Tequila Rose (Tequila Rose #1) - Willow Winters Page 0,57

this feels between us.

It’s slow and steady until she finds her release and then the selfish part of me takes over, lifting her left leg, pinning her down and fucking her into the cushion as she bites down on my shoulder to muffle her screams of pleasure.

With the window still cracked, a soft breeze blows in the room, making Magnolia shiver. The thin chenille throw barely covers her, let alone the two of us, so I bend down to pick up my shorts.

Her wide eyes meet mine and I know she’s wondering if I’m leaving. “Just closing the window.” She stays where she is, neither of us saying a word as the window shuts with a creak.

I imagine I’m not welcome to stay, so I won’t ask for that. All I can imagine is a sweet little three-year-old, waking up to see a strange man she’s never met before.

All that emotion stirs in my chest again. Our moment of distraction over.

She lifts her head as I sit back down so she can rest it in my lap. Still quiet.

“Did Robert take a paternity test?” I dare to ask. I pet her hair, hoping the touching and staying calm will let her know I’m not mad and I’m not going anywhere. Her tongue darts out to wet her still swollen lips and she answers, “No. He didn’t.”

It’s quiet for a long moment. All I do is nod in response until I gather the courage to ask her, “Can I meet her?”

Keeping the throw wrapped tight around her to cover herself, Magnolia sits up and leaves me, making a beeline for a photograph hung on the wall. She doesn’t hesitate to take it down.

Without a word she stands in front of me, offering the black wood frame.

“So many curls,” I say and rack my brain as I take in every feature. I don’t think any of my family has curls like that.

“From my family,” Magnolia says and tucks her hair behind her ear. “If my hair was shorter, I’d still have curls.” Although the air is tenser, she takes a seat beside me. “She looks a lot like I did when I was younger.

I note her eyes the most. The shape is all Magnolia, but they’re pale blue. So pale. Robert’s are like that and I’m surprised how much that hurts to realize. I don’t know if she is mine or his. Not by looking at a photo.

Handing the frame back I say, “She’s beautiful, like you.”

With a simper she takes the photo back and stands, the cotton nightgown falling just beneath her ass as she strides across the living room to place the frame where it belongs. Everything just so, in a modest home, obviously laid out for a family.

It’s in this moment I realize I’m in the home of a woman who has struggled on her own, yet she still smiles. She’s been alone in a world that can be brutal, especially in a town like this, and worst of all, with every action she takes there’s a small voice reminding her that it all comes down on her daughter. Just like her father’s actions came down on her.

And who am I to stand next to a woman like her? High risk, high reward, never sit still, never look back—has been my motto for years. The only time I ever looked back was to think about her and that one night, because I wanted more of her but she wasn’t there where I thought she’d be.

It’s not just the two of us. The gentle creak of a toy box is opened and Magnolia busies herself putting away a few stray items. This late at night, she’s still going and all I can think is that I wasn’t prepared for this, but then again, neither was she.

Magnolia

I can still feel him. He left me sore; it’s the good kind, though. The morning light filters in through the kitchen and without much up and about at this hour, the sound of his car engine revving to life is nearly as loud as the coffee machine.

The smell of the fresh brew surrounds me and I inhale deeply, grateful that we woke up before Bridget and that Brody was just fine sneaking out this early in the morning.

I suppose this is a different kind of walk of shame than the one I took four years ago.

My head is killing me and even the first sip of coffee doesn’t help. Crying that hard will do