The Perfect Mistake (The Connovan Chronicles #2)

by Olivia Hayle

It’s not until the car pulls away from the Greystone Building that I realize I never did talk to the junior ballet director about my daughter’s classes.

“You know my friend Isabel.” Surprise ripples through me, but I mask it behind a tight expression. That name is the last one I would have expected to come up in this conversation. She seems to be everywhere lately. At the studio… And in thoughts my mind has entertained since seeing her last week. The memory of her dancing in the sunlight intruded at the most inopportune times. I cross my arms over my chest. “What about her?” “Her injury means she can no longer dance. At least not for the next few months, so she’s in the market for a job.” Ah. Maybe that’s what she had cried about. Not just the injury, but the realization she wouldn’t be dancing again. Judging by what I’ve seen, that’s a fucking travesty.

She will be a temptation. A beautiful, intriguing temptation who’s been beguiling me for years. But I’ve met beautiful women before, and it’s never thrown me off. It won’t now. Not when it’s a woman far too young for me, my sister’s best friend, and an employee. I’ve never been a slave to my emotions, and I’m not about to start now. Not to mention, I’m not looking for any kind of personal entanglement. My wife died five years ago, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that relationships are costly. When they inevitably end, they’ll take everything out of you. Your peace, your sanity, your happiness… and your heart. Resolve hardens my spine into steel. “Call her,” I say. “Can she be here for an interview this afternoon?” My sister smiles and reaches for her phone. “On it.” Odds are Isabel won’t last more than a week anyway. What’s the worst that can happen?

“When do you want me to start?” “Is tomorrow too soon?” “No.” “All right.” His jaw flexes. “And Isabel, I know you’re Connie’s friend…” The sound of my name in his deep voice shouldn’t be that pleasant. It really, really shouldn’t. “I know, but I promise that won’t affect this. I can be professional.” “Good,” he says. And then, like it’s an afterthought: “So can I.”

Admiring him from afar was one thing. Living with him will be something very different.

Willa makes it clear—through ignoring—that she doesn’t want anything to do with me. I respect that. Maybe that’s step one in her process of vetting a new nanny, and if so, I won’t interfere.

“Your injury. It won’t be aggravated by this job?” “It’ll be all right.” “Handling kids isn’t exactly easy on the body,” he says. I shake my head a bit too rapidly. “Trust me, it’s far easier than dancing on pointe for hours a day.” A ghost of amusement flickers in his eyes. “Right. I shouldn’t underestimate you.” “You can, if you’d like,” I say. “Just know that you’ll be proven wrong.” “Consider me warned,” he says.

“Maybe you should focus on healing instead,” Mom says. “So you can rejoin the ballet in a few months.” “Mom, I have to earn money.” “Move back home, then. You can give ballet classes to the kids in the area.” That makes me chuckle. “I don’t think a single one would be interested. This is a good solution, Mom. It’s stable. At least until I get my hip in order.” “I don’t know this man,” she says firmly. “He could be anyone. And living with him? It’s not safe.” I sigh. “He’s Connie’s brother, Mom. You know Connie. You’ve met Connie.” “So? I don’t care if he’s the Pope’s own brother. He can still be sleazy.” “He isn’t,” I say. Not even a little bit, not once in the years I’ve known him. Unfortunately.

“You said you knew my aunt,” she states. “I haven’t heard about you.” “Yes, we’ve been friends for a few years.” “Hmm. My dad told me you were a ballerina.” Her voice is heavy with disbelief. “I am, yeah. I’ve danced since I was Sam’s age. I’ve been performing with the New York Ballet.” “Well, not now. Now you’re a nanny.” I grit my teeth. She’s still speaking without looking at me, her voice dismissive. It’s not hard to imagine why other nannies have struggled. “Yes. I injured my hip quite badly and it needs rest before I can perform again.” That makes her turn. Hazel eyes sweep appraisingly over my form. “You look fine,” she says. It doesn’t sound like a compliment. “It mostly bothers me when I dance. Not so much when I walk around normally.”

Thank God for Sam. He seems to wake up every day and choose happiness.

