Page 26 of Tru Blue
He imagined fathers bringing their daughters in for events solely to get an eyeful of Gemma. He struggled to push the jealousy down deep, but it was a losing battle.
“Do the parents dress up?” he asked tightly.
She smiled, her eyes widened with joy, and she nodded. “Sometimes.” She ran her hands along the length of his arm, then from his chest to his waist, smoothing his jacket. “Oops, hold on.” She knelt before him to fix the hem of his pants.
Holy fucking hell, it was his fantasy all over again. His temperature didn’t just spike, it exploded, flaming beneath his skin, searing outward from his chest, racing down his spine, to the very depth of his bones—and his jealousy burned along the same path.
“Do you help the men dress?” She wasn’t his to be jealous over and he knew he was a jerk for asking, but he was powerless to rein in the ugly emotions gnawing at him.
“Mm-hm.” She popped up to her feet and stepped back, openly admiring him. “You look…” She sighed longingly and patted his cheek. “Like the baddest Prince Charming I’ve ever seen.”
That touch. That voice. That sigh—this woman. His arm circled her waist like a bullet, tugging her against him so hard she let out a sexy little squeak.
“Bad as in not good?” he growled—an effect of his raging desire.
She pressed a dainty gloved hand to his cheek, her entrancing green eyes holding him captive as she spoke in a sultry tone befitting of a vixen rather than a princess. “Baddest, as in badass, coolest, hottest Prince Charming this princess has ever seen.”
He felt her heart hammering against his, tasted her breath as it swept upward toward his mouth, and when her hand came to rest on his back, he warmed beneath her touch. He brushed his lips over her cheek, inhaling the vanilla scent of her shampoo, then pressed his face to her neck, filling his senses with another feminine scent—the scent of desire. Her fingers curled tighter against him, and his hand pressed more firmly to her back. He drew away, gazing into her eyes, which had gone dark and trusting.
“Three days ago, princesses weren’t even on my radar,” he whispered over her lips. “Now I’ll never be able to hear that word without remembering you wearing this killer outfit, helping my kids, touching me.”
“Your kids,” she said with a shaky voice.
“Brother and sister,” he corrected, then thought better of it. “But they’re babies. They feel like they’re my kids even though they’re my siblings.”
She nodded. “I know. I see that.”
He looked at Lincoln, so tiny and innocent, finally eating as he should, sleeping safe and warm in a proper crib with someone to love and watch over him. And Kennedy, happily playing, smiling at herself in the mirror with her hair freshly combed and washed, her tummy full, and her heart…Well, he was working on filling that up, too.
“They’re my kids, Gemma,” he repeated. “Have been from the day I found them.”
She rested her palm on his chest and her breath left her lungs, her fingers curling, claiming, her gaze serious and so full of emotions he couldn’t even try to wade through them.
“I know,” she said.
He felt Kennedy’s hand on his leg as she tried to wiggle between them. He and Gemma both smiled, easing apart to let her in. Silent longing filled the space between them as Kennedy held her arms up toward Gemma. He felt a fissure form in his heart, a small tear at the sight of his little girl reaching for the only woman to make him feel something for the first time in years—maybe even in his life. The warmth in Gemma’s eyes nearly did him in as she lifted Kennedy into her arms and Kennedy rested her head on Gemma’s shoulder.
Truman swallowed past the new and unexpected emotions clogging his throat and pressed a kiss to Kennedy’s cheek. “Time to go home, princess.” He was speaking to Kennedy, though his eyes were still trained on Gemma.
He knew he should let whatever this was between them go, to allow her to find a more suitable guy, someone whose past wouldn’t always hold him down and need explaining. But he’d spent his life doing things to protect others and putting himself last. Just this once, he wanted to feed the lover’s heart he possessed, regardless of the killer’s skin he wore.
