Rake's Redemption (Wind Dragons MC #4)(32)

“I was scared shitless,” I say softly. “I’m glad it seemed like I held it all together.”

“Whoever dared to touch you will pay, you know that, right?” he states, steel in his tone. “They f*cked up when they decided to bring you into this.”

“I’m a little worried,” I decide to admit to him. “What if they come after Cara? I can’t put her in any danger.”

“I won’t let anything happen to either of you—you can trust me on that, okay? You don’t even need to worry; your daughter will always be protected.”

I nod, believing his words. The thing is, things don’t always turn out how you want them to and although I can hear the determination in his voice to keep us safe, he can’t really promise something like that when fate could have other plans.

“Mom, can we all watch a movie after this?” Cara asks, sitting down with her own pink cup. I look away from Rake and I notice soda stains on her white T-shirt, which means she definitely spilled while pouring, but I ignore them, knowing that she likes to be independent.

“It’s a school night,” I remind her. “Bath time and bed for you.”

She looks up at Rake then, giving him her best puppy-dog eyes.

Rake chuckles and touches her nose with his index finger. “I’m afraid your mom is the boss, Cara.”

Cara pouts. “Okay. Can I have a bubble bath?”

I nod. “Yes, that’s fine. Go and get undressed and I’ll come fill up the tub.”

She walks off as we both watch her.

“I’ll clean up,” Rake announces. “You sort the angel.”

“Angel?” I ask, raising a brow.

He shrugs and grins. “They call Clover Princess, and I think Angel is fitting for Cara.”

I shake my head and smile at him. “I think you might be right.”

“Look at us,” he says a little gruffly, glancing around the room before looking at me. “All getting along and shit.”

“I think if we stay in the present, we’ll get along fine,” I admit, getting up from my seat. “It’s when we bring up the past . . . I don’t think either of us wants to go back there. And both for different reasons.”

He looks away. “Yeah, I’ll just . . . clean up. Where am I sleeping?”

“I can sleep with Cara and you can have my bed,” I suggest. There are only two rooms with beds in the house—the third I’d turned into a playroom. “She has a queen bed in her room, so it’s fine.”

“I’m not taking your bed,” Rake says, looking offended. “The couch is fine for me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I say, lifting my hand up. “Both the beds are queens; there’s no reason I can’t share with my daughter.”

Rake stands up and pushes his chair in. “Where are your blankets? I’ll set up the couch.”

I throw my hands in the air. “You’re not sleeping on the couch.”

“Pretty sure I am,” he replies instantly, completely calm.

“You’re still stubborn, I see. And irritating!” I snap. “And difficult.”

“And you still like to fight just for the sake of fighting. Still turns you on, does it?” he asks, gaze flickering with amusement . . . and something else. Something I’m going to pretend I didn’t see.

I clear my throat. I did used to fight with him for the sake of fighting—and for the makeup sex. But also just because I thought it added a little spice to our relationship. What can I say? I was a stupid teenager. And yet, the pull to start an argument with him is still there. Yeah, the last thing I need to do is fall into old habits.

“I’m going to get Cara into her bath,” I announce.

I storm to the bathroom, muttering under my breath the whole way.

Just how long is he staying here again? Having him in my space, and in my life, is just reminding me of the what-ifs.

I don’t need to be thinking about those.

*

The next night I make pork chops.

Rake’s favorite. I don’t ask myself why I do this; I just do it.

When he sees what I’ve made, he grins and kisses me on the top of my head. “It looks f*ckin’ delicious,” he says, rubbing his hands together. “And I know it’s going to taste even better.”

I tell my heart to harden, that it has no right to be jumping in my throat.

“We’ll see,” I say, trying to act unaffected by his close proximity.

“We will,” he says, studying me. I look away and find something to do to keep myself busy so I don’t have to stand there and feel the tension radiating between us.

I stir the rice.

He pushes my hair off my neck, and says, “You look beautiful today.”

Then he leaves the room.

And I finally allow myself to breathe.

*

I walk into the kitchen half-asleep the next morning and put some water on to boil.

“Good morning,” comes a deep voice behind me, making me jump.

Hand on my chest, I turn around and face him. “Holy crap! You scared me.”

“Sleep well?” he asks, but I can’t reply because I’m too busy taking in his bare chest.

Sweet baby Jesus.