She spun in a circle with her arms out like the wings of a bird, and Jackson did the same while sticking his tongue out to catch the snowflakes. She laughed at him, then did the same. Both of them spun in circles while sticking their tongues out.
She stopped, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she bent and placed her hands on her knees as if to catch her breath. Jackson moved closer to her and said something. She smiled and nodded, then lightly touched her hand on top of his head and smoothed his hair back. He looked up at her and grinned. Even if I couldn’t hear it, I sensed a choked sob wrenched from her throat as she gazed at her little boy.
Jackson ran inside, and I was about to turn away before I did something I regretted, when the radio switched to Brent Morgan’s “Kiss the Girl.” And I only knew the song because Deck’s wife, Georgie, had stolen my cell before our last mission and changed my ring tone to it.
Macayla tucked her honey-colored strands behind her ears as her hips began to sway from side to side in time to the music. She closed her eyes and raised her arms above her head, her movements light. Feathery. Almost as if she was floating.
My breath stopped.
It was fuckin’ beautiful. She was fuckin’ beautiful.
And I wished the song would play over and over again so I could stare at her for eternity.
But like every song, it ended.
Macayla walked over to the open driver’s door of the car and placed one knee on the seat as she leaned in. The car’s headlights flicked off.
She straightened and shut the door, then turned, about to head to the house, when something stopped her. She turned back around and looked in my direction.
Her chest rose as she sucked in air and our eyes locked.
I should’ve walked away, but like everything with her, I didn’t do what I should’ve, and my booted feet were planted in the ground as if anchored there.
I waited to see what she’d do. But I knew. This was the Macayla who wasn’t afraid of a damaged killer.
She walked toward me, pulling on the top of the onesie. “I didn’t think you were home. Was the music too loud?” she asked, her words breathless.
“I was awake.”
She half smiled. “Of course you were. The man who never sleeps.” She rubbed her arms as if to chase away the cold. “Jackson had a nightmare, so we were silly dancing.”
“Mmm,” I murmured. That was obvious.
She grinned. “I guess you saw how silly.”
“I did.”
Even in the darkness, I could see her cheeks redden. “It’s something my mom did whenever we had a bad dream. She’d get us out of bed, and we’d go into the backyard in our pajamas and dance until all the monsters were gone.”
My brows arched. “Did it work?”
She laughed and the sound sank deep into me like a bloody anchor. Who was I kidding? I was already anchored to her. “You saw me dance. No monster can survive that.”
I chuckled, the foreign sound vibrating from deep within my chest. Fuck, what this woman did to me. It had always been from afar because that had been all I needed. Until she grew up and things shifted. And now…. Fuck, now it was debilitating without her.
She stepped closer, and the scent of cloves, sweat, and coconut slammed into me.
My cock hardened. Fuck. My control was volatile, and for once in my life I was afraid of what I’d do if I lost it.
Because I wouldn’t be able to stop.
Because I’d taste her, and there’d be no going back.
I scowled. “Go inside before something happens that you don’t want,” I warned, shoving away from the tree and straightening.
She stepped closer. So close, I felt a wisp of her warm breath on my cheek. “How do you know what I want or don’t want?” she whispered, desire burning in her eyes.
Jesus. Walk away. Leave.