Filthy Beautiful Lust (Filthy Beautiful Lies, #3)

“A man who is kind to my child.”

Her answer is so poised, so simple; I can tell she means it entirely.

I wonder if that’s how she views me. I hope so. I genuinely enjoyed playing with Max today and I hope she doesn’t think I did it just to try and get into her panties. Which is what she probably expects, based on the stories she’s heard from Colt. That shithead. My resolve to kick his ass is back again, full force.

“At the point I’m at, actions speak louder than words,” she says. “I should probably go, I’ve said too much, I’m sure.”

“Don’t go. Not yet.” I’m laying myself bare, so much more so than I ever do. My game is completely fucking shot, and I don’t care.

“This isn’t what my life is like, Pace. It’s not all backyard barbecues where there are lots of helping hands, or fancy galas downtown.”

“I get that, Kylie. You have responsibilities. I see that.”

“It’s hard work, Pace, and it’s a twenty-four seven job. No sick days. No time off. And I know you’ll say it doesn’t matter – but it does. You’re a Drake. I’ve seen the lives you guys lead. It’s champagne and caviar and designer everything.”

She has no way of knowing, but I’m not really like my brothers in that regard. I live in a simple two-bedroom condo, not a mansion on the beach like Colton and Collins each do. “A man gets tired of champagne and caviar after a while,” I say, trying to make light of her jab.

“So you want to slum it for a while?”

“You are not slumming it. Max is not slumming it.”

Her eyes flash on mine and I can tell that my words have touched something inside of her. “No, but we’re not what you’re used to.”

“Maybe I’m tired of the same old–same old.” I look her straight in the eyes as I say this, letting my meaning sink in.

She matches my serious gaze with one of her own. “And what about when you get tired of us? I can’t have my son getting attached, only to have you disappear one day when you decide you’re done playing house.”

Damn. She’s better at this verbal sparring than me, and I fucking hate it.

“I still want to take you to dinner,” I say.

“I appreciate it, but I’m just not ready for anything like that.” Kylie rises to her feet, and heads for the house. “Goodnight Pace.”

Fuck.

We’d had a great night and just when we’d finally started to make some progress, she completely shot me down. I was tired of being told that I wasn’t mature enough to handle the responsibility of dating a woman with a child. I wanted a fair chance. But as I watched her walk away, the defeated set to her shoulders, I realized she didn’t want to be right about me. She just expected me to let her down.

“Kylie, wait up,” I call, hopping to my feet and sprinting after her. I catch her on the patio where she’s stuffing their things into a bag. Stray toys, a sippy cup and a baggie of cereal are all scattered at her feet. She lifts her chin and her eyes find mine. Confusion washes over her features. “Let me help you get Max to the car,” I explain.

She doesn’t respond. She just gazes up at me. But since she didn’t refuse, I reach down and take the bag from her, adding the stray items and zipping it up. “I got this.”

She watches me with mild curiosity, her pretty green eyes wide, like she’s taking it all in, trying to dissect what I’m doing when she just shot me down a mere thirty seconds ago. Hell, I don’t even know. I’m just following my instincts. I’m not trying to impress her or play some game, and it’s incredibly refreshing.

Kylie’s quiet as we head into the house. I’m not sure where Max is sleeping, but she leads me into the den. It’s dark and silent, except for the little breathy sounds coming from the sleeping infant. He’s on the floor on some type of sleeping mat. We stand over him for just a second, watching him. His mouth lifts in his sleep, and I suddenly find myself wondering what he could be dreaming about. Probably his pretty momma. A thought that warms me.

“May I?” I whisper.© 2024 Nôv/el/Dram/a.Org.

She nods and takes the bag from me. I bend down and ever so gently lift the little guy from the floor. I bring him up to my chest, holding him close. He opens one eye, checking to see who’s got him, and then drops his head to my shoulder, where it rests all the way to the car. His limp little body molds to mine, and I can feel his hot breath against my neck. Smiling, I give his back a gentle pat, careful not to wake him.

Kylie watches everything, then opens the door to the backseat and I place him in his car-seat while she leans over me and buckles him in. The scent of vanilla and delicate feminine skin wafts up to greet me. The scent awakens something in me. Perhaps it was watching her with her baby all afternoon, seeing her as a mother, and now experiencing the softness of her as a woman that stirs something in me. Compared to the one-dimensional women I usually date, it’s a welcome reprieve.

Standing in the driveway with the moonlight pouring down on us, neither of us says a word. Kylie closes the car door and we both check through the window to see if the sound woke Max. It didn’t.

“I could have gotten him,” she says, turning to me.

“I know.”

She watches me intently, as if trying to figure out my angle. It’s the same look she gave me when I took Max from her earlier to show him the frog I had found in the garden.

“Drive safe,” I tell her.

“I will.” Without another word, she slips into the driver’s seat.