I reach for the dice at the same time Alec does. Our hands brush, his palm against the back of mine. His skin is warm. I pull my hand back. “Sorry.” “No, it was your turn.” He glances at me with amusement glowing in his eyes. It’s hard to look away when he is like this. “I guess I’m just too eager to win.” “Does winning come with a prize?” “My eagerness would be less embarrassing if it did.” That makes me smile. “We can create one to protect your ego.” “That,” he says, his eyes dipping down to my lips, “would be even worse.” Across the game board, Willa’s voice is sharp. “Come on, let’s play. Or we eat dinner.” Alec clears his throat and hands me the dice. “Your turn,” he murmurs.

I follow the sound. It’s the TV. A show, where people are walking around, chatting. Isabel is sitting curled up on the couch. She’s wearing a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. Her long, thick hair is in a braid down her back. Her profile is illuminated by the faint glow of the screen. Fuck. Her beauty is unmistakable like this, and it impacts me so much more seeing her in my home. Now her beauty is all I can see.

None of the other nannies have ever caused this. They were employees. I spoke to them about the kids, the practicalities, and they reported to me. And none of them ever sat on my couch in tiny shorts and a braid that would look good wrapped around my⁠— What the hell is wrong with me?

“So he won’t come,” Isabel says. “Not the end of the world, just like I’ve told Connie.” I glance at her. “It’s not that easy.” “Oh, of course, it’s not easy. But it is simple. He has a choice, if he wants to be a part of his children’s lives,” she says. Then, her voice lowers. “Sorry. I know he’s your father, too. It’s just… I’ve spoken to Connie about this before.” I lift my glass to my lips. “I bet you have. I don’t even want to imagine what you’ve heard about me.” “All terrible things,” she says. Is she teasing? The whiskey is warm down my throat, and I relish the burn. Try to focus on it instead of the need that won’t go away, but that I have to ignore. She’s not for me. “Good. I hope you believed them all.” She chuckles. “Of course not.” “You should,” I say, and I mean it.

“What’s your hidden talent, then?” She’s smiling at me. It’s a curious, slightly teasing smile. I focus on her eyes and not the shape of her legs in those short shorts. For a brief second, I want my answer to be something else. Something far dirtier than the man I’ve become. The father. The widower. Something that will shock those beautiful eyes into widening. Why don’t you let me show you?

“My deepest condolences,” Nate says when I’m done. “Not just for the hip injury, but also for having to put up with madness.” “Oh, I like my job. Sometimes it’s challenging, but Willa and Samuel are fun. I enjoy spending time with them.” Nate’s smile widens. “Yeah, my niece and nephew are great. My brother on the other hand… He’s the one you have to put up with.”

“You look deep in thought,” a voice says. It belongs to a man who came up to stand beside me. Tall, dark-blond, and with a smirk on his lips that suggests he sees amusement all around him. “Making guesses on how long the happy couple will last?” My eyes widen. “Oh. Well... no. I think they have great odds.” He smiles. “You’re a real friend, then. Connie’s?” “Yes.” “I’m Gabriel’s friend.” He extends a hand. “Evan.” “Isabel,” I say, and we shake hands. “Are a lot of people making bets, then?” “I’ve heard a few,” he says. “You have to admit, the two of them getting married was one of the big surprises of the year. People are curious.” “Those same people probably don’t know them all that well,” I say. He laughs. “True. It took less than ten minutes after meeting Connie for me to be certain that this is a real thing. Gabriel would rather chop off his arm than lose her.” That makes me smile. “I’ve gotten that impression, too. How do you know Gabriel?” Turns out they’ve known each other for years, even though their friendship is now mainly long-distance. Evan is jokey, open, and warm. It doesn’t take much time before I’m enjoying myself.

His voice is in my ear. “I haven’t danced in a very long time.” “You haven’t forgotten how,” I say. He gives a low half chuckle. Amusement? From Alec Connovan? “It certainly feels like I have,” he mutters. “In more ways than one.” I look up at him. “How so?” But he just shakes his head. “It’s a good thing I have you to make me look good.” I smile. “Is that why you asked me to dance?”

