Page 20 of Tru Blue
“I’m kidding. I brought a few things last night.” She pointed to the bag on the end table. “Stop worrying and go shower. And for goodness’ sake, cover up all those mildly attractive, distracting muscles.”
A gratified grin lifted his lips, and just as quickly his face went serious again. “You brought her gifts last night?”
She shrugged and reached for the little girl’s hand as he set Kennedy down. Kennedy blinked up at Truman, who nodded, and she took Gemma’s hand.
“Just a few things I thought she’d enjoy. Is it okay if I get them breakfast if they get hungry?”
“Sure, thanks.” He crossed the floor, every purposeful step a visual reminder of his power and control. Even the way he lifted the backpack lying by the front door was determined, as if in his head he ticked off every move. He dug a hand into the opening and withdrew a handful of papers. “I fed Kennedy eggs yesterday morning and she seemed to like them. The doctor gave me these menu ideas, schedules, things like that.”
She’d thought about how quickly his life must have changed only two days ago. Losing his mother, acquiring care of these two little ones. No wonder he acted like a guard dog. And here he was, staying up all night with a feverish baby and still needing to be pushed into accepting help. She knew mothers who would beg for help with toddlers just so they could get their nails done.
She looked down at her sleeve to see if her heart had slid out from her chest. This man did not need to change. He was perfect just the way he was.
“You know what, Tru? Don’t shave if you don’t want to. A little distraction is a good thing.”
HOW WAS HE supposed to shower when Gemma was just a few feet down the hall taking care of his kids? Not his fucked-up mother’s children, not the freaking government’s, who would steal the only real family he had left. He had to figure that part out, but he would make it happen. Somehow. That was one worry he couldn’t deal with yet. First he had to get through Lincoln’s fever and figure out schedules, sleeping arrangements, and how the hell he was going to deal with them in the shop all day. There was too much to figure out in one ten-minute shower, and damn this shower felt good. He closed his eyes and tipped his face up to the warm water, his mind drifting back to Gemma. Smart, beautiful, pushy-as-all-hell Gemma. Gemma in the short, sexy blue dress, her long legs and creamy thighs on display, tempting him in ways he hadn’t been tempted for a very long time. The swell of her breasts peeking out of the neckline. His hand slid down to his throbbing cock, fisting around it and giving it a slow tug. He pictured Gemma’s slim fingers beneath his, that seductive look in her garden-green eyes. Stroke. Stroke. Her tongue sweeping over those crimson lips as she dropped to her knees. Stroke. Stroke. He pressed his palm to the wall, swept up in his erotic fantasy, thrusting through his fist as the image of Gemma sucking him off took hold. He stroked faster, sliding his rough palm over the head, then streaking down faster, tighter. In his fantasy, Gemma’s eyes watched him from below as she took him deeper, sucked him hard, coaxing him closer to the edge. Lust pooled at the base of his spine, and he thrust faster, groaning—“Gemma”—as his release crashed over him, through him, into him. He stumbled back, slamming into the tile wall and panting for air. Holy fuck.
“Truman?” Gemma said through the door.
His cock twitched with renewed anticipation. What the hell? It was like Pavlov’s dog now? That wouldn’t be cool.
“Yeah?” he ground out.
“I made you breakfast if you want it.”
He dragged a hand down his face, feeling guilty. She’d made him breakfast and he’d just come down her fictional throat. “Thanks. Be right out.”
He quickly scrubbed the evidence of his fantasy from his skin, brushed his teeth and hair, and wrapped a towel around his waist. Hurrying, he crossed the hall to the master bedroom, tripping over Gemma, who was crouched beside Kennedy, helping her dress.
Gemma gasped, lurching forward, both hands reaching for Kennedy to keep her from falling as Truman found his footing. She looked up with an oh-shit turned oh-my look in her eyes. Her red lips and hungry eyes were cock height, and his fantasy came rolling back in as she stared at the rising bulge behind his towel. Her cheeks flamed, but she didn’t turn away. She calmly lifted those seductive eyes to his, licked her lips, and made a twirling motion with her finger, her head nodding toward Kennedy.
