Page 50 of All the Forbidden Things
“I’ve got her, Max, I promise. My hand is fine, and I promise I’ll take care of your daughter. If I need you, for anything, I promise I’ll message you or bring her over.”
He nods and swallows before he nods again and leaves without saying another word.
I stare at the empty archway he left through, my heart and my head both taking their time to regroup.
“Are you fucking kidding me? I could kill that damn bitch for what she’s done to that man. His trust and confidence in women are sitting at zero because of her,” Mel rants, her American accent coming through loud and strong.
“And to think he’s allowing her back here,” Kenzie adds.
I maintain my silence as I stare down at Layla. Still a little floored over the absolute love and devotion Max has towards his daughter.
I understand why he’s allowing Whitney to move back in, but I’m not sure I entirely agree with it, not that I’ve got to. I’ve barely even seen him in person over the past ten years, but for some reason, I feel invested. I’ve been in his company, in his home, holding his daughter for less than an hour, and I’m overwhelmed by how affected I am by the man.
I don’t know what I was expecting when I slowly struggled out of the back of Mel’s car and started walking up the driveway towards Max Young's house, but it wasn’t the sight that beheld me.
My ribs still screamed with pain as I slid carefully out of the SUV, and I stared down at my boots as they crunched along the gravel driveway. I’d kind of hidden, okay, flat-out lied about how much pain I was still in, to my brother, Mel, and Kenzie, so it was my own fault that no one offered me any help, and they all marched off without me.
It was more than that sharp pain that was pulling my attention as I stared at my boots. It was also the tingle that curled up from my toes, at the same time as it prickled down from my scalp, meeting somewhere in my belly. I assumed I was just being hyper-aware of my surroundings due to the fact this was my first time out of the house since the attack. But it was more than me being alert, but I didn’t know what exactly it was more of.
I looked up towards the house I was being drawn toward, and that’s when I saw him.
Fuck. Me.
I was in trouble.
So much trouble. The worst kind.
Basically, I was fucked.
Tall, slim, dark, and so fucking hot I almost tripped over the too-big boots I’d borrowed from Kenzie.
He was holding a baby. A tiny little girl wrapped in a cream fleece blanket, nothing but an enormous bow and a headful of dark hair peeking out of the bundle in his arms.
My chest felt tight, my ovaries quivered, and my womb contracted.
His daughter. This was his baby girl. The baby girl he’d had with his wife.
He was a married man.
I needed to get my shit together.
Why now? Why after all these years did Max again have my heart fluttering like a bird in my chest?
Had he changed, or was it just that I’d grown up? Because other parts of me were fluttering too as I moved towards him. Either way, there was no denying the mean, moody, hotness standing in the doorway before me.
He looked away, and for a moment, I panicked that he didn’t remember me. That he was calling into the house and asking my brother who the weirdo creeping up his drive was. But when he looked back, he wore a smile that made every female part of me pull tight. I returned what I hoped was somewhat of a sexy smile and stopped in front of him.
“Bamm,” he said in that quiet, raspy voice of his, “you grew up.”
He remembered me! He remembered us! Bamm and Wilma! He remembered us!
I forgot to breathe, making me sound puffed out as I said, “Wilma . . . you had a kid.”
And he had gotten hot. And sexy. And hotter.
I stand and reach for Layla’s bottle. Removing it from the warmer, I tilt it from side to side before testing the temperature on the back of my hand.
“Perfect, just like you.” I smile down at her light brown eyes, which are so much like her daddy’s.