“I saw him following you out. Are you okay?” “Yes, thank you,” I respond. “Maybe I was supposed to say I can take care of myself or whatever, but I really appreciated that.” His eyes warm, and, at his sides, he slowly unclenches his fists. “I get it. That guy was out of line.” I wrap my bare arms around myself. They’re turning cold with the night air. “He called me ‘baby.’ Like, where do men get the confidence to do stuff like that?” All warmth disappears from his gaze. “He said what?” “He pulled the old ‘heard you’re a dancer’ thing, too. Ugh.”

“Want us to go home?” For a moment, I let those words spread through me. Let myself pretend that it means more than what it does. Not my home, though. And he’s not mine in any kind of way. “Yes,” I say. “If you’re ready to leave?” He leans nearer, and his breath washes over my ear. “I’ve been ready since the moment we arrived.”

“Do you wish your life was like that? In a small town where nothing bad could ever happen?” “Sometimes,” I admit. “Even though I’d probably get bored.” “I wouldn’t last a day,” he says. I smile at him. “No fires to put out for the big bad CEO?” His eyebrows rise. “The big bad CEO?” “Yeah. I stand by that.” “Well,” he says and runs a hand along his jaw. “I like putting out fires.” “Never seen you in a firefighter’s uniform.” “I think Sam has one,” Alec says. “Don’t think it would fit me, though.” Absurd. The whole thing is absurd, but I can’t help looking at him. Smiling. “Might be a bit tight across the shoulders,” I say. He nods. “Too short in the sleeves.”

Asking her to dance to get her away from Gabriel’s friend had been petty. I’d known it and had done it anyway. But she didn’t have to feel so good in my arms. I didn’t expect that. Not on the dance floor, and not out on the terrace when the tears streamed down her cheeks and made her brown eyes glossy.

“What’s the fundraiser for? At school?” “I don’t have a faintest idea,” he says. “Endangered beetles in the Amazon. Orphaned pelicans in Florida. Something or other that St. Regis has decided is a worthwhile cause.” That makes me laugh. I hadn’t expected a critique from him. “Yeah, that sounds like something a private school would deem worthy.” “Yes,” he says. “Needs to be palatable and easy to explain to the kids, you know? God forbid it’s an actual social cause here in the city.”

“Maybe build a drawbridge over the moat. Let some family and friends in. I think there are times when everyone needs someone to lean on.” His eyes darken. “And you, Isabel? Who do you lean on?” “Oh.” I hesitate, feeling a flush creep up my neck. “My parents and my siblings. Connie. A few high school friends.” “You’re close with your family,” he says. It’s not a question, it’s a statement. “No partner?” I shake my head. “Dancing for hours every day didn’t leave much time for dating, at least not outside of the Company. Barely inside it too, to be fair. It was my entire life for so many years that… yeah. No partner.” “I can see that, about before. But now?” “Now?” I ask. Nerves flutter in my stomach. “Well, I guess I’m open to it now. If the right person comes along.” “And what would the right person be like?” he asks. His eyes are intense, almost piercing. I’m not sure if the TV is even on anymore. The tea I brewed is forgotten in my cup, probably cold by now. “I don’t know. Funny. Intelligent. I think I want someone who’s driven, because I… I was about to say that I am, but maybe the truth is that I was. He needs to be understanding. I hope to start dancing again, and he’d have to handle my crazy schedule.” Alec makes a humming sound. It sounds thoughtful, and I’m scared of what he might say next. “What about you?” I ask. He looks away. Eyes lock on the windows behind me, and something around them hardens. I can see him restacking brick after brick of the fortress wall. Ev...

“Good idea about tomorrow,” he says. His voice sounds gruff. “I’ll ask Connie if she can attend instead of me.” I clear my throat. “Great! You could go to the movie night with Willa, and I’ll stay home with Sam.” His eyes slide back to mine. “Oh, no. You’re coming, too.” “I am?” “Yes,” he says. “I’m happy to watch movies with my kids, but I don’t want to suffer through a single conversation with the other parents.” My voice comes out teasing. “Am I your chaperone, too, then?” “Oh, Isabel,” he says. “You’re my saving grace.”

