Page 15 of Big Bad Wolfe

“I got a loose tooth, wanna see?” He opened his mouth and wiggled his bottom front tooth.

“Ah … cool.”

Casey cocked his head. “You got really hairy armpits.”

Zane couldn’t hold back a smile. “Good observation.”

“Why?”

“Testosterone.” At Casey’s blank look, Zane added, “a male hormone.”

“Oh. Aunt Jelly don’t got hairy armpits. Why?”

“Because women shave their armpits and their legs.”

“Oh. Why?”

“Um … so they look nicer nak—ah … in swimsuits.”

Face scrunched in concentration, Casey considered him for a minute. “I got swimtrunks. Why do girls wear tops with their swimsuits?”

“Uh, to cover their br—uh—chests.”

“Why?”

Hellfire, he’d suffered through easier enemy interrogations than this. His groggy mind struggled to form a coherent answer. “Because the current societal norm in our culture is for women to cover their br-chests. Not that men find them objectionable to look at. It’s that testosterone thing again...” Catching the rapt interest on Casey’s face, he trailed off. Swallowed. He was floundering way out of his depth here.

“Robbie Ray’s big brother Donnie calls ‘em hooters.”

Shit.Now he was drowning. “Uh, I hear your Aunt calling you,” he lied.

“‘Kay.” Casey shot out of the room.

Zane scrubbed a hand over his face. Last night he’d been routed by a cat, retreated from a woman, and now he’d resorted to fibbing to a five year-old. His lawyer better get this custody issue settled in a freaking hurry, before Zane turned into a complete pussy.

And before he did the unthinkable—and jumped Jillian.

Last night …God.Bewitched by her heady scent, savoring her tempting honeyed taste had nearly made him implode. Nearly made him ditch every vow, forget every trap he’d resolved to avoid. His morning boner twitched, and he groaned.

Cold shower time.

A miserable icy shower later, shaved and dressed in his black suit, fresh white shirt and dark blue tie, he followed the savory aroma of bacon to the kitchen.

“Good morning.” Looking like a mythical goddess in a gauzy, crinkled wine-colored sundress that gilded her hair and softened her eyes to purple velvet, and woven beaded sandals on her slender feet, Jillian carried a stack of steaming pancakes flanked by a crisp side of bacon, and set it on the table.

He couldn’t decide whether he was hungrier to take a big bite out of the food … or her.

Zane joined Jillian and Casey in the breakfast nook. Casey chirped out an irreverent grace, something about, “rub-a-dub-dub, thanks for the grub,” that he insisted was Donnie Ray’s favorite blessing. After a quiet admonishment from Jillian, the kid said a simple thank-you.

While Zane devoured crunchy bacon and fragrant, fluffy pancakes that melted in his mouth, Jillian cheerfully mopped up a puddle of syrup Casey spilled. The little boy told a silly joke, and she laughed, her husky chuckle sweeter than the syrup.

Zane’s stomach cramped, and he abandoned his fork.

A burning weight lodged in his chest, and suddenly, he was ten years old again … trudging reluctantly toward home in the dusky gloom past houses where other families laughed and shared joy-filled meals behind cozily lighted windows. He’d yearned to belong to one of those happy families.

But fate had other plans. Zane’s old man had annihilated everyone he came in contact with. In different, but equally devastating ways, Zane’s mother and two brothers had paid with their lives.

Choking panic spiked. He had to leave.

---