Leader of the Pack (The Dogfather Book 3) Read online

  “Operative word, Andi. Win.”

  Her eyes shuttered closed. “I know. I know. But maybe there’s another way, Liam. A way to show permanence and stability and build a case for my capabilities as a mother without doing this and breaking his heart.”

  Oh, he understood a broken heart and didn’t wish it on little Christian.

  “Do you have any ideas?” she asked.

  He sure did. Leave out the “annulment” part and make it forever. But that’s not what you said to a woman who quaked in fear of that possibility. “I guess we could look at other options,” he said quietly.

  “Mommy! Mommy!” Christian came tearing into the room with Jag a step or two behind him, barking.

  “What?” They both jumped up at the high-pitched exclamation.

  “I have an idea!”

  They threw a glance at each other, both aware that she’d just asked Liam for an idea, but he had a feeling Christian’s wasn’t going to help them.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “You two should get married!”

  They both stared in stunned, shocked silence.

  “Then Jag would never leave!” He beamed at them, throwing up two hands like it was so obvious, how did these two clueless adults not see that?

  “Married.” Andi croaked the word and turned to Liam, her color high. “Imagine that.”

  Liam had. Every damn day since he met her. “I think that’s the best idea I’ve heard in a long time,” he said.

  “Yay!” Christian made a wobbly little turn and smacked right into Jag, giving him a huge hug. “It was Jag’s idea, really. He never wants to leave.”

  Off the two of them went, leaving Andi and Liam speechless.

  Chapter Ten

  Andi rolled over, rustling her sheets again. And again. And again. Picking up her phone, she peeked at the time and let out a soft breath. Three thirty a.m. If she’d slept at all since going to bed around eleven, she certainly didn’t feel rested.

  As soon as she’d start to slip into a slumber, something would wake her. The sound of Jag’s footsteps, the knowledge that another person was sleeping in the house, the stab of remembering that someone was trying to take custody of Christian. And, of course, the fact that she’d agreed to marry Liam Kilcannon.

  Real or fake, the idea caused a wellspring of emotions she didn’t understand. Fear, anxiety, doubt, anger at being forced into this decision, and a bit of wistful sadness at that crappy proposal.

  And that other feeling she really didn’t relish…desire. Like a hot liquid bubbling in her veins, putting her on edge, making her feel achy and needy and empty.

  She pushed back her blanket on a sigh and sat up, blinking into the nighttime blackness. She suffered the occasional bout of sleeplessness, and her answer was always to work. She’d make a cup of tea and take it into her office, settling at the drafting board to sketch a project that had been on her mind.

  The balance and focus of the artistic side of her job always soothed her.

  But there was no balance or focus tonight. If she went downstairs, who knew how Jag would react? If she went into her office, she’d find Liam Kilcannon asleep on that lumpy old pullout that was probably torturing him. If she even put her feet on the floor right now, he’d probably wake, come up here, and…

  She closed her eyes and gave in to the punch of her overactive, underappreciated hormones bubbling beneath the surface of her skin.

  Except, the more time she spent with Liam, the more other parts of her body got in on the act. Like her head. And her heart.

  Liam was good with Christian, considerate of her feelings, and so protective he’d upended his life to secure hers. Did he even know how much she appreciated that? Maybe she should—

  Jag barked, making her startle.

  She sat up straighter, listening to a low growl she already recognized as a sound the dog made if a person Liam didn’t know got too close.

  Without hesitating, she slid out of bed, tiptoeing to her open door to step into the hall and look down the stairs. From the third floor, she could see down to only the landing on the second. Christian’s door was closed, but the office was open.

  A second later, she saw Liam walk out and head down to the living room. She followed, silent on the steps, pausing outside Christian’s door. She inched it open to see his little blond head on the pillow, his chest rising and falling peacefully.

  Saying a silent prayer of thanks, she continued downstairs toward the sound of Jag’s low growl, then saw Liam lean close to the dog and whisper, “Zimmer.”

  He stopped growling immediately. Zimmer must be the code word.

  She watched Liam move into the shadows of the living room, checking out the front window where Jag stared. She waited for the hitch in her heart, but she wasn’t the least bit afraid.

  No one was getting past that man and that dog.

  “Is someone out there?” she whispered.

  “No.” He didn’t take his gaze from the window, though, and neither did Jag. He put his hand on the dog’s head and whispered a word of affection, probably because Andi’s arrival hadn’t distracted Jag like it often did. “Maybe someone walked by.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  He finally turned, keeping his hand on Jag. “You can go back to sleep.”

  She snorted softly. “Not doing much of that tonight.” Coming down the last two steps, she let her eyes adjust to the darkness to note that Liam was shirtless with sleep pants, tousled hair, and bare feet.

  Oh Lord. She’d never get a wink of sleep now. “I’m going to make some tea,” she said, gesturing to the kitchen. “Want some?”

  He didn’t answer right away, but she could see him looking at her, his gaze coasting down her own nightclothes, which consisted of a tank top and flannel shorts. “Uh, no. I don’t drink tea.”

  “Water? Soda? A delicious glass of Goodness Grapeness organic juice?”

