Page 52 of Reckless Desire

She tastes like apples and cinnamon—from our impromptu dessert earlier—and suddenly I’m addicted to that flavor. I groan in response to her soft moan and grind my hips against her, seeking the release I don’t deserve.

We shouldn’t be doing this. I should stop, but I’m past reason. Everything else has ceased to exist. It’s just me with my reckless need to process the horror of today. And this woman who keeps escaping me—which might be smart—and teasing me at the same time without even knowing it.

Sydney wiggles her hips, maybe to push me away or nestle me closer, but her mouth seems eager to keep going. I’m so absorbed with the essence of her and my own adrenaline that I let myself drown in the connection.

Her body is soft against my taut muscles. She fits perfectly against me. She feels too good. Too dangerous. Too forbidden.

Caro whimpers behind the door and the soft sound splashes over me like cold water. I jerk away so fast, Sydney stumbles. My heart bruises my ribcage in its violent thunder. I scrape my fingers through my hair, trying to compose myself. What the fuck am I doing?

I open the door and peek in, but Caro is fast asleep. Closing it again, I lower my forehead to the wooden surface, wishing it was a block of ice. I can’t look at Sydney. I don’t regret the kiss, but I regret the circumstances. I took it because I needed an outlet. But I had no right to do it. Not here, a wall away from Caro. With her teacher, nonetheless.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” My voice cracks through the lump in my throat. I turn and walk to the living room, leaving her standing in the shadows of the hallway. Asshole. I drop to the sofa and close my eyes, tilting my head against the backrest.

“Good night, Hunter.” Sydney’s voice reaches me from the far side of the room.

“I’m the worst father ever.” I don’t know why I choose this moment to voice my biggest fear. I don’t open my eyes. I can’t look at Sydney, because I don’t want to see the agreement in her eyes. Or the apprehension after I practically attacked her in front of Caro’s room.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself. Caro adores you and you’re providing her with the best life. You love her and you show it to her all the time. It’s the most important gift you can give her… to grow up in a supportive, loving environment.”

Sydney’s words sink in slowly and deliciously, but I don’t let myself bask in them. She’s only trying to make me feel better.

“Is that enough?” I challenge, rubbing my face. “I’ve been working so hard. I didn’t even take her to that stupid playground. I didn’t realize how important it was to her. I have to ask my mother to help several times a week. I don’t have time to take her on vacation. I haven’t signed her up for any after-school classes because I don’t want to be bogged down by her schedule—”

“You accepted her without hesitation after her mother died. You pulled her out of the school where she was suffering, and you did everything you could to help her feel safe again when interacting with other kids. And, let me repeat, you love her. And you let her be who she is and support her. So many parents turn their kids into projects to fulfill their own dreams. Just the fact you feel like the worst parent ever is confirmation you’re not. The worst parents never contemplate their own failure.”

I finally look at her. Part of me finds her words soothing, but another part stubbornly believes she is just saying what I want to hear. “Thank you. For everything today. I really appreciate that you brought the blankie and stayed longer. Not that Caro gave you much choice.” I utter a dry laugh.

“The least I could do after losing her.” A shadow passes across Sydney’s features and she winces.

I’ve been so absorbed with my fear and guilt that I ignored how much the whole situation must have impacted Sydney. Frankly, mere hours ago, I was blaming her myself. It stemmed from fear and panic, but I’ve been too self-absorbed to see that she was suffering also.

I stand up and walk to her, but not too close, to prevent myself from pouncing on her again. I’m still sporting a semi in my pants. Though to be honest, I could stand on the other side of the room, the other side of the city or the world, and feel an undeniable pull.

“Don’t blame yourself.” I exhale deeply for the zillionth time since I received the call about my missing child. Not even fucking breathing comes easy anymore. “Caro sneaked out. In the end, we got lucky, and she was unharmed. I’m sorry I was harsh with you before. I don’t blame you.”

Sydney nods. She opens her mouth and closes it, licks her lips and repeats the gesture without speaking the actual words clearly waging a war inside her. Finally, she settles on a simple, “I’m sorry about today.”

Not simple at all. The words hang there with their ambiguous meaning. Is she referring to the kiss as well? I blame myself for losing my shit, but it’s not like she wasn’t an eager participant. I don’t know how to dance around her for the next several school years because every time I see her, a stupid, sappy movie plays in my head.

The script has been similar for years now. Sydney tucking hair behind her ear and blushing, unsure how to approach our first meeting. Sydney laughing at something I said. Her eyes widening with surprise when she learned we share a love of dark Scandinavian crime thrillers. Her sighs when I massaged her feet. Her heartbeat against my ribcage in the hotel’s elevator. Leaning against me when she got drunk. Confessing she searched for my scent. Snuggling into me as we walked home. Reading with Caro in the classroom. Reading to Caro just now.

“I’m not sorry about the kiss earlier. I’m not sorry about any of our kisses, or the almost kisses. I’m sorry about the circumstances.” My hands are useless appendages I don’t quite know what to do with, so I keep fisting them in the rhythm of my speech. “I regret I blamed you for getting engaged, and I’m sorry you’re my daughter’s teacher. I’m sorry you never called three years ago—”

“You said you were glad I never called.” She frowns and wriggles her hands in front of her. “At the bar. Your words hurt me.”

“Not as much as you not calling me.” I might as well be honest with her now. Our relationship has been nothing but missed opportunities, missed conversations, missed timing. There shouldn’t be much to lose at this point, but the thought is like a nautical knot around my stomach because I feel like I’m losing again.

She widens her eyes and shakes her head vigorously. “Why did you say it then?”

“I thought it would lift the awkwardness, but also… I’m glad you didn’t call me because I didn’t deserve you then.” Needing the physical restraint, I put my hands in my pockets.

She doesn’t react to my words. Not in her expression, but I notice how her breasts heave faster. Regardless of how we feel in each other’s company, we need to be realistic. “And now the situation is too complicated.”

We stare at each other in silence for a century, each second riddled by what could or should be. “I told you I’m not engaged.”

She suggested that last time, but we didn’t get a chance to discuss her relationship status. We might have more obstacles to overcome, but I latch on to that confirmation like it’s the first drop of water after years of drought. “You’re not dating the principal?”

“No. But I’m still Caro’s teacher—”

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