Page 22 of Second Shot

My dad. Kane. They’re the same. They’re not meant to be fathers. Maybe Kane was smart enough to realizeit.

A hard rap on my door makes me jump. I stare at it like it’s just sprouted two heads, ready to devour my whole littleworld.

“Brynne,” comes the deep, muffledvoice.

It’shim. I know it. I can practically feel the heat, the tension vibrating from behind the worn out woodendoor.

With a shiver, I walk across the room and glance through the peephole.

Kane stands there, his image distorted by the small piece of glass, but I can still see the strained lines of his face, and the look of determination in hiseyes.

I let out a long sigh and place my forehead and palms on thedoor.

“I know you’re there, Brynne. Heard your damn footsteps. Let mein.”

Slowly, I undo the chain and the deadbolt, then open the door, just enough that we’re standing face toface.

He’s leaning with one palm on the door frame, causing his t-shirt to ride up slightly, exposing an inch of skin above his belt, and the line of dark hair that disappears under the waistline of hisjeans.

Shamelessly, my eyes roam down hisbody.

My heart races, and I feel my ears get hot under his own appreciative gaze. His eyes don’t waver. Not for asecond.

I pull my bottom lip between my teeth and look away, but I can already feel the heat warming my cheeks, the tingling in my core, the way my thighs clench when his musky scent, a scent that is all Kane, fills mynostrils.

Stupid chemicalreaction.

His breath is heavy, harsh, just like his gaze, and I can tell he’s trying with great difficulty to hold back hisanger.

It’s a weird feeling, him being upset with me. Like our roles arereversed.

It’s unsettling. Especially since I know I deserve every dagger he’s shooting at menow.

“Your boyfriend here?” He glances over my shoulder as if expecting to findsomeone.

“Felix? I told you he’sjust-”

“The guy who’s been helping you raise my kid,” he growls out. “Yeah, I did a littleresearch.”

I suck in a breath, more from the hurt I hear in his voice than theanger.

Kane closes his eyes and scrubs his hands over his face, then through his hair, making the short, dark waves stand onend.

“You’re spying onme?”

“Wouldn’t have to if you’d be honest for once in yourlife.”

I start to argue, but his look stopsme.

“I didn’t come here to fight.” He lets out a frustrated sigh. “Can I come in?” His jaw is tense, face strained, but he adds, “Please.”

I nod and open the door wider, moving back so that we don’t touch when he comes into theroom.

That’s pretty much what the apartment is – one small room that consists of a kitchenette, futon, my art supplies, and Noah’s crib. There’s a small bathroom with a standup shower, and a single closet for storage. It’s smaller than the apartment over my father’s garage, but at least it’smine.

IfI can find a way to keep paying therent.

Kane’s brows turn down and he frowns as he looksaround.

---