Chapter 18

Margot

I know it’s rude to stare, but I just can’t help it.

Boone…Boone’s body…everything about this man is so incredible in every way.

I’m afraid that if I look away, he’ll disappear.

It’s unclear if he notices the way my eyes rake over his chiseled features, dark hair, and bulging chest muscles. If he has noticed, he’s been too polite to make a comment.

“Here, let me do this for you,” he says, taking his knife and fork to cut Amelia’s bacon.

“Thank you!” Amelia chirps.

“Want some more fresh apple juice? I grow them in my orchard behind the shed.”

Amelia’s eyes widen.

“Really? You can grow apples?”

I chuckle. I’m not sure why Amelia is so amazed by this fact.

Perhaps she hasn’t realized where apples come from, since we buy them from shops. Or she’s just amazed at all the things Boone can do.

“That and a whole lot more,” Boone confirms, nodding vigorously.

“More bread?” he glances in my direction.

For a second, I hesitate. I haven’t eaten this much in a long time. Usually, I’m a cereal-and–one-cup-of-coffee girl in the morning, not big on the cooked breakfasts.

But this morning, I’m more hungry than usual and really enjoying the food.

“I shouldn’t,” I mumble. “But, why not?”

Boone smiles and reaches for the butter. My eyes follow his every move. The way his big hands handle the knife almost makes me drool.

“Here you go,” he hands me a buttered piece of bread.

“May I go and play, Mommy?” Amelia looks at me with those big brown eyes, the way she always does when she wants something.

“I don’t know,” I say with my mouth full and glance in Boone’s direction.

“Have you finished all your fruit?” Boone asks.

My daughter holds up her plate to Boone in answer to his question and nods.

“Excellent,” Boone holds up his hand for a high five.

With my heart racing, I watch the interaction between father and daughter. It warms and breaks my heart at the same time. More than ever, I realize I was so wrong to run away and not tell Boone about Amelia.

It’s still difficult for me to figure out the dynamics of their relationship as father and daughter. I had doubts on how Boone would be as a father. In the same way, I had been a little worried on how Amelia would react after I let her father into her young life.

“Great stuff,” Boone says and Amelia beams at him. “Eating lots of fruit and vegetables makes sure you grow up strong and healthy.”

Amelia wrinkles her nose. “I don’t like spinach or beans.”

I laugh.

Boone rolls his eyes in pretend shock.

“How can you not like spinach?”

“It tastes yucky,” Amelia mutters.

“That’s because you’ve never tasted it the way it should be prepared.”

My little girl shrugs.

“Can I go and play, pleeease?”

“I’m not sure,” I replied curtly.

Crockett jumps up on her lap and looks from her to Boone.

“Go on, you two. Make sure you don’t go too far.”

As Amelia skips from the room, raccoon on her shoulder, I punch Boone lightly on the shoulder.

“How will they know what too far is?”

Boone rubs his arm and grimaces.

“Ouch.”

It’s my turn to roll my eyes.

“As if that hurt you.”

“You’re stronger than you know,” he teases. “They’ll be fine. Crockett actually knows how far he can go, believe it or not.”

It seems difficult to believe that an animal would have that much sense, but then again, nothing should surprise me.

Boone grabs my plate and moves to stand up. As he does, our fingers touch briefly.

Electric sparks fly between us. I’m sure of it.

“Let me,” I mumble and also move to stand up. As I do so, I bump into him. He grabs me as I stumble backwards.

His touch leaves me burning with desire. Wildfire rages through me, and I’m finding it difficult to speak.

“You cooked breakfast, I should wash up.”

I’m sure my cheeks are red as a tomato as I grab Amelia’s plate and turn to take it to the sink.

But I’ve misjudged my movement and turned the wrong way. Instead of turning away from Boone, my face is now only inches from his.

I can feel his warm breath caress my cheek. His eyes are caressing my face, neck and lips.

Darn.

Now my hands are shaking, and if I’m not careful I might drop the plate I’m holding.

“You okay?” he murmurs and his lips brush past my ear. Goosebumps run down my arms and neck.

Unable to speak, I nod.

His eyes linger on me, until I finally take a step back and force myself to move toward the sink.

Before I can make a fool of myself again, I put the plate in the sink and fill it with water. As I watch the water cascade out of the tap and onto my hand, I try to calm my inner turmoil.

This is ridiculous. I’m acting like a silly teenager on her first date, before her first kiss.

I can feel Boone move beside me. He’s standing so close that my nerve endings are screaming for his touch. Each of my pores wants him.

Mechanically, I start washing a plate before putting it on the drying rack.

But as I do this, my imagination goes wild. All I can see are images of Boone naked.

This is ridiculous.

How am I going to get through the next few days if I turn into molten chocolate the minute he comes near me?

I mean I’ve survived these last five years without him, why was my body suddenly obsessed with him?

Of course, I know the answer.

“Here, let me give you a hand.”

Before I can protest, I feel his hands next to mine in the warm water. White bubbles hide them from our eyes.

I take the next plate with a slightly shaky hand. His left hand helps to scrub it clean.

Suddenly, the temperature has risen several degrees, and I swear the water has gone from lukewarm to boiling point.

“She likes animals, doesn’t she? Our…” he starts, and I struggle to follow what he’s saying. He clears his throat. “And she’s good with them, isn’t she?”

Amelia. He’s talking about Amelia.

Focus. I need to focus and get my mind out of the bedroom.

“Yes,” I nod. “Our—” Why is it so hard to say it? “Our…daughter is good at many things, for her age.”

There, I’ve said it. I take a deep breath and wipe my brow with the back of my right arm.

I look at Boone. He’s mumbled something, but I couldn’t hear it. “Pardon?”

“Our daughter,” he starts and stops. I watch emotions cross his face, and I resist the urge to kiss him. “Our daughter,” he repeats and takes another plate from me.

We both reach for the same mug and giggle.

“You do the top, I do the bottom,” Boone suggests and I nod.

Dishwashing was sure more entertaining when I do it with Boone.

“She has her own camera, too. She’s good at drawing,” I tell him, acutely aware of how little he knows about our daughter. Every time I’m reminded of this fact, the guilt spreads through me like a raging river.

“Our daughter is just perfect,” he says after a while and smiles.

When he smiles his features soften, and he becomes even sexier.

“Now you’re being a typical parent,” I tease and watch him digest this statement. “You’re right, though,” I add quickly, “she’s pretty special.”

For a while, he just scrubs the mug, and I fear he may keep going until all the paint’s been peeled off.

I gently grab it from him and put it on the drying rack.

Our fingers touch again, and I don’t want to pull away.

This time, he grabs my hand and squeezes it.

The way he looks at me makes me feel as if he’s trying to look into my soul. He’s undressing me and caressing me.

I don’t want this moment to end. Life seems almost perfect, and yet I want more.

I want Boone. I want him. I need him now.

Judging from the bulge in his pants, he feels the same way. I can practically feel his testosterone bounce around the room and chase its target—my raging hormones.

“I think I’ll get some baking soda for the sink from the pantry,” I mumble and watch him move there already, in perfect step with me.

I think we both know what we’re really going to the pantry for…and it’s not baking soda.