  He smiled. “I should go back to bed.”

  “You sleeping okay on that thing?” she asked.

  He choked out a laugh without answering. That would be a no.

  “Oh, Liam, I’m sorry. I should have a proper guest room, but I need the space for when I work at home. The whole room is crowded and uncomfortable.” Besides the drafting table, there were the last sealed cartons of Jeff’s belongings piled in one corner, a bookshelf laden with textbooks and blueprints, and that aging pullout sofa bed.

  “Come on.” She waved him to the kitchen. “I have some tea that will honestly make you sleep better.”

  He watched her walk by and silently followed, his only response a sigh of what sounded like resignation. Because he was saying yes to tea? Or because he wanted to follow her so much he couldn’t say no?

  Her skin tingled at the thought of him feeling and thinking the same things she was, but then she remembered how easily he’d turned her down when she offered herself to him months ago.

  Was it really because he wanted more than one night? Because he had that now.

  And she still didn’t have what she’d wanted that night: him.

  She touched the light over the stove, giving the room a soft, golden light that was just enough to make tea. When Liam sat at the kitchen table, she glanced over. There was also enough light to see each distinctive cut of his muscles, and that bulldog tattoo right above a particularly well-defined bicep. And the fact that he dropped his head into his hands and pulled back his hair on one more noisy exhale.

  “Liam,” she said softly, making him lift up his head and look at her. “Have I even said thank you? I don’t think I have and I’m ashamed of that.”

  “Don’t be. And thanks aren’t necessary.”

  “I don’t agree.” After putting water in a tea kettle and turning on the stove, she walked over to the table and stood next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. For some reason, she expected his skin to be cold, but it was warm. Hot, really. And smooth. And so strong, broad, and capable.

  “Thank you for doin
g this for me,” she said on a whisper. “You’ve given up your life, your bed, your dog, and your time.”

  He gave a slow shrug. “It’s the right thing to do.”

  “Is that why?” She dropped into the chair next to him and studied his face in the dim light, taking in the angles of his jaw, the shadow of whiskers, the slight creases at the eyes of a man very close to forty. “Are you just that good of a guy?”

  He laughed softly. “Yeah. That’ll do.”

  “Liam.” She took one of his hands, aware of the constant need to touch him but not able to fight it now. “It’s huge what you’re doing.”

  “Not as huge as someone trying to take your son.”

  “But you’ve moved in here and offered up your best dog, and you’re marrying me, for God’s sake.”

  “Then getting an annulment,” he added, as if that part was so important to him.

  That stung enough for her to draw back her hand and force herself to quit touching him for the sheer pleasure of it. She could express her gratitude without mauling him and making him underscore the annulment part.

  “Well, thank you for all that. It’s above and beyond.”

  He angled his head. “I’m a Marine. That’s what we do.”

  “You’re a protector. You’re the oldest in the family, the leader of your pack, and a man who would do anything to help anyone.”

  “Not anyone, Andi.” The words were low and smooth, in that sexy voice he used to deliver a quiet command to his dog who, of course, obeyed. And they sent a shiver straight up her spine.

  She swallowed, holding his gaze, feeling the air crackle between them. Everything in her wanted to lean in and kiss him. Just once. Just to feel his warm lips on hers and soothe the ache that twisted her inside every time he was this close.

  “Liam.” She moved a centimeter closer, but he stayed still, their eyes locked.

  “The tea’s ready,” he whispered.

  “Oh, yeah. Sorry.” She pushed up and walked to the stove on unsteady feet, cursing herself as she turned the heat down under the kettle. “And sorry about that room. Maybe I could bring Christian up with me, and you can take his room.”

  “Don’t upset your life. The spare room is fine.”

  “I’ve been meaning to reorganize it,” she said, brushing some hair off her face. “It ends up being a catchall, like spare rooms are.”

  “Lots of boxes labeled ‘Jeff’ in there, too.”

  She turned, trying to gauge what that tone was. A little bitterness? Jealousy? Sadness that she still had some of his things? “Yeah, I was never sure what to do with it. There’s stuff from Europe, many of his designs, his graduate school project, things I thought maybe Christian would want someday. Rather than toss them in storage, I thought he and I would go through them when he’s older.”

  “How do you handle the subject of Jeff with him?” he asked.

  She lifted a shoulder. “Honestly but tenderly. I don’t want him to forget his father completely. That’s why I keep some pictures around.”

  “And you? Do you want to forget him?”

  Sighing, she crossed her arms and considered the question. “He’s my son’s father.”

  “Andi, do you think you’d have married him? Stayed with him? Even though, by your own admission, you weren’t completely in love?”

  Another question that took some time to answer. After a moment, she said, “I don’t know. He changed a lot after Europe, as if something unspoken was always eating at him. He disappeared for days on end for work, but never talked about it. He was on edge, almost paranoid at times. But if he’d gone back to being the Jeff I knew in Boston? Possibly, especially if it would have made Christian completely happy. I’m not going to lie. I’d do anything for that boy.”

  “My mother used to say, ‘You’re only as happy as your least-happy kid.’”

  That made her smile. “Truer words were never spoken, and I only have one. Can’t imagine what she went through with six.”

