Sean: A Stepbrother Romance (Coded for Love 3)

“He was never violent like that with my mum,” Sean said, reflecting on it. “It was in him to believe we should be brought up with an iron rule, but I think her death changed him. I often wonder about Shelley. Is Rowan’s mum happy with him?” It often niggled at him. Shelley and Patrick had taken off for the Far East, leaving the girls with Nan.

“As far as we know they’re good for each other, and I truly believe it.”

“That’s good.” It was heartfelt for Sean, a relief. But the past was still there, and it hung over him and Rory like a cloud, like a dubious possible inheritance. He had to use his fists in jail, but he believed he knew where the boundaries lay. Even so, it scared him he might end up like his dad.

Pixie had completed her puzzle and pointed at it.

“Very good!”

He kept staring at the little girl, mesmerized by her, while his mind worked overtime, questions piling up on him—things he needed to know, things he needed to consider. But he was brought up short by the sound of clumping heels descending the staircase. Rowan was on her way.

She arrived in the doorway, took one look, and folder her arms tightly across her chest, glaring at him. She was dressed, but her mass of black hair was as he’d last seen it, bed-tussled as it had been when she left the guest room. Mascara smudges indicated she hadn’t looked at herself in the mirror. Nevertheless, she looked gorgeous. Sean smiled.

Her frosty expression intensified.

“I need coffee,” she declared, and made her way into the kitchen. As she passed Pixie, she reached out and stroked her head, but didn’t acknowledge Sean.

While she fiddled with the kettle by the sink he took his chance to check her out properly. She’d pulled on a black dress printed here and there with red roses. It fitted closely to her body at the top and flared out around her shins. Over it she wore a flowing black cardigan. Her strappy high heels were more feminine footwear than she used to wear, which was mostly Doc Marten boots. Feminine and grown up, yet still with that alternative edge he loved, she was a real treat for his eyes. He couldn’t stop staring, longing to get close to her again.

Maybe if he’d known when she first fell pregnant, his sense of duty would have been at the forefront, because of what his mother had instilled in him. Maybe he would have run away as he had, taken off for Rory’s sake and the built-in promise of adventure. Whatever, now was the right time, and as he looked her way he felt he was even more bonded to her than he could have possibly imagined, because of Pixie. There was a deep down satisfaction about that. The only challenge was getting Rowa

n to accept him and realize that. If her attitude didn’t alter, it was doomed.

He couldn’t let that happen.

When he looked back at Nan, she nodded at him, pointed at Rowan’s back and then reached over to take Pixie’s hand. “Story time,” she announced, and led Pixie out.

Rowan muttered something incoherent in response.

As they passed Sean raised his hand in agreement and mouthed “thank you.”

He made his way across the kitchen, pondering the best way to handle the situation.

Rowan continued to mutter under her breath as she banged the kettle about under the tap. Slamming it down on the work surface, she flicked the switch on and tossed a withering look in his direction.

“Ouch,” he said, and put his hand to his heart. “If looks could kill.”

She turned her back to the sink, staring at him with narrowed eyes and lips tightly pursed.

Joking around was clearly not going to help the situation.

“Toast?”

Before he had a chance to answer she grabbed a loaf of bread from the bread bin, slammed it onto the breadboard and quickly began carving doorsteps out of it with a lethal looking knife. The tension in her body had not reduced at all. It had magnified.

He closed the gap between them in a heartbeat, took the knife from her hand and put it down on the work surface. Grasping her around the shoulders, he drew her tense form away from the kitchen work top and looked down into her eyes. “If you could give me just a second. It was a lot to take in and a very short space of time. I don’t want to say the wrong thing again, so all I am asking is you give me a moment to say the right thing.”

She gave a wry laugh, a grumpy huff of a sound. “Here it comes, the clichés. Of course you’re the same, having a kid doesn’t change you. I’ve heard it all before. And I can tell you one thing for sure, having a kid does change you.”

“Hey, hey. back up a bit. Of course you’ve changed, we both have. But from where I’m standing it’s all change for the better.”

Again her lips pursed. Her eyes looked damp and she blinked quickly, glancing away.

“What about last night? We got close again, right back to where we had been. Why are you putting up the barricades again?”

“Last night was just about burning it off, letting me have the goodbye you should have given me last time.” She kept her eyelids lowered while she stated her case.

“I don’t believe it for a minute, we were right back there.”