Page 3 of Beastly Mr. Buchanan
His warm little body thaws the ice in my depths.Bittersweet emotions trickle through the gaps.The scents of baby powder and fabric softener fill my nose.With surprising strength, he wriggles on my lap, pats my breasts, and tugs at the fabric of my dress.
“Don’t get too comfortable,” Eileen says.
Too awed by the tiny life sitting so trustingly in my arms, I make a questioning sound in the back of my throat without looking up.
“My son is not the one I want you to meet,” she says.
I tear my gaze away from David’s wispy hair and meet Eileen’s playful smirk.
“What do you mean?”I ask.
“I didn’t invite you so you could meet my son.I mean, I did, but he isn’t the only one I want you to meet.”
A tiny fist thuds on my upper chest.I grimace at the sting and grab my collar before he tugs it down, but I don’t try to stop him.
“You’re not trying to steal my job, are you?”I tease.
Despite the levity in my voice, my forgotten dread tenfolds, and I dip my head to breathe in the scent of baby.
Her lighthearted chuckle broadcasts how ludicrous she finds the idea, but she stands and reaches for her baby.He refuses to let go of my dress.I pin the fabric to my breasts and hold still as she pries his fingers open.
I can’t stop my blush any more than I can erase the ache in my heart as he cries and yanks my dress harder with his other hand, revealing an obscene amount of my cleavage.If not for my hands over my chest, I’d have flashed my breasts to half of New York City’s richest citizens.
Eileen’s husband clears his throat.
“Apologies, Ms.Justice.He’s never done this before.I’ll make sure to give him a proper scolding when we get home,” he deadpans.
I hide my mortification behind a mock gasp.
“Don’t you dare!Eileen—”
Before I even finish my threat, he lifts his hands in the universal sign of surrender and shakes his head.
Eileen frees David’s grip and lifts him toward her husband.
As the tall, well-dressed man turns and strides away with his son cradled in his big arms, he murmurs teasing words of caution about vicious women and naughty boys.
With the feel of new life still lingering on my lap, I turn disappointed eyes at my friend and quirk a brow.
She gestures for me to follow her.I push myself to my feet with as much grace as possible and adjust my dress.
“Whoever you’re taking me to better be flippin’ amazing,” I grumble.
“Oh, they are,” she quips.
I stop dead in my tracks when I meet a familiar pair of grey eyes.
Standing beside an elderly woman with her elbow cupped in his hand, my first and only crush, Declan Buchanan, stares at me with such intensity my stomach bottoms out.
The last time I saw him, he was a painfully awkward, lanky twelve-year-old boy with haunted eyes.
Our classmates in middle school were heartless jerks who called him a scrawny, soulless ginger, but his eyes have always held his emotions.If our classmates saw him now, their fear would keep their mouths sealed shut.He’s like a disgruntled grizzly bear looking for his next meal.A meal he’ll take his time devouring as they slowly bleed out under his gigantic paw.Or a lumberjack in a suit, which shouldn’t work, but despite his meticulously trimmed facial hair and custom-made attire, his sleek appearance can’t hide the rough, rugged air wafting from him.
The twinkling lights glint in his deep red curls and highlight the freckles on his cheeks and nose above his beard and mustache.He commands the room with predatory ease.
Overwhelmed by my bad luck and painfully aware of my excess weight, I lock my emotions away and embody the cheerful, upbeat matchmaker who has never had a hard day in her life.
He can never know how much his betrayal wrecked me.Because of him, I’ll never know romance firsthand.