  “There’s a point when sacrificing your own happiness doesn’t make sense,” he said. “And you would have settled for that.” He couldn’t hide the disappointment in his voice.

  “I know you have some very incredibly romantic notions about fairy-tale marriages, Liam, but that’s not always what happens.”

  “So you’d settle for less?”

  She walked across the kitchen to the pantry, looking for the box of tea bags. “I guess that makes me awful,” she muttered. “Or stupid. Or maternal.” She stared at shelves but didn’t see anything but his face and his eyes and the way he just coolly turned her down.

  “Or unselfish.” His hands landed on her shoulders, surprising her, close enough to feel the heat of his whole body behind her.

  Instantly, her pulse thrummed. He had to feel the blood singing through her veins under his fingertips. He had to sense her tension, feel her vibrate with how desperately she wanted to turn around and kiss him.

  “I’ve tried being selfish,” she whispered. “And you said no.”

  He let out the slightest, softest, sexiest grunt, as if he couldn’t even think about that night. Then his lips pressed against her hair, his hands still.

  Closing her eyes, she leaned back enough for her back to touch his chest.

  “This is, without a doubt, the most complicated thing I’ve ever done,” he whispered into her ear. “I don’t want to make it worse.”

  In other words…he was turning her down again.

  She nodded. “It would be messy.”

  “It would be amazing.”

  And she damn near melted. “But?”

  He moved one fingertip, sliding it along her collarbone so lightly it could have been air. But it wasn’t. It was Liam’s blunt-tipped finger, and she wanted it to slide lower, to touch everything, to explore her and thrill her and make her lose control.

  “But the last time I let you crack my shell and steal my soul, it damn near ruined me.”

  She stole his soul? “I didn’t know that.” The very thought made her breathless.

  “I didn’t tell you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you’d made your choice.”

  A choice she’d made for Christian, believing down to her very core that she owed her son a life with his biological father and vice versa. Yes, she’d been falling for Liam, but they’d dated for only a month or so. Nothing was rushed, nothing was spoken. They’d just started.

  “How did you feel that way…so fast?”

  He added a little pressure and slowly turned her around to meet his midnight-dark gaze. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I did. Like, day one fast.”

  She inhaled softly, suddenly wanting to go back to day one right then and experience it again. She’d liked him—a lot—but she’d been so burned by Jeff’s decision to go to Europe and leave her alone, so consumed by being a single mom, so sure that nothing in life was certain, that she simply wasn’t open to anything then.

  “And you didn’t feel the same way,” he finished. “I get that.”

  “I…was on my way, I think.” She searched his face, his handsome features and bottomless eyes. How could she not have fallen deeper and faster? She could have stayed with him and not given him up for Jeff. But…Christian. “I held back because I had a child who had ownership of my life, and then his father came back and—”

  “I know what happened, Andi. I was there. Lived it. Have the scars to prove I saw the action.”

  She blinked at him. “Scars?”

  “You really had no idea how I felt?”

  “You never told me,” she repeated, frustration in every word.

  “I showed you.”

  She opened her mouth, then shut it. He had shown her. He’d been attentive and considerate, charming and honest. He’d taken her to meet his family and offered to spend time with hers. But she’d held back, so scared to get involved when she had a little boy to raise all by herself.

  At least, that was the excuse that f
elt comfortable. Maybe it was more. Maybe it was deeper.

  She narrowed her eyes playfully. “Use your words, I tell my son.” She smiled. “You should have used your words, Liam Kilcannon.”

  “Sometimes words aren’t enough,” he said, his voice raw with emotion. “Sometimes they can’t do the job.”

  For a long moment, they looked into each other’s eyes, silent except for the pumping pulse in her head.

  “So now you know how I felt and why I’m doing this,” he finally said. “But, trust me, I’m not going to beg again.”

  Her heart dipped. “Pretty sure I was the one who begged last time.”

  He glided his thumb into the hollow of her throat, still holding her gaze, heat growing between them. They both breathed at the same rhythm, enough that their chests touched, weakening Andi’s knees…and her resolve.

  Ever so slightly, she bowed her back, in a silent, barely perceptible invitation.

  His response was not imperceptible, and instant. He pulled her even closer, letting their bodies press, angling his head and dipping it so that their lips were barely a centimeter apart.

  “You don’t have to beg,” he said huskily.

  She lifted up on her toes to meet his mouth, but they didn’t quite touch. A spark could have ignited they were so close, but it wasn’t a kiss. Not yet.

  His breath warmed her mouth as his fingers slid behind her neck and into her hair as he tilted her head right where he wanted it. She wrapped her arms around him, splaying her fingers over the hot, smooth skin of his waist and stone-cut muscles of his back.

  He waited, hesitated, held her there as if she was the most precious thing he’d ever touched, and each second made her heart hammer harder in anticipation.

  She ached to kiss him, wanted to smash her mouth on his and taste his lips and suck his tongue. Craving the kiss, she tipped her head, but he still didn’t give her what she wanted. He tunneled his fingers deeper into her hair, cupping her head. She could feel him respond, growing harder against her, the sensation stealing her breath and sanity.