“Now, should I stay by your side or with your kids?” she asks. There’s a gentle teasing note in her voice. “Who needs chaperoning the most?” I look at her and not at the other parents mingling around the lawn. I’ve already noticed some of the curious looks directed my way. These events are a common occurrence, but my attendance is not. “Me,” I say. “Let’s grab one of the spots?” She smiles. “Yeah. There’s a good one off to the side there.”

Looking at her, I just know that those women were thinking only one thing, and it had been clear in their eyes as they moved from Isabel to me. And I hate that there’s a kernel of truth in their assumptions. Hate myself for being so cliché. Even if it’s hard to admit it to myself. Because yeah, I’d accepted her beauty. I’d admitted to myself that she’s interesting and kind. Our interactions over the years, brief and far in between as they were, had always been charged with enigmatic energy. Feeling her dark eyes resting on me. Evaluating. Seeing. Even when it was for just five minutes in Connie’s apartment. It had been a reluctant but clear truth in my mind that, had things been different, in another universe, without my marriage and our age difference… I would have asked her out. But the fact that she’s now living in my apartment, and that I want… fuck, the things I want are depraved. Unseemly. She’d quit on the spot if she knew what my mind had conjured up in the last few days. What I’d been close to doing the other night, on that couch, with her TV show on in the background.

“Did you seal the deal, at least?” I ask. “Think you’re getting a second date?” He lifts an eyebrow. “If I want it, I always get a second date.” Oh. Something tightens in the pit of my stomach. “Aren’t you awfully confident?” I ask. “Just realistic,” he says. His thick hair is starting to dry. It’s usually neatly brushed back, but now it’s turning just a bit unruly. “The annoying part is that you’re probably right,” I say. “I noticed how all the parents looked at you the other night. All of them, and it wasn’t just the single women who were interested.” He breathes out a sigh. “Right. Didn’t want you to notice that.” “No?” I pull my legs up beneath me and turn to face him on the couch, my arm draping along the back. “And why not?” He takes another long drink of his water, and I’m not certain if he’ll answer me. While some walls might be down tonight, I doubt all of them are. “You’ve never looked at me like that,” he says. “Didn’t want you to start.” I smile. “Well, I don’t throw a lot of dinner parties,” I say. “You’re safe from me. I won’t use you for clout or social climbing.” “You’re not going to ask me to invest in your start-up, either, are you?” I cross my heart. “Promise.” “Good.” He drapes his arm along the back of the couch, too, and it comes to rest next to mine. Our forearms brush. His eyes, usually hazel, look dark in the dim lighting. “I’m sorry about those women. The assumptions they were making were clear on their faces.” I shrug. “It’s okay.” “No,” he says,...

He runs a hand over the length of my hair. “Isabel,” he mutters. His voice is low and hoarse. “Tell me to stop.” I brush my lips against his. “Why?” “What are we doing?” he asks. It’s less of a question and more of a groaning admonition, but I answer him anyway. “I don’t know,” I whisper.

“I’m sorry for that,” he says. “It was a mistake, and I assure you it won’t happen again.” “Okay,” I whisper. The world is still faintly spinning around me, and my lips still feel swollen from his kisses. But his words chafe as much as his tone.

“Look,” he says. “I’ve been meaning to apologize for the other night.” I’m already shaking my head. “Alec⁠—” “I shouldn’t have sat down next to you that evening. The night had been long enough, and I acted unprofessionally. I hope that you’ll consider continuing working here.” “Of course. Please don’t apologize,” I say. Mortification is creeping up my neck like a heated blanket. His eyes snap back to mine. “Don’t apologize?” “No, please, it’s fine. Truly. I wasn’t unwilling.” The word stretches out in the space between us, becoming larger than the three little syllables themselves. He’s gone very still. “Really,” he says. I take a step closer to him. “Really. And to be fair, I was the one who kissed you, so I should be the one to apologize. You hinted that you weren’t in a headspace for… for… for dating, I suppose, but I guess that means all kinds of relationships.” He chuckles. Even if it’s a dry sound, he sounds genuinely amused. “Isabel, I think it was pretty clear I was the driving force.” “Oh,” I say. Oh. A smile curves the corner of his lips. It makes him look real again, like the same man who hugged me on the balcony when I cried. “Sorry for occupying your living room,” I say. He shakes his head. “Don’t apologize.” “I won’t if you won’t,” I say. “For the other night.” He reaches out and sweeps a strand of my hair back. I hold my breath as he tucks it behind my ear. “Deal,” he says quietly, his fingers lingering along my cheek. It happens more naturally this time, tw...

