Walk Through Fire

  She melted deeper into him and grinned.

  They heard an angry kitty mew and a soft thump but neither of them let the other go as they twisted in order to see Poem had fallen off the bed and she was kitty run-waddling out of the room.

  Their eyes went back to the bed and Millie let out a quiet gasp of alarm when Chief took a flying leap off the side. He didn’t land real good but he recovered fast and ran-waddled after his sister.

  “I think until they can get up and down themselves without breaking their necks, the bed should be off-limits,” Millie declared.

  High looked down at her. “They’re tougher than you think, beautiful.”

  “I think until they can get up and down themselves without breaking their necks, the bed should be off-limits,” she repeated. He grinned. She kept going. “Unless there’s human supervision.”

  He kept grinning as he asked, “We done with the fashion show?”

  She nodded, then started looking around. “I should pick up.”

  He started walking backward, taking her with him. “You can do that later.”

  She tipped her head back to look at him. “Low, it won’t take a minute.”

  He hit the bed, went down, she landed on top of him, and he immediately rolled so he had the advantage.

  He lifted his head to look down at her but he didn’t lift it far, just enough so her brown eyes, her beautiful face, her cute mole were all he could see.

  He focused on the mole.

  “Think I mentioned I appreciate that you give great head, baby. I also ate you hard and later we fucked fast.” He looked to her eyes. “Now we’re gonna take all that slow.”

  She dipped a hand in his shirt so he felt it against the skin of his back.

  She was in with his plan.

  “I should check the kitties,” she said.

  Maybe she wasn’t in with his plan.

  “They weigh less than two pounds each. They couldn’t hurt each other or anything else even if they put effort into that shit.”

  “But—”

  “After I eat you.”

  She melted.

  But she started, “Snooks—”

  “And you suck me.”

  She licked her lips but said nothing.

  “And we fuck. Then you can check on ’em.”

  “Okay,” she whispered.

  “Okay,” he whispered back.

  Before she could say anything else, he kissed her.

  They carried out his plans and took their time doing it.

  In the end, she was so out of it after two orgasms, lazy and half asleep, it was him who checked on the cats.

  They’d managed to get up on her couch and were asleep on opposite ends of it, one snuggled into an afghan, the other half buried under a toss pillow.

  They were good.

  So High went back to his girl in order to join her in bed, fall asleep, and dream of Millie’s blowjobs.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  No Matter How That Happens

  Millie

  I SUCKED IN a deep breath and pinned a smile on my face, moving toward the back door since I heard Logan’s truck pull into the courtyard.

  It was Friday night. He was there with his girls to pick me up for dinner.

  I was a nervous wreck.

  I just hoped I was hiding it.

  I was in a nice pair of jeans, a frilly (but not over the top) blouse, and fabulous high-heeled booties. I’d secured my hair in a ponytail at the nape of my neck, had on subtle makeup, subdued perfume, and a touch under my usual amount of jewelry.

  In other words, I felt I was ready to face my first meeting with the daughters Logan adored, representing myself as his choice in a positive light.

  Or at least I hoped that too.

  I unarmed the alarm, opened the door, and stood in it, watching them hopping down from the truck, these activities illuminated by my outside light.

  And as I watched, all thoughts of clothes, shoes, and jewelry flew from my head.

  I should have asked him to show me pictures.

  In all that was happening, I didn’t ask him to show me pictures.

  Big mistake.

  I had no idea what his ex looked like but Logan’s daughters looked exactly like him, except young and female, but just as beautiful.

  Through all that beauty, the vision of them killed. The hit of it striking so hard it was a wonder I didn’t fall to my knees.

  I’d never know, not ever, if they were what I’d have given to him. But the idea that such perfect specimens of all that was Logan in girl form might, in some alternate universe, have been what I’d help him to create, what would have been his and mine, what we’d watch grow even more beautiful with each passing day, was too much to bear.

  I couldn’t handle it.

