Her heart stopped, and she stared at her son. She didn’t think he’d noticed. “I—I did.”
“Do you love him, Mama? Is he going to be my papa?” The hopeful gleam in his eyes crushed her heart. He was five, a boy in desperate need of a father figure.
“Uncle Damien is a…close friend, Theo.” Celia ruffled her son’s thick dark hair and stood, her gaze sliding to where Damien stood. He still spoke with the earl, his mood seemingly jovial and carefree. As if he hadn’t kissed her to near devastation.
Of course, it had been the briefest of kisses. A mere brush—and clinging—of lips. Nothing more, nothing less.
Yet it had felt like everything. He was a handsome man, kind and smart and fiercely loyal. It had secretly shamed her to think of him as anything else but a friend.
Did Damien view her as something more?
Theo’s lower lip stuck out in a pout. “I love Uncle Damien. I wish he was my father.”
Celia sucked in a harsh breath. “Darling, you’ve never said such a thing before.” Worry filled her. She knew her son missed having a father in his life. He had his grandfather, whom he loved dearly, but it wasn’t the same.
She didn’t realize he pined for Damien this way.
“Well, I do want him.” He crossed his arms in front of him and stomped his foot. “All the other boys I know have a father. I want one too!”
“You do have one.” She knelt before him again and clutched his hands. “He’s up in heaven, watching over you. Protecting you and ensuring that you’re safe.”
“It’s not the same.” He jerked away from her grip and glared at her. “I want a father. I do, I do, I do!”
She rose slowly and watched in horror as her son fled the room, his nanny chasing him. Closing her eyes, she rubbed her forehead with two fingers. The familiar and unwanted throb of a headache was coming on. It was two days before Christmas, and she’d only wanted everything to be perfect.
Unfortunately, her son and even Damien had other plans.
“Is something the matter with Theo?”
The rumble of Damien’s deep voice from behind made her shoulders stiffen. Opening her eyes, she turned and pasted on a false smile. “He’s excited and tired. A most deadly combination for a five-year-old boy, I’m afraid.”
A dark brow rose as he studied her. She drank in his familiar features, studied them with an entirely different purpose. Eyes as blue and turbulent as the sea regarded her, his usually firm lips soft and parted slightly. Lips that were only momen
ts before pressed urgently to hers.
The temptation to touch him there, trace and memorize the shape of his sculpted mouth, was overwhelming. She clenched her hands into fists to prevent from making such a grave mistake.
“It’s late.” Damien glanced at the doorway Theo had exited. “I assume his nanny will put him to bed?”
“Yes. Though I should probably go and kiss him good night.” She started to leave, but Damien stopped her, slipping his fingers around her wrist. Her skin tingled where he touched her, and his thumb swept across the pulse that thundered at his touch.
“I’ll go with you.” His velvety voice washed over her.
Her body heated with awareness. Their gazes met and locked. He’d done this before. They’d done this before. Together. Her hand wound through his arm as he accompanied her upstairs to say good night to Theodore. Much like a man might do, escort his wife to wish their son sweet dreams…
A gasp escaped her, and she jerked out of Damien’s grip. No wonder Theo wished him to be his father. No surprise her family encouraged Damien to kiss her under the mistletoe. The way they behaved, why anyone would assume they were together.
And they weren’t.
No matter how much she wished it were so.
Chapter Two
“What’s wrong?” Damien watched as Celia withdrew. Her expression became blank, though her vivid hazel-colored eyes were wide. Wild as she looked around, almost as if she were in a dither.
How he wished she trusted him enough to let him ease her fears. He would wrap her into his embrace and hold her close. Smooth his hands over her hair and kiss her temple, her cheeks, her lips. Drown her with love until she knew nothing else but him.
Him.