Ultimate Sins (39 page)

Crowe sighed gustily. “Dad, I promise, I didn't know you and Mom was in the yard,” he said. “We was playing hide and seek with Rafe and he hadn't got to the backyard yet.”

His father's expression gentled as he reached out and ruffled Crowe's hair gently.

He was forgiven for overhearing his dad cuss in front of his mom, but not for cussing in front of the sand-throwing little girl.

“Listen to me.” His father gave him a look that made Crowe feel like he was being trusted with an important secret. “Your mom is my wife, so if I mess up and forget while we're talking, then it's different.”

Crowe listened and watched his father's expression carefully as he nodded as though he knew what his father meant.

A small smile touched his father's lips. “But you don't cuss in front of women, and you definitely don't cuss in front of little girls. When mommies give daddies their children, then the rules change. Things you could do before, you can't do anymore, because you realize those children learn from you. And it's a daddy's job to teach their sons that they shouldn't do it. Would you like it if another boy said bad things to the baby Mommy's going to have, if it's a girl?”

Crowe thought about that seriously. He'd been awful mad at that little girl, but maybe she hadn't known the sand tickled his head. His dad had told him before that no one could read his mind, so they didn't always know why he was mad if he didn't tell them.

Finally, he shook his head. “No, I wouldn't like that.”

“Think about it then.” He nodded seriously. “Don't do anything in front of those little girls that you don't want someone to do to your sister. And remember, curse words are bad words, no matter when or where you say them.”

Crowe nodded again. “I'll tell her I was sorry,” he breathed out, because it was sure going to be a chore.

“That's a fine thing to do.” His father sat back and watched him approvingly now. “I'm proud of you, Crowe,” he announced before Crowe turned away from him. “Very proud of you.”

And Crowe felt he'd grown two feet the second his father nodded at him as though he just completed a tremendous feat.

Turning, Crowe ran back to the sandbox.

*   *   *

The memory hadn't just been one of learning why little boys didn't cuss in front of little girls; it had been about his father's love. Not once, for even a second, had he doubted his father's love. And he couldn't see David Callahan giving one of his children a reason to ever doubt he was their father.

A part of him wanted to stride into that family room, send Logan's ass packing, and explain to his daughter that he wasn't rejecting her. He could never reject her. He was trying to protect her. He was trying to make a monster realize that striking out at her, before Crowe could kill him, wouldn't hurt Crowe.

The truth was, it would destroy him. It would dig a wound so deep inside him, Crowe knew he would never recover from it. And he'd known since hours before his daughter had shown up that somehow, some way, Wayne was getting information from inside the house. Knowing that, and knowing Wayne would strike before he was prepared if he didn't handle things just right, terrified the hell out of him.

As he stood there, staring at the door Kimmy had disappeared through, Crowe realized he was being watched.

And he knew who was watching.

Grimacing, he lifted his gaze to where Amelia stood, staring down at him, tears dampening her cheeks.

Slowly, she shook her head. “What next, Crowe?” she whispered. “When is anyone going to matter as much to you as killing Wayne?”

Turning, she moved back up the stairs, her shoulders slumping.

“You're wrong, Amelia.” He forced himself to move to the bottom of the stairs as she paused, looking back at him.

“No, I'm not.” Her gaze flicked to the family room where Logan's and Kimmy's laughter could be heard. “She's your child, not Logan's.” She blinked back more tears. “She hasn't had you in all these years, though, and she's survived. I'm sure she'll survive without you now. I'll make sure of it.”

She hurried up the stairs then, almost running as she went quickly back to her room.

Running wasn't going to help.

Gripping the banister he moved up the stairs, his gaze narrowed, determination setting inside him. Damn her, she should have known why, he thought furiously. She should have known to the bottom of her soul that he would never turn his own child away.

And if she didn't know, then he was about to inform her.

And while he was at it, he'd make damned sure she never turned her back on him again.

Stalking up the stairs and down the hall, he jerked his cell phone from the holder on his belt and quickly texted Logan, Rafe, and Ivan that he wasn't to be disturbed unless necessary. And neither was Amelia.

Let them make of that whatever the hell they wanted to.

Hell, even Logan knew him better than that. He knew Crowe was dying to hold his daughter, dying to play with her, watch cartoons with her, and send her running through the house in gales of laughter—but now he suddenly couldn't figure out why Crowe wasn't doing any of that?

It must have been too long since he'd beaten some sense into that little shit.

Pushing open the door to Amelia's room, he closed it loudly, watching as she swung around to face him in surprise.

“You don't turn your back on me, Amelia,” he told her softly, warningly.

“Fuck you, Crowe.” She glared back at him.

He locked the door. “Why, Amelia, I don't care a bit if you do.”

He moved to her as her lips parted in shock at his deliberate misunderstanding. Then, before she could stop him, he had his hands on her. Pulling her to him, one arm going around her back, the other catching her head to hold her in place, he lowered his head and caught her parted lips in a kiss that he swore sent pleasure surging all the way to his fucking toenails.

When they were both breathless, when her hands buried in his hair to hold him to her, rather than pushing at his chest to get away from him, his head lifted.

“You know me, Amelia.” He spoke slowly, clearly as he stared down at her, still holding her to him. “And you know damned well I would never count anyone more important than my child and her mother.”

Doubt filled her gaze, along with anger.

“Don't speak to me as though I'm a moron, Crowe,” she warned him with feminine ire.

“Why not, when you're acting like one?” he charged with a deliberate calm he sure as hell didn't feel. “But I'll give you the benefit of a doubt here. Maybe you're just not really awake yet? Still sleeping, baby, and dreaming about the days when you could get away with such a blatant statement of confrontation?”

He released her slowly as he began unbuttoning the dark-gray shirt he wore.

