I wake up the next morning to a pair of bright green eyes gawking at me. Rylee is kneeling next to the sofa I am sleeping on. Her straight blonde hair is pulled into two even piggy tails, and a curious crinkle is scoured between her brows.

“Hello.”

My greeting barely leaves my mouth when she screams blue murder, darts up from the ground, then bolts across the living room floor at the speed of a bullet.

Upset that I’ve frightened her, I quickly shadow her steps. I find her in the kitchen. She has her tiny arms wrapped around Savannah’s thigh and her cheek buried in her backside. She watches me with a curious gleam in her eyes when I cautiously approach them.

“Don’t let her smell your fear, Ryan, or she’ll exploit it for all its worth,” Savannah warns, unconcerned about the worry in my eyes.

Realizing her cover has been blown, Rylee jumps away from her mother’s thigh. She holds her hands in front of her body and roars like a bear.

The squeal she emits when I return her banter sets my hearing forward by at least three decades. My heart smashes against my ribs when she races across the kitchen floor to leap into my arms. I’m so unprepared for her attack, I land on my backside with a thud. My first thoughts are to wretch her away from me to check her for damage from our collision, but the hearty giggles spilling from her lips stop me.

Rylee’s laughter grows when I tickle her ribs before lifting my eyes to Savannah. “I’m sorry,” I mouth.

What I said to Savannah last night was wrong. She did everything in her power to save her daughter from living the childhood I did. The fact Rylee is open to waking up with a stranger in her house proves this without a doubt. She is a well-adjusted nearly four-year-old who doesn't have a clue about the danger surrounding her. She is as perfect as her mother.

It is like no time at all has passed when Savannah dips her chin, acknowledging she’s aware of what my apology is about. She read my eyes—no more words needed.

My hands tear from Rylee’s ribs when she demands the use of a bathroom. After clambering onto her feet, she dashes down the hall, holding her crotch.

“Sorry,” I apologize again when I notice the small puddle seeping into Rylee’s pajama pants.

Laughing, Savannah holds her hand out to assist me from the ground. Although her help is more of a hindrance than an aid, I accept her offer. If it keeps her skin on mine, I’m never going to turn it down.

“How did you sleep?” she asks before heading to the hall to check if Rylee needs assistance.

After Rylee assures Savannah that she's a “big girl," Savannah returns her eyes to mine, waiting for an answer.

I don't answer her, unless you accept grunting as a form of communication?

Smiling in a way that tightens the front of my pants, Savannah moves back to the sink to finish the breakfast dishes she’s in the process of washing. I watch her from the side of her tiny kitchen, loving the opportunity to see her in her mothering ways, while also reprimanding myself for nodding off.

I had no intention of falling asleep, but the comfort of my gun and badge on my hip must have made my tiredness get the better of me. Although Regina’s suggestion of using Savannah as bait was a plausible proposal for an officer of her dedication, I couldn’t put Savannah’s life at risk.

I only swore to protect her and Rylee a few hours earlier, so I couldn't break my word so quickly. Savannah has had enough promises broken the past ten years; I'm not willing to add more to her stack.

Thankfully, with my denial, another idea came to mind. Keifer is a US Marshall, so as much as this kills me to admit, taking him down needs a broader skillset than Ravenshoe PD has to offer. That is where Alex comes into play.

After advising Regina of my earlier tussle with a member of Alex’s team, she handled initial contact. Alex was as egotistical as ever, but even he had a hard time stomaching the evidence we presented him. He doesn’t even know Savannah, yet he wants to see Keifer pay penance for his horrendous actions.

Thus started my third joint operation with the FBI in the past year and the return of my gun and badge. You wouldn't think two pieces of metal could mean so much, but they do. They don't just represent that I am a member of Ravenshoe PD. They display I am a protector. First to Savannah and Rylee, second to my community.

I don't feel an ounce of guilt admitting I'm putting Savannah before anyone. If it weren't for Savannah's persuasive techniques years ago, I would have never enrolled in the academy to begin with, so it is only right she is at the top of my list.

