heard the low rumble of a familiar voice from the front of the house. My hands stilled on the fabric as I recognized Duncan's tone, though I couldn't make out his words from this distance. We'd talked about this—about him coming to speak with Dad, about not leaving me to face that conversation alone. I crept to the top of the stairs, my bare feet silent on the hardwood.
"…wanted to speak with you about the situation," Duncan was saying.
"The situation." Dad's tone held an edge I recognized. "Is that what we're calling it?"