  I was stiff as a board and deep breathing as they all moved as one to the door.

  I couldn’t tear my eyes from the girls.

  “Babe,” Logan called.

  With a great deal of effort, I forced my gaze to him.

  He took in the look on my face and I saw the pain of understanding slash through his and that hurt even more.

  I realized they’d stopped moving when I heard a relatively snotty, “Is she gonna let us in?”

  This took me out of the moment and I looked down to the girls, who were both tall, like their dad.

  In fact, taking them in up close, I saw absolutely everything was just like their dad.

  God.

  I had to get it together.

  “Hey,” I pushed out. “So sorry.” I moved aside. “Come in out of the cold.”

  The taller, likely older one, Cleo, gave me a careful smile and moved inside.

  The shorter, probably younger one, Zadie, gave me a once-over, stopping on my blouse, my boots. Something slid over her face I couldn’t read, then she marched in.

  After she did, Logan moved in, not to the house, to me.

  I felt his hand at my waist, the bristles of his whiskers brush my cheek, and heard him say at my ear, “Fucked up. This was too soon.”

  I pinned another smile on my face, this one as beaming as it was false, pulled away, and looked at him.

  “It’s all good,” I stated brightly, then moved farther into the kitchen, Logan coming with me and shutting the door, all this happening with me turning my attention back to the girls and declaring, “Welcome! I’m so glad to meet you.”

  “You too,” Cleo replied.

  Zadie didn’t say anything. She was looking around, though the good part about this was that she was looking around and doing it with her mouth open in what appeared to be wonder.

  “Babe, this is Cleo, my oldest,” Logan stated, moving in and wrapping his arm around the taller girl, tucking her into his side. “And that’s Zadie, my baby.”

  “Hi, Cleo,” I greeted.

  She waved and mumbled a shy, “Hey.”

  I turned to Zadie and opened my mouth but didn’t say anything when she looked to her father.

  “This house is like a non-fairy tale, fairy-tale castle but in house form,” she decreed.

  Oh, thank God.

  Suddenly, all the effort, expense, and hassle of renovations became more worth it than it already had been.

  Logan grinned at me. I grinned back.

  My eyes shot to Zadie again when she shrieked.

  “Look at that kitty!”

  “What kitty?” Cleo asked, a thread of excitement in her voice. She pulled from her dad and moved toward her sister.

  “He has blue eyes, he’s teeny-tiny, and he’s all fluffy,” Zadie breathed excitedly, now hunched over and walking toward Chief, who was lounged on his side on the edge of the living room rug, studying her warily.

  “Oh my gosh, they’re so cute,” Cleo whispered reverently. “They’re, like, perfect. Look, Zade, there’s another one on the couch.”

  She wasn’t wrong. Poem was sitting on the arm of the couch, also studying the girls warily.

  And suddenly p
aying through the nose for two purebred cats became more worth it than it already was.

  I followed the girls to the space between living room and kitchen and stopped. When I did, I felt Logan move in beside me and he slid his arm around my shoulders.

  I wasn’t sure about touching in front of the girls but I figured he was their dad, he’d know how to play this, so I had to follow his lead.

  Thus I slid my arm around his waist.

  Cleo turned to me and didn’t even blink when she saw me standing close, holding and being held by her dad.

  She was in kitty wonderland.

  “Can we touch them? Hold them?” she asked.

  “Of course, sweetie,” I answered.

  She grinned genuinely and it transformed her whole face, making beauty exponentially more beautiful.

  Zadie already had a hold of Chief and was cuddling him under her chin.

  “He weighs, like, nothing,” she whispered in awe.

  “You have Chief, Zadie,” I told her, then looked to Cleo, who was slowly stalking Poem down the couch. “And that’s Poem, Cleo. She’s my girl.” I looked back to Zadie. “Chief’s my boy and your dad named him.”

  This was the wrong thing to say. I knew it immediately when Zadie’s attention cut to me, then to her dad.

