When They Weren't Looking: Wardham Book #3 by Zoe York Read Free Book Online Page B

gone with a twist of her slight body, bounding ahead of him like a gazelle. Shouldn’t she be full of fatigue right now? The books had promised fatigue. That would be something he could work with. She’d say yes because of a weakened state and a fear of being alone. But the gazelle didn’t look weak, or afraid. She was fearless and swift, and far too proud to accept a proposal sprung from a thoroughly unromantic sense of responsibility.
    This was a terrible idea, and he was doing it anyway. Because he’d hate himself if he didn’t.
    Inside, the small living room was empty. A collection of running shoes and flip flops overflowed a black rubber mat next to the entrance. They were all much smaller than his size twelves, and he was reminded again of the different worlds from which he and Evie were coming at this situation.
    Her kids were all over the comfortable space—an Xbox sat next to the TV, games piled next to it. A sports bag lay open beside the couch, baseball bats and a glove sticking out. A black hoodie was tossed over the arm of the oversized armchair in the corner.
    Liam took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. For all that his life was going to change, he was ready for it. This wasn’t the ideal circumstance, maybe, but building a family was the next step for a lot of his friends and colleagues, so why not him? But Evie and the boys…this wasn’t their next step. Their lives in this warm little cottage were about to be tossed upside down. He squared his shoulders and followed the sound of clinking dishes and splashing water to the kitchen.
    “Evie.” She was doing the dishes in a way he’d always imagined mothers would when they were pissed off. He’d never seen his own mother do any dishes, not even at the cottage; that’s what housekeeping staff and, if necessary, dishwashers were for. “Hey. Are you mad at me?”
    She paused, then finished rinsing the plate in her hand before turning to face him. Her hands were dripping wet, and he looked around for a tea towel. One was draped over the handle on the oven, so he snagged it and stepped close enough to take her wet hands in his, patting them dry with the towel.
    Her hands, like the rest of her, were small, but stayed just shy of being delicate. Long, tapered fingers with blunt fingernails, free from polish. Soft, translucent skin, firm and tight. Strong, capable hands.
    “I can do it myself,” she whispered, pulling away. The loss of her touch was a cold whisper of sadness, and he almost reached for her again.
    “Maybe I wanted to do it for you.” His voice caught on a gruff note mid-sentence, and he cleared his throat before continuing. It wasn’t just his sense of responsibility speaking. “I’m going to want to do a lot for you, Evie. It’s just who I am.”
    She laughed, and again he noticed that she used false humour to hide. “We’ll see how that goes.”
    There was a lot of history weighing down her doubtful words. They needed to back up, get to know each other. But there wasn’t really time for that.
    “Can we sit down?” She nodded and brushed past him, her hip glancing against his thigh. Goddamn, he wanted her to stop running away from him. Frustration stirred in his gut. He followed her to the couch, where she was sitting stiffly, knees front. He opted for a more inviting pose, casually canting his upper body sidewise against the couch cushions as he folded one leg up onto the couch seat between them. “Let’s start at the beginning.”
    She took a deep breath. “This is going to come out the wrong way, I’m sure, but…how old are you?”
    He grinned. “How old you think I am?”
    “Liam—” Her brows knitted together, her voice plaintive. It was hard to leave her on the hook, waiting for an answer. Hard, but not impossible.
    “Are you worried that you’ve robbed the cradle in a big way? Made me into a man before my time?”
    “Something like that? Jeez, you just graduated.” She pressed her lips together. “You’re