Page 13 of Curves and Cradles

Kevin

I make my way up the sidewalk, taking in the small blue bungalow. The grass needs mowing, the front bed needs weeding, and the white paint on the front door is chipped. Other than that, it’s a homey place with a brightly colored welcome mat.

I press the button for the doorbell and wait.

Jane shot out of the school yesterday like her ass was on fire. I figure I owe her another apology for fucking her on her desk in the high school like a damn Neanderthal.

“Just a minute,” Jane’s voice calls from inside the house.

The door opens to reveal Jane barefoot, wearing blue jean shorts, a T-shirt, and a kid on her hip. Her eyes widen when she sees me. “Kevin! What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see you. And you said we needed to talk, remember?”

A frown settles over her features.

My eyes move to the child hanging on Jane’s hip, a girl judging from the pink bow dangling from her wild blonde ringlets. “Babysitting?”

“Not exactly.”

It’s then I realize Jane is angry. It rolls off her in waves that hit me with actual heat. Her blue-gray eyes are narrowed, her jaw set, and there’s no smile to be found.

The baby says something to her that I don’t understand. I haven’t spent a lot of time with kids.

Jane turns her gaze on the little girl and smiles. “You eat your peaches, and then you can have goldfish.” She turns to face me again. “I’m busy right now. Maybe we can talk later.”

I open my mouth to speak, then close it. Yesterday, she seemed happy to see me. God, the memories of her shuddering on my cock make me hard all over again.

The toddler on her hip squirms. “Down, Mama.”

Mama?NowthatI understood.

Jane sets the little girl down, and the kid turns to look directly at me. She gazes up at me with enormous blue eyes. Eyes that look alarmingly familiar. I look at Jane, taking in her posture, her possessive hand on the little girl’s shoulder. Then back down at those blue eyes... just like the eyes that peer back at me every time I look in a mirror.

Holy fuck.

I shake my head and turn, walking away.

* * *

I know how to deal with dangerous situations, both domestic and foreign. I know how to disassemble explosives and extract civilians from dangerous situations. But what I don’t know how to do is deal with the shitstorm my life has just become.

I sit in my truck outside Cade’s offices with the engine idling.

It doesn’t take long for my friend to come outside. He ambles over to the truck, and the only indication he has any kind of injury is his slight limp. I push the button to lower the window.

“You coming in or planning to sit out here and make my clients nervous?” Cade asks.

I don’t even bother looking over at my friend.

“Okay, Jessup. Cut the engine and get your ass inside,” Cade says. “That’s an order.”

Cade is the closest thing I have to a brother. I found a family in the SEALs, but none so much as Cade Matthews. So, I do as he instructs and follow him inside.

The offices for the security company Cade runs are unassuming. Cade saves the expenses for where they’re needed—surveillance and protection. We step into Cade’s private office, and he closes the door.

Sitting at his desk, he opens a drawer and pulls out a bottle of whiskey, silently pouring two glasses. “Talk.”

I down the amber-colored liquid and relish the burn in my throat and eyes. “I saw Jane.”

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