  She dropped Chief on the back of the couch and declared, “I’m hungry. Can we go?”

  My body got tight. I felt Logan’s body get tight. And Cleo’s eyes shot to her dad.

  I could feel he was annoyed but this was a much better beginning than I expected and I didn’t want anything, outside of things Zadie might do, to mess that up.

  So I said quickly, “Yes. Let’s get going. Can’t wait for a big plate of spaghetti!”

  I moved from Logan’s arm and toward the hooks behind the door where my jackets were so we could get on with getting to where we were having dinner. The Old Spaghetti Factory.

  I grabbed the suede jacket I’d put there earlier with my pashmina in preparation for that very moment and shrugged it on, wrapping the scarf around my neck and grabbing my bag.

  The girls had trooped out and Logan was holding the door.

  “Alarm, beautiful,” he muttered.

  I nodded, hit the digits, and armed it. We got out, Logan closing the door, me locking it.

  We moved toward the truck. Logan took my hand and I saw Cleo in the truck, Zadie standing outside of it, her eyes narrowed on our hands.

  She lifted her gaze to her father and asked, “Does Millie get to sit in front?”

  “What do you think?” Logan asked back.

  She huffed like this was an affront beyond the beyond.

  Logan stopped us close to her. “Zade, do you ever sit in the front when there’s an adult in the truck with us?”

  “Whatever,” she mumbled, and climbed into the back of the cab.

  Logan let me go to shut her door.

  I drew in a deep breath and lifted a hand to open the front door but Logan’s hand covering mine on the handle stopped further movement.

  “Warning,” he stated, his voice abrasive and I knew from it precisely how pissed he was at his girl. “She keeps up with this shit, we’re outta there. I’ll drop you back here and the girls get beans and hot dogs in the RV.”

  I looked to him. “Don’t do that, Low.”

  “Don’t think I won’t, Millie,” he returned. “That shit is not okay and she can’t think it is.”

  Damn it!

  If he did that, she’d dislike me more and maybe Cleo wouldn’t like me much either.

  Before I could argue (not that I could with the girls in the truck), he pushed my hand aside and opened the door for me.

  I climbed in. He slammed the door and moved around the hood. I put my seat belt on as Logan angled in the other side.

  He had the truck started and was negotiating a tedious six-point turn to get his big truck around in my courtyard when I asked the girls in the backseat, “Have you guys been to the Old Spaghetti Factory before?”

  “Yeah, lots,” Cleo answered. “We love it.”

  “We loved it when Daddy took us when Mom was with us,” Zadie mumbled, not quite under her breath.

  “Zadie, strike one,” Logan growled.

  The air in the cab, not exactly free flowing, clogged even further and I knew strike one meant to the girls what I suspected it did.

  I just wondered how many strikes they got.

  I gave it a moment for their father’s message to sink in before I instigated conversation, asking about school, friends, favorite subjects, teachers, movies, if they read. Then, finding Cleo liked to read, I asked what her favorite books were.

  This lasted us from Cheesman Park where my house was to downtown where the Spaghetti Factory was.

  Only Cleo replied. She didn’t do it by rote. She was relatively chatty and asked questions back, like what my favorite movies and books were.

  Zadie didn’t say a word and I didn’t have to be a mother or know these girls since birth to feel her pouting.

  Halfway through our journey, Logan took my hand and held it. Again, I worried about this display and I worried more when I felt Zadie-induced laser beams burning into our hands from the backseat.

  However, I didn’t pull away.

  We got in the restaurant. We got seated. We took off our jackets and put in our drink orders.

  It was there that I noticed that Cleo often looked to her father even when she was speaking to me. And it was then that I realized that she was making an effort for her dad because it meant something to him, he meant something to her, and it wasn’t about me.

  I’d take that. I could work with that. She’d soon see I loved her dad and that might free her to be open to building a relationship with me.

  Regardless, I’d take it simply because it was a good deal better than the petulant silence coming from Zadie.