“I’m glad to see nothing has changed,” Savannah murmurs, returning my focus to the present. She slings a damp tea towel over her shoulder before pacing to stand in front of me. “You still get a little groove right here when you’re deep in thought.”

Her thumb rubs the mark etched between my eyes before tracing my quirked brow. Her lingering touch reveals she is as uneager to stop touching me as I am eager for her to continue. Once her fingers have graced every inch of my face, her hand falls to her side.

“My turn,” I whisper huskily.

Cradling her jaw in my hands, my thumb traces the little scar in her left brow. Savannah’s face has aged since the last time I’ve studied it, but not in a bad way. The tiny crease in the corner of her eyes makes them dazzle even more brightly, and her dimples give her a youthfulness no amount of time could erase.

She is as beautiful now as she has ever been—thank fuck.

I was worried the horrific injuries she sustained during her assault would be evident on her face. They aren’t. Her eyes are the only ones left carrying the baggage.

Just like the silent pledge I gave years ago about wiping Axel from her mind, I’ll work just as hard to remove Keifer from her memories as well. By the time I’ve finished worshipping her like she deserves, she won’t remember the dreadful things he did to her, much less his pathetic name.

After gliding my thumb down Savannah’s inflamed cheeks, I brush them over her lips. I've missed studying her mouth nearly as much as I've missed tasting it the past decade. I can't believe it's been ten years since I've sampled her lips, yet I still recall its intoxicating palette like it was yesterday. As sweet as her hair coloring, but as sinful as vodka.

“Ryan. . .” Savannah’s eyes divulge the rest of her hummed plea: please kiss me.

I return her desire-fueled stare as I contemplate her suggestion. I’m dying to kiss her—it’s been way too long since her lips have been on mine. We may have fooled around two nights ago, but we didn’t kiss. I just don’t know if it’s an appropriate thing to do with her daughter in the other room.

The last time I was around a baby was when Noah’s daughter Maddie was born. If Rylee were a newborn, I'd have no hesitation granting Savannah's wish. But she's not a baby. She's old enough to be permanently scarred by the influence her mother has over certain regions of my body. I already tickled her until she peed her pants; I don’t want to taint her childhood memories more than I already have.

Before I can announce my worries to Savannah, she balances on her tippy toes to seal her lips over mine. I groan into her mouth. Just as predicted, she tastes like heaven.

I keep the swivels of my tongue to a bare minimum, ensuring I can withdraw at any moment.

Yeah, right.

My tongue is so far down Savannah’s throat, I can confidently declare she still has her tonsils.

Calm down, I’m joking.

I am sampling every inch of her mouth like I have ten years of breathing to make up for—because I do—but I’m not doing it in a zombie sucking your brains out via your mouth type of way. I’m matching the lashes of her tongue stroke for stroke while grinding my extended crotch against the heat between her legs.

Our kiss is nowhere near as raunchy as our romp in my truck, but it is a hundred times hotter. There is something profoundly moving about open-mouth kisses. The affection displayed in a kiss can't be replicated in the bedroom. It is the easiest way to show your feelings without the need for additional protection or words. My relationship with Savannah started with a kiss. If I have it my way, it will end that way as well.

I stop dragging my tongue along the roof of Savannah’s mouth when a deep grunt rumbles through my chest. When the cranky groan is followed by the stomping of a foot, I reluctantly withdraw from Savannah’s sinful mouth. Rylee is standing at our side. Her little hands are spread across her cocked hip, a deep groove between her blond brows.

When she bossily gestures for me to stoop down to her level, I instinctively angle my body to the side. If she is anything like her mother, I'm anticipating a swift kick to my nether regions.

The wind is knocked from my lungs. It isn't what you are thinking. Rylee isn't just a spitting image of her mother—she also has the same fondness. After barely pressing her lips to mine, she charges into the living room, giggling in the same manner Savannah did when we shared our first kiss.

The girl I’ve been crushing on since I was four has competition: her nearly four-year-old daughter.

Shit.