Page 45 of Unwrapped By the Grumpy Mountain Man
The sincerity in his eyes undoes me. I lean forward, pressing my forehead against his chest. His arms come around me immediately, strong and secure.
"Thank you," I whisper against his shirt.
He tilts my face up, his expression intense. "Don't thank me for telling the truth."
Then he kisses me, and it's different from our previous kisses. Not driven by physical desire, though that's certainly there. This kiss feels like a promise, an affirmation, a shelter.
When we part, I'm breathless. "The girls?"
"All tucked in," he murmurs, his hands spanning my waist. "Silvie asked if you'd help her with something tomorrow. Something about Christmas cookies for a school friend named Trevor."
I laugh softly. "She told you about Trevor?"
"Mentioned him in passing." His eyebrows furrow slightly. "Should I be concerned?"
"Not at all. Just a boy she sits next to in class." I smooth my hands over his chest. "She's growing up, Hudson. It's normal."
He groans. "Don't remind me." His expression turns serious again. "Thank you for today. For being here for them. For making this place..." he gestures around, "feel alive."
"I enjoyed it," I admit. "More than I expected to."
His hands tighten slightly on my waist as I rise on my tiptoes and kiss him again, losing myself in his embrace, in the feeling of belonging that I've found in this unexpected place with this unexpected man.
In this moment, I'm not thinking about the arrangement or what happens when it ends. I'm not worried about my father or the money or promises made. I'm just here, in Hudson's arms, feeling more at home than I ever have before.
For now, that's enough.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
HUDSON
It’s been like living in a wholesome Saturday afternoon special this entire weekend. Every morning I wake up, tangled with Violet’s curves, her reaching and us trying to stay quiet during those lazy morning lovemaking sessions has been surreal. Brushing our teeth side by side, watching her walk naked in the shower, and resisting joining her to run downstairs and get my girls’ breakfast going–all my girls.
Violet’s has seamlessly become part of that equation now.
My three daughters have come to life in ways I can’t remember before this weekend. Especially, Silvie. Her shoulders don’t carry that heavy strain I’ve become accustomed to seeing on her. She’s laughing and joking, her personality free to express itself more. All three of them have taken to Violet. She’s sunshine that pulls you in and invites you to soak into your bloodstream. Freedom.
I’m falling for her. And there’s a constant battle in my mind telling me to block the feelings out. Self-preservation demands walls to protect my heart. But it’s too late to protect the girls from the fallout at the end of six months.
But then she smiles at me from across the room or boldly reaches and kisses me, hugs me, and all thoughts of pushing her away incinerate. I’m incapable of fighting the pull her light gives…but also, I’m finding, I just don’t want to.
It’s Sunday afternoon, and we’re returning after an eventful day on Main Street, shopping for Christmas gifts that no one is doing a good job of keeping secret. Lucy’s balancing bags of baked goods we don’t need, not with Violet always baking or her best friend sending baked goods over. Then, of course, the girls wanted to say hi to Santa again.
Pulling into the driveway, my daughters and Vi are all chatting and laughing about the elf that got tangled on a ribbon and hopped over the patch of ice the town installed so kids can ice skate.
Reminds me, I need to schedule driving them next weekend to the ice rink across town. Lucy will never let me hear the end of it if I forget.
Another car sits idle by the garage. Too standard to belong to MC or Kristy. Violet has learned to read my shift in moods already. Her furrowed brow follows my gaze and stiffens.
I squeeze her thigh. “Wait in here with the girls a minute?” I ask quietly.
Her hand rests over mine and squeezes. “Go ahead.”
She’s telling the girls to stay in the car as I exit. At the same time, a woman in a brown pant suit exits the beige Sedan.
“Mr. Hudson Wilder?”
“It is,” I answer, keeping myself between them and my car that contains all I hold precious in this world.