I haven’t fantasized like that about a woman in years. Beat off to pictures of her in my mind. I came, because of her. And yet it’s the best orgasm I’ve had in weeks. And judging from the way my thoughts are spinning, it won’t be the last time she’s my cock’s muse. I run my clean hand over my face. Shit. Kissing her twice had been… regret is the appropriate emotion, and yet, it’s hard to feel it when the kisses are that sweet. Maybe that only makes me worse. She’s Connie’s best friend. She’s fifteen years younger. She needs a job and a place to live. She’s already complained about guys coming on to her. And I’m her employer. And so far outside the lines I’ve set and maintained for most of my life. And… my wife has only been dead for five years. Nausea makes my stomach roll.

“You’re cooking?” There’s a hint of surprise in her tone. “Yes,” I say. She’s standing by the kitchen island, dressed in workout clothes and some kind of teddy jacket. Her face is clean of makeup and ponytail in her hair. Beautiful. “Does that come as a surprise?” “I don’t want to offend you, but… yes. Kind of.” I look down at the pancake I’m flipping. This is enough. This is the boundary I need to tread. Friendly, companionable, professional conversation. “You know, there are a lot of talents I haven’t shown you,” I say. Fuck. Didn’t take long to step over that line. She chuckles, and the sound makes the transgression worth it. “That sounds interesting, and a little ominous. Contron doesn’t secretly assassinate its business rivals or anything, does it? You’re not trained in Krav Maga?” “I could tell you, but then I’ll have to kill you.” She leans against the counter with a little smile. “So, that’s a yes. You know, Connie has always been pretty tight-lipped about what you guys really do at work, but I already suspected it was something illegal.” I shake my head. “Oh no, we never do anything actually illegal. Gray areas, Isabel. That’s where most of the money is made.” Her eyebrows lift. “You know what, I don’t even think you’re joking.” I’m not.

“Isa!” he says. “Cape, cape, help me with the cape.” She ruffles his hair and takes the blanket from him. I watch as she ties it around his neck, loose enough that he can easily slip it off his head himself. “There,” she says. “Who are you fighting today?” “Willa,” he declares. I point the spatula in his direction. “No, you’re not. She’s not one of the bad guys. Why don’t you go get her instead, because the pancakes are almost done. That’s a superhero task.”

“Is it nice to have a sister? I’ve always wanted a sister,” Willa says. She’s chatting happily, talking with Isabel without an ounce of animosity. “I’ve asked Dad for one before but he said no.” “You’ve also asked me for a pet just as often,” I tell her. It doesn’t seem like a particularly deep want either. Sometimes it’s a cat, sometimes a dog, and on a few occasions a guinea pig. I can’t think of anything I want to cohabit with less than a guinea pig. “Yes, and you always say no,” she says. Isabel hides her smile behind her hand. “Well, I’m sure your dad knows best. At least most of the time.” “Yes, and you need a mommy to get a sister,” Willa says sagely. She digs into her pancake with her fork. “And we don’t have a mommy anymore.” The statement is matter-of-fact. It’s not pained, sad, or bothered. She and Sam are rarely troubled about Victoria, accepting her absence as a fact of life. They have questions. Concerns, sometimes, about what to tell their friends if they get asked. I’ve tried my best to navigate it all. But while Willa and Sam continue eating with the same happy air, Isabel and I have gone still. “No, I’m sorry about that,” Isabel says with a glance at me. “Thank you,” Sam says. His mouth is full of food, and he clearly has no idea what he’s thanking her for. It breaks the tension, and I chuckle. Isabel joins in, and then Willa, and then Sam himself, even though he definitely doesn’t know why. God, this is what I do it all for. For them. I’m all they have, ...

