Page 69 of Spoil
“All of them!” she shouts excitedly.
And just like that, on a lazy Sunday morning, we take the next steps to becoming more of a family.
A family based on love, respect, care, blood, and choosing each other, always, every day for the rest of our lives.
Bonus Epilogue
Harrison
Anxiety skitters like ants just under my skin. I’m uneasy, off-kilter, and I know exactly why. Watching my friends and co-owners pair up and start happy little families is a slap in the face reminder of what I’ll never have.
Because I don’t want one.
I don’t want a woman, a family, or someone to rely on me. I imagine asking a woman out, dating, moving someone into my flat, and adrenaline courses through me. Absolutely fucking not.
When we started The Envelope, I was under the assumption we’d all be alone until old age. Declan was too angry at the world, and Daniel so in love with a memory, he’d never move on. Now they’ve both partnered up and have children. Children that I love like my own, because I’ll never have any of my own.
It’s better that way.
So why am I so anxious? My fight-or-flight instincts kicked in earlier today, as if they know something’s coming and this is just the calm before the storm.
I loosen my tie and join Declan and Daniel at our table. The girls are having a sleepover tonight at Declan’s house with the kids, so it’s just us tonight. I know both of them are going to duck out early to be home with their families, and a part of me wants to resent them for it, but I can’t. They both deserve happiness.
After a round of greetings and backslapping, I sit and, before long, a whiskey is placed in front of me by a new female bartender.
She leans farther forward than is necessary, giving me a direct line of sight down her tits.
Unfortunately, she’s barking up the wrong tree. I don’t like flirts or forward women. I like the chase, the hunt. I like the impersonalness of it.
It’s primal night. Maybe that’s why my blood is simmering. I need a release. I scan the room and find a few of my regular pets. They know what they’re getting into. I like to hunt; they like to be hunted. We both get off and go our separate ways, satisfied until the next Primal night.
My eyes scan the room wondering if there are any new pets I could explore, but snag on a familiar pair of blue eyes. Blue eyes I’d know anywhere. Blue eyes half of the world knows. They sit atop cherubic pink cheeks dotted with a constellation of freckles and are framed by curly platinum blonde hair. She looks otherworldly. Like a cherub and an angel. And she’s in my fucking club.
On primal night.
It’s the last fucking place she should be.
Now I understand what my nervous system was trying to tell me. This is my worst fucking nightmare. One even my fucked-up mind could never have conjured.
“Abso-fucking-lutely not,” I growl under my breath as I push from the table too quickly, causing my chair to topple over behind me. I couldn’t care less.
Her eyes widen as I approach, as does her smile. She’s not surprised. She knew I’d be here. Of course I am; it’s my club. But what the fuck is she doing here? What the fuck is she thinking?
Fury roars through my veins, and I’m pretty sure I’m growling.
I storm up to her, gripping her arm tightly before she can get further into the club, and then scold myself for not being gentler with her. I force my fingers to relax, even as I pull her down the hall and to my office.
She smiles up at me, faking coy. “Well, hi there, Harry,” her voice is a deep purr, like thick honey drizzled over ice cream. I’m ashamed to admit it causes goosebumps to spread down my arms. Even at the same time that she knows I hate that nickname.
I push her inside my office before finally allowing myself the outburst I need and slamming the door so hard it rattles. She flinches. Fuck. Guilt sinks into my stomach. She’s just a child. Even if she’s technically eighteen.
I give her a wide berth as I round my desk, flatten my palms against the top, hang my head and breathe. I need to get under some semblance of control before I do or say something I regret.
“Not happy to see me?” Her voice is sultry, smooth, laced with lust.
My dark brown eyes narrow on hers. “What are you doing here, Melanie?” I haven’t used her full name in years. She may be Melanie Sawyer, world-famous child actress and rising star to the rest of the world. But to me, she’s always been Mel.
Her smile is wicked, as if she’s enjoying how close I am to losing control. She sways her body, letting her hips lead her, and my eyes snag on the movement. She’s barely concealed in a white, short, lacy dress. It makes my mouth dry. And that pisses me off.
