Page 47 of A Convenient Secret
She stares at me, her eyes pleading for way more than an explanation of my nanny issues. For forgiveness. For anything. She must have been on pins and needles all day, waiting for this conversation. About last night.
Fuck. I thought by ignoring her I’d be doing us both a favor, but today she needed an update. Feeling like a complete asshole, I answer her unfinished questions. “They believed that without a nanny, their mother would come back.”
Lily whimpers, her hand flying to her mouth, pain palpable in her expression. Again, I hate her a little for that. For her compassion. Something I don’t deserve. The kids do, but her reaction only reminds me of how quickly she built a connection with them.
Yeah, I definitely hate her for that. Because she can’t stay.
Can she? Isn’t it me who is robbing everyone here? She doesn’t even know I want to get rid of her because I can’t control my primitive emotions. Fuck. Andhaven’t I offered her the job, anyway? What the fuck is wrong with me?
“How is your arm?” She changes the subject.
She asked about Kendra last night, and I avoided the answer. She understands a lot about my family dynamics. All in the span of one week.
She understands I’m not ready to share that fucked-up story. I respect her for that. And hate her a little. Why does she have to be so perfect?
“It’s fine,” I grumble.
She takes a few steps closer. “Will you press charges?”
“No.” I don’t have to think about that one.
An audible sigh of relief leaves her. Was she worried about that all day? Fuck. I can’t catch a break around her. A world-class asshole—the one thing I’m not failing at.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
I nod curtly. “But you need to tell me why you sleep with a knife.”
She meets my eyes, a war brewing in them. “It’s New York. It’s normal to have protection.”
“Mace in your bag, sure, but you slept with a knife in my home.”
She accepted I’m not ready to talk about Kendra. Shouldn’t I extend the same understanding to her? Ifshe confides in me, we would remove another layer of boundaries. Not a good idea.
“It’s a habit,” she insists.
“Goddammit, Lily, you stabbed me. Don’t you think you owe me an explanation?”
I must have taken a step or two toward her without realizing, because her scent hits me, spreading through me like a potent drug.
“You barged into my room.” She pokes at my chest.
“I told you to lock the fucking door.” Fuck. No control or common sense around this woman.
She takes another step, and now we are way past personal space. “And why? Tell me, Declan, why did I need to lock my door in your perfectly safe house?”
I glare at her, my nostrils flaring. Her chest heaves, her cheeks tinted pink, her eyes sparkling.
She is so close, and so beautiful. Like an angel of revenge, upset with me, fiercely protecting her secret and not knowing how much she’s challenging my restraint.
Something inside me snaps. “Fuck it.”
I cup her nape, yank her closer, and leaning in, I fuse my lips with hers. A soft gasp escapes her, but she immediately wraps her arms around my neck and parts her lips.
Somewhere on the periphery of my mind, the voiceof reason suggests something about stopping, but I squash that suggestion.
My tongue darts out, and I explore her sweet mouth. I wasn’t prepared for this… I fantasized about this woman, but the reality exceeds any dream.
She tastes like forbidden fruit, like sin and innocence. Kissing Lily is like nothing I’ve ever experienced.