“Is it okay if Connie and I drop by the park later? I don’t want to intrude.” I find myself shaking my head. “No, please do, if you want.” It’ll be good for the kids to see their aunt, I think. As if that’s the only reason I agreed.

“How are you getting there?” “I’m taking the subway.” “You should have told me. Mac could have driven you.” “Mac works for you,” I tell him. “Not for me.” His frown deepens. “Where is the comedy club?” “The Village.” “What?” “It’s not far,” I say. I’m a born and bred New Yorker, the same as him. But I’d bet everything I own that I’ve ridden the subway infinitely more times than him. “Tell me you’re taking a taxi home,” he says. His voice is hushed, but there’s a clear demand in it. I want to roll my eyes. “Maybe. Depends on how late it’ll run.” “You’re taking a taxi,” he says. “I’ll reimburse you.” “Is this you talking as my employer?” My voice is just shy of mocking on that last word. His jaw tenses, and there’s a fire flashing in his eyes. Maybe I haven’t spoken back to him like this before. But it’s been a week since we kissed, since he broke it off and disappeared into his home office, and I’m tired of feeling on edge all the time. Waiting for him to come home, hiding my excitement when he enters a room. It’s worn me down. “Yes,” he says testily. “It is.” “Okay then. I’ll take a taxi.” He doesn’t breathe a sigh of relief. He doesn’t breathe at all. Just glances down at my lips with an angry sort of stare, and I know how he’s feeling, because I’m feeling it, too. I leave with quick steps, and the front door shuts behind me with a heavy click.

“How did you do this? Every night for years?” “Performing?” “Yes,” she says. “I know my set inside and out, and I still feel like I’m gonna throw up.” I smile at her. “You do it anyway… you live with the feeling because there’s nothing else you’d rather do than perform. Even if it means getting stage-fright.”

“Made it home at last,” a voice says. It startles me. My heels drop back onto the floor with a thud, and I turn to face Alec. He rises from the couch. His hands are in the pockets of his navy slacks, and a gray T-shirt stretches across his broad chest. And he looks angry.

“Didn’t know I had a curfew,” I say. Liquid courage burns in my veins, along with the irritation of last week. Wanting someone who wants you back sometimes is the definition of frustrating. He blows out a breath. “You don’t.” “And yet you’re awake,” I say. “Have you been waiting for me?” He doesn’t answer right away, and a thrill races through me. He has. He really, really has. “Wanted to make sure you got home safe,” he says. “I’ve lived in New York my whole life. Same as you.” He frowns. “Then you know that things can turn wrong on a dime.” “You could have texted me,” I say. “If you were worried.”

“Isabel,” he mutters. “Stop looking at me like that.” “Like what?” “Like you want me, too. Like you’re okay with this.” “What if I do, and I am?” I ask. My heart is galloping. Want me too, he said. Alec shakes his head, slowly, but his eyes don’t waver. “You shouldn’t be.” “Don’t tell me what I should feel.” His eyes spark. “Not even when it’s in your best interests?” “No,” I say. Those three beers coupled with a pounding heart make me brave. “Not even then. Alec… Why are you still up?” “You know why,” he says. My stomach tenses. Yes, I do. “Maybe I just want to hear you say it.” There are a few sweet, tense seconds where the silence between us thickens. When I don’t know what he will do or say, if I have pushed it too far, or not far enough. Alec’s hands tighten into fists at his sides, and his shoulders rise and fall as if he’s fighting an inner battle. But in the next second, he’s closing the distance between us. He slides his hand beneath my jaw, and gently tips my head up. “I care more than I should.” The words feel like a caress. “What are you going to do about it?” I whisper. He shakes his head, a slow, small movement that’s weighted with frustration. He lowers his head, his mouth ghosting over mine. “I don’t know, Isabel.” He groans, and it sounds like it’s pulled out of his soul. “I don’t fucking know.”

