Wyatt opens his mouth to speak as we’re sneaking out of the room, but I place my finger over his lips. He raises an eyebrow and takes a step closer to me. He’s charged. With his smoldering eyes, intense focus, and ragged breathing, he’s the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. All testosterone and muscles and a defiant energy that just sucks me in. Oh hell, this is exactly how I got pregnant with both of our kids.
Now is not the time, and I’m really not in the mood. I was hoping to end this day without another fight, but it looks like it’s heading that direction anyway. Wyatt wants us, I can tell. I shouldn’t have touched him. Even if it was as innocent as keeping him quiet.
After Zander and Wyatt had their little blowout in the yard, Dad finally woke up and came out of his room. He marched right up to Wyatt and took a swing at him. Unfortunately, poor old dad is exactly that. Old. Once I hit thirty, I tried to limit the number of times I called anyone old, because I don’t really like it when my son tells me I’m ancient. But Dad is, for all intents and purposes, old. His body is worn, he’s a total curmudgeon, and he probably tells us every single day that he’s “too old for this shit.” It doesn’t even matter what “this shit” is, or the fact that “this shit” changes on the hour, but he’s too old and too tired of it. So when dad takes a swing at Wyatt, who has obviously kept up the weight lifting over the years, it doesn’t end in his favor. Thankfully, Zander was watching, and Wyatt went easy on his former president. Proof that even Neanderthals can check their egos once in a while.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I hiss once the bedroom door is closed.
Wyatt either chooses to ignore my mood or plays dumb, because he hooks his arm around my waist and pulls me against him. His chest is hard, the taut muscles in his arms are hard, and his breathing is getting even harder than it was before. I suck in a deep breath and am rewarded with a low groan. His hand travels from my lower back to my ass, and he presses me against him. Not surprisingly, his dick is hard, too. His other hand cups my chin and tilts my face up toward his. I could let this happen, and I would enjoy every moment of it. But I don’t want to. I’m a mother now. I can’t do this to Zander again.
“How am I looking at you? Am I looking at you like you just made my fucking dreams come true? Like watching you soothe our little girl to sleep is the best goddamn thing I’ve seen in my entire life? Like all I can think about when I see you with our kids is how I want to pound your pussy raw until we have another? That how you don’t want me looking at you?”
My jaw shakes. My hands shake. Hell, my entire fucking body is alight from what he’s said. He means every single word of it. But that doesn’t mean he’ll be able to stay clean and stick around long enough to see the baby he wants so badly be born.
So I take a deep breath and say, “Yeah. That’s exactly how I don’t want you looking at me.”
I pull away and rush down the hallway as quietly as I can. I’m not about to wake up Piper, but I need some air. Zander passed out on the couch instead of in Mishy’s old bedroom, so I’m mindful of him as I slip out the front door and walk through the grass until I get to the tree Wyatt carved our names into.
The trunk of the redwood is massive, as most of them are, but it’s crooked in spots, like it sprouted up wrong or something. I lean against the trunk without trying to find the carving and just breathe. I calm myself as much as I can by closing my eyes and just enjoying the peace and quiet of the moment. It won’t last, but I have it for this minute, and that’s what matters. Just as I feel my body relax, the creak of the front door alerts me to the fact that I’m not alone.
When Wyatt’s so close that I can physically feel his presence, I open my eyes. His arms are crossed over his chest. Both are huge—the muscles in his arms defined and his chest broad. I used to love his size. I’m sure I still do. It’s just that right now I’m not feeling very loving toward him.
“You’re fucking punishing me,” he says.
I blow out a hostile breath and shake my head.
“What happened at the club today?”
“You know what happened. You were there.”
That’s not what I mean, and he knows it.
“I don’t want you involved in club business. I want you and our kids as far away from that shit as possible.”
“That’s not possible, and you know it!” I’m seething. We both know how today went down. I didn’t stick my nose in where it didn’t belong. I was just there when everything spun out of control. He can’t honestly expect that telling me to stay out of it is going to work or that it’ll make everything better. As if he could fully separate his life with the club and his life with his kids. Idiot.
“I’m cleaning up the mess. That’s all you need to know.”
“You never used to leave me out.” It’s a truth he can’t deny, even though I can tell he wants to—desperately—in this moment.