Consent (The Loan Shark Duet 2)

“I love you, Carly.”

I won’t fail Connor if it’s the last thing I do. He’ll never know me, but he won’t know need, either. No one will lay a finger on him as long as I live. Allowing the resolve to give me strength, I push to my feet and go back to my house, which feels emptier and colder than ever now that Valentina has marked it with her presence.

One week goes by. I work myself to a standstill, if not with work, in the gym. I keep a tight watch on the woman and child who give meaning to my existence. I keep my distance, ensuring I don’t make the same stupid mistake, so when I come home from the gym on Saturday morning to find Valentina’s car parked in front my house, anticipation mixes with trepidation. I’m surprised, and I’m not. I made her physically and emotionally dependent on me when I first took her. It’s only natural she’ll look for someone to replace that dependency. A darkness rises inside of me when I think of another man fulfilling that role, but the turbulent feeling is quickly squashed when she gets out of the car with Connor on her hip. The sight of them stills me. A deep-sated pain tightens my chest. I press the remote to open the gate, pull into my driveway, and exit my car warily.

“How did you get in?” The words come out more harshly than I intended.

Valentina doesn’t bat an eye at my angry voice. “I smooth-talked the guard.”

“He’s not supposed to let anyone in without permission.” I’m pissed off that he disobeyed the rules. It’s dangerous. I’ll have to speak with him.

“Connor helped,” she says with a smile.

I stare at him with barely disguised pride. Yeah, it will be hard to resist that drooling, two-toothed grin. I make a conscious effort to soften my tone. “Why are you here?” Shit, is something wrong? “Is everything all right?”

“I’m taking Connor for a picnic. I thought you might like to come.”

“Valentina…” It comes out like the warning I intended, but God, it feels good to say her name. The problem is I want to scream it with her submissive body under me.

Not giving me time to elaborate, she pushes Connor into my arms. “Hold him for a second, will you?”

The lure is too strong to resist. When my arms go around my son, something inside of me snaps. The world tips, and all the wrongs fall into place as I hold his small body against my chest, inhaling his baby smell.

Valentina lifts a diaper bag from the backseat and gives me an apologetic look. “I just need to change him before we go. May I please use your house?”

I’ll never deny my son anything. “Go ahead.”

Balancing Connor in one arm, I unlock the door and let her in.

She walks over to the only piece of furniture in the lounge. “Do you mind?”

“No.”

While she spreads a protective cover out on the reclining chair, I carry Connor to her. For a second I cling to him, reluctant to let go, but she’s standing there with the diaper in her hands, so I lay him down. Warmth travels up and down my body as I watch her take care of our child. I devour the intimate moment like a starving man. When he’s clean and dry, she turns to me with a smile that holds both friendly warmth and passionate heat, neither of which I deserve.

Her tone is sure. “Ready?”

Despite how I sent her off after our lustful encounter, she doesn’t doubt that I’ll agree, and she’s right. How can I now that I’ve had a taste of Connor? I desperately want more. I want more of the self-assured woman standing in front of me, too.

My smile is tight. My weakness burns in me. “Give me a minute to shower and change?”

“Of course.”

I rush through a shower and pull on a fitted white shirt and slacks. By the time I return to the lounge, she’s sitting on the chair, breastfeeding Connor. I stop in my tracks. Looking down, her expression is nothing but loving. There’s no resentment in her features for the child she didn’t ask for or planned. My eyes slip to my son. His suckling is surprisingly strong for such a tiny creature.

“Ouch,” Valentina says, flinching as he hollows his cheeks.

He fists his little fingers in Valentina’s jersey, holding onto his source of food for life. Little sighs, groans, and hums of approval infuse the swallowing noises he makes. He has a cluster of dark hair, not curly like mine, but silky like his mother’s. Even at ten months, he looks impossibly tiny. Fragile.

Before I can stop myself, I’m standing in front of them, caressing Connor’s hair. Why this particular scene moves me so much I don’t understand. Maybe it’s because my own mother never took care of me. There were nannies for that.