Free A Dad At Last by Marie Ferrarella Page B

what he’d just mouthed? Why did his heart feel as if someone had stuck a hot branding iron across it, burning in a large, gaping hole instead of an insignia?
    His eyes pinned her to the wall. “What are you saying?”
    She told him as simply as possible. “That Chase and I will move in with you—as long as you giveme a job.” That was her condition. She had to earn her own way. He owed things to Chase, a multitude of things. He owed her only respect.
    â€œA job?”
    â€œYes.” Thoughts fell together as she spoke. “The same one I had with you before would be appropriate, I think.” With effort, she kept her voice light, as if she was merely discussing contract negotiations, not her future. “Besides, cooking is something we both know I’m good at, even when someone bashes me in the head and I forget everything else. If you’d like, I can also keep house—”
    He didn’t want her waiting on him, didn’t want her feeling like an employee. Whatever else, she wasn’t that. Not any longer. “Lacy—”
    Deliberately, she ignored the protest in his voice. “Although I’ll expect more money for that. A housekeeper should be paid more than a mere cook.”
    There was no talking her out of it. He could tell by the set of her jaw that she was stubbornly determined to do it her way. And maybe, in a way, he was relieved. If Lacy were his wife, even in name only, he might be tempted, sorely tempted, to make love with her again. To make the title a reality. Maybe he could hold out for a while, but not forever. Not when she looked at him like that.
    He’d already promised himself not to compound one mistake with another. If they weren’t married, not touching her would be easier.
    Or so he told himself.
    â€œDon’t worry about the money,” he told her, doling out his words slowly. “You’ll be well taken care of.”
    But not the way she wanted to be, Lacy thought, unhappiness welling inside her. Grasping at her hurt and turning it into something she could work with, she cloaked herself in bravado.
    â€œYes, you always were a generous man.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder and thrust out her hand. This was a business deal, pure and simple. “All right, it’s official. I now pronounce us man and cook.”
    Connor found his hand surrounding hers.
    He had no idea what possessed him. He was home free, or almost there. She was giving him what he wanted without his having to give up anything. It should have been all right.
    Maybe it was the press of her hand against his. Maybe it was the scent of her perfume, softly, delicately swirling around his senses, infiltrating them like silent militia creeping lightly into enemy territory in the middle of the night.
    Or maybe, somewhere in his iron heart, he had carried around the feel of her lips for almost two years.
    Whatever the reason, Connor found himself pulling Lacy closer to him than he should have, their hands still joined.
    The next moment, it was their lips that were joined, as well, and a flood of all those feelings he told himself were firmly under control suddenly washed over him. Drenching him. Snatching his breath away.
    For the briefest of moments, without thinking of any of the consequences, Connor discovered himself hungrily getting lost in what he had remembered so vividly despite all his efforts not to. Her kiss, all sweetness and giving, undid him. Made him wish with all his heart that there weren’t a score of years separating them. That he was free to be as young as she made his heart feel.
    He didn’t want to want her.
    But he did.
    Lacy wanted to push him away. She wanted to drag him closer. She wanted this to go on forever, to be her reality and all the words he’d just said to the contrary to be the fantasy, the make-believe, instead of the other way around.
    Most of all, Lacy realized, she wanted not to be at his mercy like