  Logan ignored Zadie’s behavior and joined Cleo’s and my conversation. He also sat us at our table so he and I were side by side and the girls were across from us. I didn’t know if he was making a statement, if he wanted to keep an eye on them, or this was their usual arrangement.

  But I was glad he was at my side.

  It happened when we fell into a natural silence after we had to send the waitress away because we weren’t ready to order; therefore, everyone focused on their menus.

  It happened when some sixth sense I had made me look beyond my menu toward Zadie, who was across from me.

  Therefore, I saw her overturn her large glass of Sprite, doing it with intent and a little girl evil look on her face. And she did it spilling the drink in my direction.

  There was a lot of beverage in that glass and liquid moves fast, so even though I saw her, it saturated the table between us, dripping over my side onto my jeans before I could push back my chair to avoid it.

  I threw my napkin down on the spill. Cleo did the same with hers as did Logan. Zadie, moving slowly, did the same with hers. And at the hurried activity and the noise of my chair scraping, patrons around us turned our way.

  “Need a towel,” Logan growled as I mopped Sprite up with napkins and I saw a busboy rush away. “Jeans are soaked,” he went on, this time talking to me.

  I looked to my jeans. They were wet. They weren’t soaked.

  “It’s not that bad,” I murmured, shoving all the napkins to my place setting.

  “Oh no, did we have an accident here?” our waitress asked, moving in with a towel to sweep away the napkins and soak up the spill.

  “No, we didn’t,” Logan answered, and my gaze skittered to him just as he announced, “We need our bill.”

  Oh no!

  “You’re leaving?” the waitress asked.

  “We’re leaving?” Zadie asked.

  “Zadie,” Cleo snapped in irritation.

  No again!

  “We’re leaving,” Logan stated inflexibly, his angry eyes aimed at his daughter, and I felt my heart start to race. “You hear me say strike one?” he asked Zadie. br />
  Apparently, they only got one strike.

  “But I just spilled my Sprite,” Zadie returned. “It was an accident and it’s all cleaned up now, so it isn’t that big of a deal.”

  She did not just spill her Sprite. That was a bald-faced lie. She didn’t see me catch her doing it but she did it.

  I kept that to myself and opened my mouth to get a word in but Logan was pissed and he got there before me.

  “Jackets on,” Logan ordered in a tone not to be denied, then looked to the waitress. “Bill.”

  I looked to our waitress too.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said softly.

  She nodded, not looking happy, and took off and we put on our jackets.

  “I’ll deal with the bill. Zadie stays with me,” Logan stated. “Babe, you take Cleo to the truck.”

  I wanted to question this too. I didn’t want him to make a big thing out of what Zadie did mostly because I didn’t want to be the reason she got into trouble.

  But she’d essentially poured Sprite on me. Not liking me or not liking me with her dad or not liking the fact that her family had fallen apart or all of the above was no reason to do something that naughty. Dot and Alan would lose their minds if Katy or Freddie did anything like that at their ages, at Zadie’s age, or when they were fifty.

  It appeared Logan’s daughter wasn’t only a dreamer.

  It appeared she could be a brat.

  So I looked to Cleo and said quietly, “Let’s go, sweetie.”

  She looked to me, her dad, and her sister. She kept her eyes on her sister and I was surprised to see rebuke in them and not just a little of it.

  Then she turned back to me and came my way.

  We walked through the restaurant but I held her up at the front door so we didn’t have to stand outside in the cold for too long.

  “Let’s stay here where it’s warm for a minute while your dad deals with the check,” I said.

  “He’s not dealing with the check; he’s dealing with Zadie,” she replied, not looking at me, her head turned to look back from where we came.

  I decided not to say anything.

  Cleo kept her gaze aimed toward the restaurant when she continued, “She’s havin’ trouble with Mom and Daddy splitting.”

  “Your father mentioned something about that,” I told her cautiously.