“Oh, just don't even.” Her fingers knotted at the front edges of her robe as though to secure the material to her. “We are so not having sex.”

“Aren't we?” Shrugging the shirt from his shoulders, he considered her with hungry irritation. “Tell me you're not wet. Tell me the honey's not just about to drip down your pretty thighs?”

Her eyes widened at the deliberately provoking question or the bareness of his chest, he wasn't certain. It had been over two days since he'd had her, since he'd tasted her hunger and her his. Perhaps it wasn't incredulity as much as the need to touch.

Yeah, right, he thought as she narrowed her gaze on him, her lips tightening with the same derisive mockery their daughter used so effectively.

“Hell no I'm not,” she retorted a second later as her fingers were suddenly gripping each other as well as the robe.

“Little liar,” he accused her, his gaze licking over her, his mouth watering at the thought of tasting one of the swollen breasts rising above her arms as she tightened her hold on the robe. “You're hot enough to burn me alive, despite your anger. And baby,” he drawled, smiling back at her with slow, deliberate anticipation. “I'm spike fucking hard and damned sure intent on putting all those slick, hot juices dripping from your pussy to proper use.”

The thought of touching her again, tasting her, sinking inside the tight, velvety heat of her sex had every cell in his body sensitizing.

“You're crazy.” Shock widened her eyes, but he did notice how tight and hard his words made her nipples as they tried to poke through the material of her robe.

“I'm not crazy, I'm horny.” Bending, he jerked one boot off, then the next, dropping them to the floor the second they cleared his feet.

He was more than horny. He was hungry. Desperate. He'd missed her in their bed so much the past two nights that sleep had been almost impossible.

He'd wanted her to have time with their daughter, to comfort their child, to make up, at least for a night or two, for all the time they'd been forced to spend apart.

But that time had given her a chance to doubt him, a chance to forget that the danger they faced changed all the rules.

Releasing the button and zipper of his jeans, he pushed them, along with the boxer briefs he wore, over his thighs before stepping out of them. As he straightened, his dick clenched with painful pleasure at the slow, hungry lick of her tongue over her lips while she stared at the wide, heavy girth.

Damn her, what she did to him.

There were no words to explain to her what she made him feel. At least, no words he could come up with to express how she made his heart beat harder. How she made him actually feel his soul aching for her, aching for her pain and everything he couldn't protect her from over the past years.

There were damned sure no words to explain that the thought of touching her, giving her pleasure, bringing her satisfaction, made him feel ten feet tall and invincible. Or how it increased the already strong sex drive he possessed.

Just the thought of her had the power to make him iron-hard, iron-hot, and ready to fuck her at any given moment.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” she gasped when he wrapped his fingers around the base of his erection to hold back the warning pulse of cum throbbing in his balls as she stroked it with her gaze.

“I'm getting ready to put all that hot female honey to use,” he assured her. “It's going to wrap around my cock, and I'll make damned sure you love the feel of it pumping up that tight little pussy.”

Deliberately explicit because he knew it made her wetter, made her pretty little tummy get as tight as her snug pussy clenched. He knew it, because he paid attention to the slightest little detail whenever he was with her.

“The hell you are.” Hunger vied with anger and filled her expression with an edge of desperation.”We need to talk first.”

Crowe smiled when she faced him. A slow, anticipatory smile that assured her he was definitely going to have her.

“No, we don't.” He shook his head slowly, his gaze moving once again to those tight little nipples beneath her silky robe. “I'm going to undress you, lay you down on that bed, and make you beg me to fuck you. Then I'm going to fuck you again.” His voice lowered. “And I'll keep fucking you, Amelia. I'll keep making you scream out each orgasm like you're going to die if you have to come again. Again and again until you by God figure out what you know, or I end up killing both of us with pleasure.”

*   *   *

Amelia watched the smile that curled Crowe's lips and knew she was in trouble. Because she didn't have the will to tell him no if he actually touched her again.

Her gaze flicked to his erection. The sight of the jutting, heavily veined shaft had her thighs tightening in reflexive need to feel it stretching, stroking her sensitive inner flesh. The wide, hooded crest damp with pre-cum, blunt and thick, forced the memory of the pleasure he gave with it, despite her attempts to still it.

“Crowe, that's enough,” she ordered, trying to inject a sense of determination in her tone.

Determination in the face of his sensuality was damned hard, though, especially when it meant actually telling him no. Because she knew the pleasure she was denying herself, and that pleasure was something she found she was becoming addicted to.

“We're not even close to
enough
yet,” he promised her. “Enough is when I'm buried balls-deep inside you and spilling the last drop of my cum into your fist-tight little pussy.”

Oh God.

Her stomach clenched, her womb rippling in response to the sexually explicit warning.

And damn him, she could feel her juices all but dripping from her vagina. The outer lips of her pussy were so wet, so slick, that the excess would be dampening her thighs soon.

“Do you really think I intend to sleep with you after what you've done to my daughter?” she demanded.

“Our daughter,” he reminded her, his gaze locked on her breasts as she backed away from him.

“Oh, so you remember that she's
our
daughter now? And just what brought on that illuminating discovery, Crowe?” she asked, incredulous.

Well, she tried to sound incredulous anyway. The truth was, even as she had watched the confrontation between daughter and father, she had seen the agony in Crowe's eyes. She had seen it, and even though she didn't know why he was putting distance between himself and Kimmy, she knew it wasn't because he didn't care.

What pissed her off was the fact that he wasn't willing to discuss it with her or anyone else. And he hadn't done anything to ease Kimmy's pain until he
could
explain it.

And she wanted that explanation.

“Crowe, this is not going to solve anything.” Other than relieving her ever-present need for him for a while. Long enough to actually sleep perhaps?