I pull her closer, but she pats my chest like she’s the one comforting me.
“My dad really loved her, you know,” she goes on, snuggling closer. “But he says it was easy to get over her when she left like she did. No one expected George Malone to be able to raise his daughter on his own.”
She grins like she’s fondly remembering her upbringing, and I stay quiet.
“He did, though. He raised me on his own, and he mostly raised my cousins. Even when their parents were here, they still didn’t do much parenting. My dad kept the guys active. They didn’t have his blood, but they had his heart and his love for all things Tomahawk,” she goes on.
Her head lifts so she can look at my eyes directly.
“The happiest my cousins have ever been is when they were told they had to change their last name to Malone. The pride on their faces had my dad pretending he wasn’t about to cry. Total saps underneath all that muscle. Each time a new one was inducted into the Wild Ones, there was more pride.”
I brush a wet lock of hair out of her face, and she leans into my hand, so I just keep it there.
“We fit together,” she goes on, and I study her, wondering if she’s referring to us or her cousins.
Clearing her throat, she gets up without clarifying, and snags her towel from the ground. Her body is still damp from the shower I interrupted and stole her from.
“Careful, Liam Harper. Don’t forget I’m trying daily not to go get that permanent tattoo,” she calls out as she walks into the bathroom, presumably to finish up her hair.
I say nothing as I exhale and climb out of bed. Kylie says things that makes me feel like she’s mine for good. But she also fought me hard to remind me she couldn’t risk fully being mine.
A very complex enigma, that one.
Pulling on my clothes, I head to the kitchen to drink some coffee and wait on her to finish up. I’m not in any sort of hurry to rush things, so I’m patiently waiting on her to guide this.
I had my chance. It was me who messed it up last time. This time it’s her turn to take the reins.
Three weeks is a long time.
I know this, because three weeks changed my life one time.
I stalked the girl of my dreams. I moved into a very weird town that loves pot and explosives—a combination that would terrify most. I bought two properties because the first one I bought was in the wrong corner of crazy. And I joined a challenge committee that requires the men to river dance on the weekends if they’re in town when Lindsey Stirling starts playing over the speakers.
Three weeks is what led to this life.
Somehow, I’ve miraculously avoided having to river dance, since I’ve only been to town once on a weekend, and no violin music played.
The point I’m making is that I’m not surprised that after three weeks of having Kylie to myself almost every single day, that I’m falling faster than is probably healthy. In fact, I’m positive I’m drowning.
She’s just wearing a towel when she walks out, her hair perfectly ringleted—my word—already. “Lilah is coming over to borrow a shirt that I’ll never see again,” she tells me as she leans against the counter next to me.
Most of her clothes are here now, considering we kept going and getting more and more.
I cage her in, and she grins when I kiss her. I’m still kissing her when we hear an obnoxious throat clearing.
“I knocked like five times. You two could come up for air on occasion.” Lilah Vincent.
Always a Vincent.
Soon, it’ll always be a Malone when we swap corners of the lake.
I’m not sure which is worse.
When I break the kiss, Kylie is immediately firing back, “Says the girl who just got in trouble having for sex with her husband in the back parking lot of the hardware store.”
Lilah bats a dismissive hand. “Benson’s hot when he gets jealous, and he always gets jealous in the hardware store because of all the guys who aren’t even really checking me out. All they have to do is sneeze in my direction and he’s got his hands all over me. Besides, we’re in the honeymoon phase.”
“Usually the honeymoon phase ends before the actual honeymoon,” I tell her.
Kylie is pouring some orange juice, still trapped in my cage.
“I need to finish my hair,” Kylie tells me, leaning up to kiss my cheek. “Just get whatever shirt you want, but return it,” she calls to Lilah before she heads into the bathroom.
I let her go, watching her until she’s out of sight, and I dart a look at Lilah. “I need you to do something for me.”
“Sure. What?” she asks.
I check to make sure Kylie can’t hear me, then I walk over, grab Lilah by the arm, and drag her quickly toward one of the back guest rooms.