RICHARD HAD NEVER SEEN SO many conflicting emotions on one person’s face. It scared the crap out of him. What was she thinking? What could be making Molly look so heartbroken?
A feeling of desperation drove him to step forward and pull her into his arms. Before she could object, he kissed her, and not gently. It was a full-out, open mouth assault on her senses. Triumph filled him when, after a stunned moment, she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him back. Her breasts felt so damn good against his chest, her thighs against his. Her height coupled with her heels meant he didn’t have to bend far to devour her mouth. His erection pressed against her where it felt the best. Groaning, he grabbed her hips to move her against him. The vibration in her throat sounded like a purr. She was doing some rubbing of her own. In another second, he was going to lift her onto the counter and pull that sweater up. He wanted to see her breasts more than he wanted the sun to rise tomorrow. To bury his face between them, to lick, taste, suckle....
“No.” She went utterly still in his arms. “This is crazy.”
His body throbbed painfully. His hands squeezed her hips. He didn’t know if he could stop. Knew he didn’t want to, even as he also knew she was right.
“The kids could come downstairs anytime,” he remembered. He was hoarse with regret.
“That’s not what I mean, but it’s true. They could. Richard.” She swallowed. “This is too complicated. We need to think.”
Think? His brain cells had melted down a good long time ago. Restoring function didn’t happen that fast.
“Please. Let’s…let’s clean the kitchen and not give them any reason to be suspicious.”
That was too much. “Why should we be ashamed of having a relationship?”
“I’m not ashamed. But I know where my focus needs to be.”
He’d never expected to be jealous of how much a woman loved her child. For a minute he thought, And the kid’s a spoiled brat besides, then was ashamed of himself. It wasn’t even true. Caitlyn was confused, scared, in turmoil. Spoiled? This was a girl whose own father couldn’t be bothered to give her even an occasional day of his time, who apparently didn’t believe she counted because she wasn’t male and therefore worthy of being a Callahan the Fourth. Trevor and Bree at least knew both their parents loved them, even if they’d had to live with the consequences of their family splitting.
Yeah, so what was Trevor’s excuse?
Richard nodded to Molly and turned to go back to the dining room. They worked after that in near total silence, some of the ease between them gone. His body still ached, and he realized he felt a whole lot of other things, too. He was hurt, because she had a cooler head than he did and, apparently, more reservations. Or was less powerfully drawn to him. And yes, jealousy lingered and he was uncomfortable with that. There was resentment because these two kids had turned all of their lives into high drama and were determined to stay in the spotlight. And he was still scared by that expression he’d caught on Molly’s face.
They all got through pie, which Cait had again baked, and he and Trevor made their excuses shortly thereafter. Richard couldn’t tell what had happened between Trev and Cait upstairs. They weren’t yelling at each other when they came down, but they weren’t talking easily, either, and they sure weren’t holding hands or giving each other lovelorn looks.
No, the only lovelorn looks would have been from him, if he hadn’t had to stifle them.
“Good dinner,” he said, once he’d pulled away from the curb.
“Yeah.” Trev sounded preoccupied.
“Trevor.” Richard waited until he was sure he had his son’s attention. “Don’t you think it’s time you told me what happened with your mom?”
“No!” Trevor jerked back, coming up against the passenger door. “Why would I?”
“A better question is why won’t you?”
“Oh, come on.” His lip curled. “You know what Mom’s like.”
“I’m not so sure I do.” Richard accelerated slightly to make a green light.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Do you realize how long it’s been since I’ve actually seen your mother face-to-face?” Silence. “I was thinking about it the other day. Six or seven years, give or take a few months. And before that all we had were brief meetings in the airport when we handed you off.” He’d hated those flights made to pick up or return his children. “It’s been a lot longer than that since we had a meaningful conversation. Ten, eleven years, at least. I don’t know your mother anymore.”