Page 30 of Delinquent Daddy (Banks/Kincaid Family 2)

There was too much other stuff going on right now, though he had to admit the last ten years had been kind to her in the looks department. Very kind. She'd been pretty at nineteen, but at...what would she be now...twenty-nine? Thirty?

Whatever. The fact remained, she was gorgeous.

Catching her stripping in the kitchen hadn't deterred that conclusion either. Ten years...and his body had still reacted like the horny twenty-two-year-old he'd been so long ago when he'd stepped into the doorway and found her with her shirt off and her arms over her head.

Oh yeah, she'd definitely aged nicely. Her breasts specifically.

Boston had accidentally overheard two of his sisters discussing their breasts after having children. One had complained that hers had shrunk and another was bemoaning the fact that she'd only gotten bigger. Though Boston had booked it out of the room as soon as he'd stumbled across such a conversation—hell no, he didn't want to hear about his sisters' breasts—their words had left a distinct, lasting memory.

And when he'd seen Ellie all shirtless and inviting, he thought, oh yeah, she'd gotten bigger after having Cassie. He would definitely know, too. Once upon a time, he'd imprinted 78

Delinquent Daddy

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every inch of her body into his brain. And her boobs had not been that full ten years ago. These days they'd probably fill his hands to overflowing.

Boston let out an aggravated groan. He'd wanted to test his theory. He'd wanted to stroll over to her, tug that shirt right back off, and cover her with his hungry fingers. He missed her body more than he'd ever missed anything, no matter how much he denied it.

He'd also wanted to give her a disdainful look and mutter something nasty like, "Not interested," or, "Been there, done that." But his mouth had been too dry to say anything, so he'd settled for a snort and forced himself to turn away like he didn't want to bury himself inside her for old time's sake.

As he'd moved off, he'd come across pictures and graded papers on the refrigerator. Instantly, his mind had returned to the right track.

Cassidy.

He was there for Cassie. Not Ellie. Never Ellie. He'd burned the Ellie bridge, then he'd set the whole damn forest on fire so another could never be rebuilt in its place. And then he'd gone and flooded the banks between them. There was no

way, no how, he'd ever cross back over. Too much pain and anger and hurt had filled their last few weeks together.

Yet, from the rubble of their ruined relationship, an amazing child had emerged.

Except for those few weeks when he was about to be a daddy, he hadn't thought about having his own child. And back then, he'd been too freaked out to think much at all.

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Now, however, his mind whirled. He was a father. He had a daughter. And he wanted her.

Already thinking up a contract for parental rights, Boston turned down his street. Tomorrow, he'd have to research custody and child support. God, he probably owed a fortune in child support. He was going to have to calculate that and be prepared in case Ellie fought back. Still deep in thought, he pulled into his drive and sucked in a breath, slamming on the brakes when he found his way blocked.

Damn, he should've expected this. Half a dozen cars—none his own—crowded into his half-circle drive. His parents', his brother's, Cameron and Olivia's automobile, along with all his sisters' cars sat waiting for him.

As he parked behind his parents' Dodge Avenger, the front door of his house opened and the hoard spilled out, making him regret ever giving anyone a spare key.

Staying in his Infiniti a moment after killing the engine, Boston closed his eyes and wondered briefly why he couldn't have been born an orphan. He didn't want company right now. He didn't want all the questions and concerns. He just wanted to lock himself inside his house and quietly digest the evening he'd just spent with Cassie...and Ellie.

But no, there was no way that was going to happen. Not with his family. His door was pulled open and Olivia's voice immediately asked, "Is she yours?"

A dozen people crowded the opened space as he blew out a lungful of air and climbed from the driver's seat. Someone shut the door behind him, and he studied the quiet, expectant faces. It was after midnight, but no one seemed concerned 80

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about the time...or even tired for that matter. His yard lamp spotlighted them, and he could tell they were all going to get about as much sleep tonight as he was, which was absolutely zilch.

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