Love Triangle Six Books of Torn Desire - Willow Winters Page 0,405

Our kiss is simple, but full, his embrace offering me warmth and love.

But there’s no charge of electricity like there was when Drew’s body was against mine. No unquenchable need pulsing in my core when his dark eyes gazed upon me, piercing my soul. No racing of my heart when his mouth drew closer and closer, agonizing, torturing, teasing.

Am I resigning myself to a lifetime of mediocrity?

Chapter Nine

DREW

“Hello, hello!” a familiar voice calls out as I maneuver around the kitchen, sampling the sauce that’s been simmering the past few hours. It tastes perfect, the right blend of spices. Of course, the real test is if it lives up to Aunt Gigi’s standards. She’s the one who taught me the family recipe, after all.

“Auntie Molly!” Alyssa and Charlotte jump up from the floor of the family room, abandoning their Play-Doh project and running toward the foyer.

“Hey, lovebugs,” she says, beaming as she turns the corner. Noah is right behind her, carrying a few bottles of wine, their weekly contribution to Sunday dinner, placing them on the large island.

“Your belly’s getting even bigger!” Charlotte observes enthusiastically.

“Char,” I warn, looking up from the stovetop built into the island. Placing the cover back on the pot, I head toward the open living area. The place we moved into a few years ago isn’t as big as the house I bought after I hit it big in hockey, but I was young and stupid back then, thinking the money would last forever. After several mistakes, my father talked some sense into me, helping me with a few smart financial decisions, which have kept me very comfortable since I was forced into early retirement. “That’s not nice.”

“What?” She spins around, furrowing her brows at me. Her six-year-old brain can’t grasp what’s wrong with her statement. “You told me the baby’s in there. That my cousin’s getting big and will come out when it’s time.”

“Yeah!” Alyssa chimes in. “You said Uncle Noah put the baby there.” She shifts her gaze toward Noah. “Didn’t you put the baby there?”

Uneasiness filling his blue eyes, he runs his hand through his dark hair. “Yes, but—”

“How?” she presses.

Alyssa, like Charlotte, has always been an inquisitive child. That inquisitive nature has only grown with age. After everything I went through with Carla, I promised to always be upfront and truthful with them, that I would do my best to answer their questions honestly. That was before I had to explain why their auntie Molly’s belly was growing. Ever since they learned they’ll be getting a new cousin at the end of the summer, they’ve been curious about how the baby got inside her.

“Yeah, how?” Charlotte chimes in. Then her eyes widen, as if having an epiphany. “Did you eat your baby?”

I stifle a laugh at her grave expression.

“Yeah, Charlotte. Something like that,” Molly responds, having difficulty holding in her own laughter at the ridiculousness of Charlotte’s questions. I’m surprised she doesn’t go into detail. As a romance author, she has quite the vocabulary, particularly when it comes to sex. All I can do is hope she doesn’t pass any of her knowledge on to my girls…even when they turn eighteen. Auntie Molly’s books will always be very off-limits.

“Why did you eat your baby?”

“So he has a warm place to grow until he’s big enough to survive outside.”

Charlotte seems to consider Molly’s answer, then looks at me. “Daddy, did you eat Alyssa and me and give us a warm place to grow?”

“No, peanut,” I respond, wanting to end this conversation. “Only mommies carry babies.”

“So did Auntie Brook eat us?”

“No, Char. Brooklyn is your auntie, not your mother.” I swallow hard, the mere mention of her making my heart rate pick up, my body heat, my fingers ache to brush her delicate skin again.

After we almost kissed yesterday morning, I haven’t been able to think about anything else, not even losing the playoff game we should have won. Hell, I haven’t even returned any of Skylar’s messages inviting me over. After my close brush with Brooklyn, Skylar seems inadequate in so many areas. Her immaturity and lack of conversational skills has never bothered me. In my opinion, the ability to hold an intellectual discussion on current affairs doesn’t directly correlate to being stellar in the bedroom. Before, that was all I cared about, was all I wanted to care about.

“Then where’s our mother?” Charlotte’s voice forces my attention back to her.

“Probably skanking it up,” Molly mutters under her breath. I shoot her an irritated