Yet somehow, Chrissie’s kids have roped me in since the day of their birth. I’ve always loved them. The love I feel for her children runs deeply through me in a way that has always left me sharply surprised. Probably just an extension of loving her. No, they’re wonderful children. I like them.
But to live with them fulltime.
To be here.
Is that even something possible for me?
I have always enjoyed my visits surrounded by Chrissie’s family. I spent a lot of nights during her marriage in her backyard overlooking the Pacific, talking late into the night with Jesse, envious and admiring them both, and relieved of that tedious sedative boredom that claims me too often by doing nothing but watching her for hours with her kids.
The way she smiles at them, touches them, made me ache. I’d wonder if that was the way she was with Jesse in their private moments, what it would feel like if I’d known her this way when we’d been together before.
It was like visiting a spa when you can’t afford it. I’d leave rejuvenated and pinched. The experience recharging me; the cost hurting me. The cost was always leaving, sharply aware that Chrissie was happy and married to Jesse.
I’m not the man Jesse Harris had been.
I don’t have a clue what they need from me.
How am I supposed to make this work?
I finish my wine, lie back in my chair, and run my hands through my hair. Whatever I hoped would happen tonight—my cock pulses. Fuck, I’d hoped a lot of things. Wanting her is becoming a painful ache—but it is not going to happen.
She won’t let it.
We’re not there yet.
Not in her mind.
Fuck, I just hope we get there soon.
I climb from the chair. I’ll go in, say hello to Chrissie, then cut out. It’s the right thing to do. For both of us.
I step into the kitchen and Lourdes whirls to face me.
“Señor Alan. You are back.”
I set my glass on the counter and smile at her. She’s always liked me, though I’m not exactly sure why. Her arms open. She wants a hug.
I let her take me into her embrace. She squeezes me tightly and gives me a little shake, in an exuberant, motherly sort of way. Christ, she must be near seventy. She’s worked for Chrissie forever. Like hell she can’t take care of all these kids by herself. She’s got quite a grip on her.
She steps back. “It is good that you are here.”
She says that in a heavy, worried sort of way. She’s part of Chrissie’s family. She knows everything and what she thinks matters here.
“Everything has been all right, hasn’t it?”
She nods. “The kids, they are mostly good. They miss Señor Jesse. Kaley the most. That girl—” She crosses herself quickly. “—she needs a firm hand. I do not know what’s happened to mi niña. The changes, it has been hardest on her. It breaks my heart to see her so angry and in pain.”
She brushes at her cheeks, removing tears that broke through her iron control.
I nod, and though it’s petty, I feel a slight relief knowing that it’s not just me Kaley is hostile with. Lourdes is definitely concerned about the girl.
“It will be all right, Lourdes. These things take time to mend. Kaley is a good girl. She’ll work through this soon.”
Her brows lift. “How long are you here for?”
I shrug. “Three months. I go out on the road in April again. Last four months of the tour. After that, I don’t know. I’m thinking of moving back to Malibu permanently.”
Her face brightens.
Fuck, where did that come from?
I haven’t thought about that even once.
“You are a good man. You will be a good father, too. La niña needs a father. Don’t disappoint me. I will not like you if you do.”
Her finger pokes into my chest with each word. My reaction to that is an odd mix. I bite back a smile, but inside every part of me is roiling. Lourdes knows I’m Khloe’s father and I’m surprised how much it matters to me to know she approves. And I’ve just been told by the housekeeper not to be a fuckup.
“I’ll do my best, Lourdes. I’d hate to disappoint you.”
She nods again approvingly.
“You won’t disappoint me, Señor Alan. I am certain of this. Are you staying for dinner? Mrs. Harris, she has not eaten today. I was about to make her dinner.”
I have a sudden impulse to kiss her. I drop a peck on her forehead. “Set a plate, but I’m not sure if I’m staying.”
She smiles and nods.
I go to the studio and enter quietly. I stare through the glass and smile. Chrissie is hunched over the piano, focusing on the sheets she has spread across the top, chewing a pencil.
A brilliant songwriter, but methodical. I can tell by her posture that she’s nearly finished with something and she’s pleased with it.
Not a good time to interrupt her.
She probably hasn’t had two minutes to focus on anything except the kids since Jesse—
I cut off my thoughts.
I’m not ready to think about him.
I settle on the chair in front of soundboard and prop up my feet, content to just watch her. Wispy images of the night we first met float through my head. How stunning she was, even at eighteen, in a denim skirt, UGG boots, and playing the cello in Jack’s studio.
What was it I said to her through the intercom when she realized someone was watching her beyond the glass? It was probably inane. Something to keep her there. Ah. Yes. Theatrical, but it suited her.
“Don’t open your eyes. I’m not going to hurt you and if you open your eyes this will do you no good.”
Then I kissed her forehead and those gorgeous eyes flew wide. I was only messing with her, trying to figure out if I was interested enough in her to fuck her, but how it ended up was poetic justice. She looked at me. That was it. Took me for a walk on the beach. Chattered away in nonsensical drivel. Let me kiss her once. That was all. And she had me. I left her house without even trying to fuck her.
Remorse moves in my veins. I was such an arrogant bastard back then and it did turn out to be a lie, the part about me not hurting her, because I did hurt her. A lot. I didn’t intend to. I never wanted to do anything but love her.
Music floats through the intercom, filling the room with piano and her. I lean my head back, closing my eyes, savoring the sound. The sexy huskiness of her voice when she sings. It’s like the feel of her touching my body. I get a hard-on just listening to her.
Fuck, she’s amazing.
She could have been the biggest female vocalist in the industry. Ever. But she didn’t want it. Most artists spend their entire careers scrambling. Fighting to stay on top of the charts. They compete with themselves every minute, afraid to become irrelevant. But oh no, not Chrissie. She never does anything she doesn’t want to do. She quietly stepped back when she married Jesse. And she became anything but irrelevant. Artists beg to record her music.
She’s has it all, her way, always.
“How long have you been here?” Chrissie’s voice, rich with amusement, penetrates my thoughts.
I open my eyes to find her leaning against the board, close to me, smiling.
“About two hours.”
Her eyes sparkle and she laughs. “Really? Two hours. You’ve survived alone, two hours, here.”
Her manner is light, silly, to hide what she’s thinking. She is still cautious. Not sure about what direction to go with us. Not sure about me.
I shrug. “It wasn’t so bad. It’s nearly an empty house in there.”
She laughs again and eases into me, finally breaking the awkward and agonizing separateness between us we both seem strangely committed to keep. Her hand on my chest shoots sensation through my body. Her lips touch mine, a fast greeting kiss, nothing more. I fight not to pull her against me and turn this into what it should be.