“What if I told you to stop holding back.” My hand on his wrist tightens. “To stop denying what you want.” His eyes look almost black. “You don’t want me to do that.” “Don’t tell me what I want,” I say. “Because I want you.” Alec’s jaw clenches, like that wasn’t what he wanted to hear. But then, his brows lower and his chin drops. “You’re sure.” A statement. Not a question. But I nod anyway.

The towel falls to the floor. He makes a tutting sound. “Dry yourself, sweetheart.” “I like being wet,” I murmur. There’s a brief pause, and then I feel his smile against my cheek. His hands dig into my hips. “Maybe I should check,” he says.

“Fuck. You are wet.” “Told you,” I purr. “Mm-hmm.” He looks down, at his fingers moving over my sensitive skin. “Isabel… let me taste you.”

“You’re perfect,” he says. His voice is husky, and the hands brushing up my thighs, spreading me wider against the cage of my jeans, are rough. “So perfect, it hurts to look at. I’ve been in pain since you moved in, but I wouldn’t stop this ache for anything.” I can’t breathe.

“Sweetheart, tell me what you need to come. Tell me what you like.” I’m breathing fast and shallow. “What you’re doing,” I whisper. “If you’re not getting tired.” His lips tip into a smile. “Tired? I’m not that old, and even if I were, this pussy would raise me from the dead. I’ll do what I’ve been doing, but you tell me if what you want changes.” “Mm-hmm. Yes,” I say.

“Alec,” I finally say. He rests his forehead against mine. His skin is flushed. “Yes.” I squirm against him. “I’m ready for more.” “More what?” His eyes hold a hint of amusement, and I narrow my own at him. “Don’t you want to sleep with me?” I ask. Alec’s half-huffed chuckle is hoarse. He pulls my hand tight between our bodies, right against the hard length of his cock. Even trapped behind the fly of his slacks, it’s impressive. “Pretty obvious what I want,” he says gravelly. “I’ve wanted you for much longer than I should’ve, and the things I’ve imagined… Isa, I need to have you. I think I might die if I don’t. But I won’t until you can tell me the same thing without blushing.” My mouth drops open. “What?” “I want you to tell me what you like.” He leans in, his mouth by my ear. “How you want me to touch you. The way you like to be fucked. I need your words, sweetheart, and I haven’t heard them tonight.” “That’s not fair,” I say. My voice is high with shock. He chuckles and slides a finger down my cheek. “Maybe not. But I’m not fair, and I’ve never claimed to be. What I am, is thorough.” “You’re backing out again.” His hand around my wrist tightens, pulling my palm flat against his erection, like it’s proof. “No,” he says. “I’m giving you a task. Next time, I want you to show me how you like to be touched.” My eyes widen. “What?” He tugs my hand up, dragging it over his chest before he lays it flat against his neck. There’s a wicked smile dancing at the corner of his lips. ...

“What about you?” I ask. He raises an eyebrow. “What about me…?” There’s a clear taunt in the question. Like he knows I won’t use the words, won’t rephrase the question. Won’t be able to go there. I meet his gaze with my own and ignore the nerves swirling in my stomach. “What about your orgasm?” He runs a hand along his jaw, and his gaze narrows. “I’ll do what I’ve been doing every night since you moved in.” “Oh,” I breathe.

“Think of me,” I say. He reaches down, gripping himself over his slacks. The sight makes my heart constrict. “I always do,” he says.

“Well, you obviously don’t have a problem communicating clearly with me when you’re angry.” My eyebrows rise. “That’s what you’re thinking about right now?” He crosses his arms over his chest. “It’s easier to focus on than the comments about me being a bad father.” “That’s not what I said.” “Yes,” he mutters. “It was. Look, I already know that I’m not enough. That I can’t be everywhere, do everything, and make everyone happy. That’s not as big a revelation as you seem to think it is.” “That’s not what I meant.” I shake my head, struggling to find the right words. A way to express it. “They need you present, too. Emotionally present. Willa needs you to validate her⁠—” “You’ve been with us for a little over a month,” he says. His voice is sharp, his face drawn. “I’ve known them their entire lives.” “That’s why she doesn’t like nannies!” I say. “Because she thinks we take you away from her.” “That’s ridiculous.” “It’s kid logic,” I say. “And you have kids, so their logic matters.”