Page 17 of Silver Fox's Secret Triplets
I looked up to find him watching me with an expression I couldn't quite read.
"Tonight. Dinner. My place at seven."
It wasn't a question, but it wasn't quite a command either. More like a hope expressed with the confidence of a man who wasn't accustomed to being refused.
"Duncan—I can't."
I wished the expression on his face would've been a smile, but the tight nod was all I seemed to draw from him. Guilt needled at my conscience but I absolutely couldn't do this again.
Before I could explain or find an excuse, he was gone, disappearing into his own office and leaving me staring at the space where he had been standing.
I tried to focus on the stack of correspondence that needed sorting, but my mind kept drifting back to the feeling of his hands on my body, the sound of my name on his lips when he came inside me. The memory made me shift uncomfortably in my chair, hyperaware of the lingering soreness between my thighs.
My phone rang, startling me out of my distraction. Lauren's name appeared on the display, and I answered immediately.
"Hey, what's up?"
"Ivy, thank God. I'm at the park with the kids and Sammy fell off the monkey bars. He hit his face on the way down and his lip is bleeding pretty badly. I think he might need stitches."
The bottom dropped out of my stomach. "How bad is it? Is he crying?"
"He's being very brave, but there's a lot of blood. I'm taking him to the urgent care on Commercial Street. Can you meet us there?"
"I'm leaving now." I was already grabbing my purse and car keys, my heart racing with the particular terror that only camewith injured children. "Tell him Mommy is coming, okay? Tell him he's going to be fine."
I hung up and rushed toward Duncan's office, knocking briefly before pushing through the door. He was on the phone but looked up when I entered, his expression immediately shifting to concern when he saw my face.
"I have to go. Family emergency." The words tumbled out in a rush. "I'm sorry, I know you have the board meeting, but I have to leave right now."
He covered the phone with his hand. "Is it your mother?"
"No, I—I can't explain right now. I'm sorry." I was already backing toward the door, desperate to get to Sammy. "I'll make up the time later."
"Ivy, wait?—"
But I was already gone, running through the outer office and toward the elevators. The same elevator where Duncan had pressed me against the wall and made me forget everything except the feel of his mouth on mine. Now it seemed to move impossibly slowly as I watched the floor numbers tick by.
The drive to the urgent care center took fifteen minutes that felt like an hour. I found a parking space near the entrance and ran toward the building, my heels clicking frantically against the pavement.
But when I burst through the automatic doors, it wasn't Lauren waiting for me in the reception area. It was my father, holding Sammy on his lap, and a soft towel cover his face.
My heart stopped.
"Dad. What are you doing here?"
Bill Whitmore looked up at me with the same stern expression he had worn throughout my childhood whenever I had disappointed him. Sammy's lower lip was swollen and crusted with dried blood, but he seemed alert and uninjured otherwise.
"Lauren called me when she couldn't reach you immediately. She was frightened and didn't know what else to do." His voice was calm, controlled, but I could hear the underlying anger. "I was closest to the park, so I came to help."
"Where is Lauren now?"
"I sent her home with the girls. Told her I could handle this." He stood, lifting Sammy easily despite the boy's solid three-year-old weight. "The doctor wants to do an X-ray to make sure he hasn't chipped any teeth, then we'll know about the stitches."
A nurse appeared at the reception desk and called Sammy's name. My father followed her toward the examination rooms, and I had no choice but to gather myself and trail behind them.
The examination room was small and sterile, with cartoon animals painted on the walls in an attempt to make the space less intimidating for young patients. Sammy sat on the paper-covered table while the doctor examined his mouth, occasionally whimpering but mostly being remarkably stoic for a three-year-old.
"We'll need to take him for a quick X-ray," Dr. Matthews explained to my father, completely ignoring my presence. "Just to rule out any damage to the teeth or jaw. It should only take a few minutes."
