I see light far in the distance, so I run toward it. This is where I can’t find her, where I never get to her. But tonight, something’s different. The doorway’s getting narrower and further in the distance, just beyond my reach, but this time, I’ll get to it. The walls are closing in on me and darkness is descending. With a scream and a leap, I make it to the door just in time, and I fall to my knees and crawl through the opening.
I’m here. I actually made it. I’m where I need to be, where she is.
I kneel, frozen in place. It isn’t Eve that’s screamed for me, but Megan.
I wake from my dream. Bright, vivid light streams in through the shades I never bothered to close last night, and beside me the bed is empty. I blink, trying to get my bearings.
Where’s Megan? Did she leave?
Residual panic from my dream surfaces, but I school myself and get my bearings.
Where is she?
I hear voices in the kitchen. A giggle, then a response. Megan got Breena up?
I sit up, trying to clear the fog of dreams from my mind. I don’t even remember what I dreamt about last night, but it’s left me feeling oddly uneasy. Possibly even more unsettling is the fact that Breena got up and I didn’t hear her.
What do I think about the fact that Megan’s in the kitchen with her? Breena’s too young to know that Megan stayed here last night. I have to remember that. I’m tempted to go into the kitchen and somehow… save face or something. But she’s only a wee one yet.
I throw the covers off.
What now? What the fuck did I do?
I run a hand through my hair and shake my head. Christ, I should fess up to my Clan brothers. I really should. Maybe if I did, one of them would give me the fucking beating I deserve.
The memory of the night before comes crashing down on me like a deck of cards.
I took Megan home.
I spanked her.
Christ, I caned her. I made her come so many times her voice was hoarse by the time she fell asleep.
What’s wrong with me?
Bloody hell, I deserve to let the McCarthy brothers kick my arse from here to the fucking sea. They’d lose their minds.
I throw the covers off, use the bathroom, then pull a t-shirt on and head to the kitchen. I pad down the hall and freeze when I hear them talking.
“Nummy,” Breena says. “Very nummy.”
“Ah, you like your eggs, do you? They’re my specialty, you know.”
“Where daddy?”
“Daddy’s probably still sleeping,” Megan says. She’s got her back to me when I enter the kitchen, scrubbing the frying pan in the sink.
“There daddy!” Breena says, pointing her finger at me. I smile at her, and the frying pan clatters into the sink.
Megan turns to me. Breena’s sitting in her highchair up at the kitchen counter, waving her little fists at me. Megan’s wearing… oh, Christ, what is that? My t-shirt and pajama pants? The clothes dangle on her but hug her in all the right places, so long she’s nearly tripping on them. I turn away quickly. I have to keep myself together.
“Morning, baby girl,” I say to Breena, giving her a kiss on the top of her head.
She sucks juice out of her cup and watches me with wide eyes. She points her finger to Megan.
Breena nods. She doesn’t speak much, but she’s a bright one. She catches on. “Kiss, daddy.”
She wants me to give Megan a good morning kiss, too. I look to Megan, who’s standing with her arse pressed up against the counter—my counter, her gorgeous curves hugging the hard ledge. Her hair’s tousled, and she wears no makeup, but I’ve never seen anyone more beautiful.
I imagine lifting the edge of that shirt and seeing the marks I left all over her.
I smile at her. From where I’m standing, I can see little pink marks along her neck. I grin at her.
“Right,” Megan says in a low murmur. “Kiss, daddy.”
She holds her cheek out to me. I bend, gently cup her jaw with the palm of my hand and kiss her cheek. She swallows hard, and she trembles a little. I love that I affect her like this, that she’s not immune to the pull between us. I half wondered if our mutual attraction would wane in the light of morning, but it’s stronger than ever.
My phone rings in the other room, but I don’t move to get it. I’m caught in her spell, somewhere between fantasy and reality. The fantasy that she belongs here. The reality that she doesn’t.
“You should get that phone,” she says. “What if you… won something?”
“They can leave a message,” I say, waving my hand in the general direction of the phone.