He's captured Nolan's attention, but our son is still sulky. "No."
"Well, I give underdogs, overdogs. High-flyers, low-flyers. Side-flyers. You probably don't even know what all those are, do you?"
Nolan shakes his head, but he stands up from where he was dragging his knees around in the sand.
"Want to try?"
Nolan shrugs.
"How about this-you give it a try and tell me how you like it, and if it's not fun, you can get off. Okay?"
Nolan reaches for the chains and Nash lifts him up to sit on the plastic seat. "Now, tell me-do you like to go high?"
"Yes."
Nash is careful, pulling back the swing without dumping Nolan out the front of it. "Hang on tight."
I start to move toward them, to stop Nash from sending him too high, but Nash tosses a wink over his shoulder and lets Nolan go gently.
Oh lordy. The male is pure sex when the charm is turned on.
"Higher!" Nolan shouts.
Nash catches him around the waist, keeping him steady on the swing and pushes again. Nolan sails higher, kicking his little feet with glee.
I smile, my shoulders relaxing. This is just exactly how I always imagined Nash as a father-capable, protective, sweet.
Not as the broken male sitting on the park bench when I arrived. Nolan brings out the best in him. Well, I understand that. He's brought out the best in me, too. He's taught me love, trust, joy. Vulnerability.
I'd be a bitch to keep that from Nash. To keep him from Nash.
But he's also my baby. It's my job to protect him. I need to proceed with extreme caution.
Nash keeps pushing Nolan, so much longer than I ever have patience for. Nolan shrieks, "higher!" and each time Nash takes him a little higher, all the while showing the care for safety that keeps me from interfering.
Finally, in the interest of rescuing Nash, who's done more than any normal parent would ever do, I intercede. "Okay, baby, let's give Nash a rest."
"No!" Nolan cries, kicking his legs. "Higher!"
Nash catches Nolan around the waist and jogs forward with the swing to bring him to a stop. "You heard your momma." His voice is more cajoling than scolding and something catches in my chest. It's that longing again.
A mate who backs me up as a parent.
Nash shoves his hands in his pockets, stealing a glance at me.
He wants more. Of course he does.
Can I? Should I?
"I'm hungry," Nolan announces.
I pull some goldfish crackers out of my purse, and Nolan takes them.
"Well... thanks for inviting me," Nash says. "I should get going."
I'm surprised he's making this easy for me. He's leaving it open to end the playdate with our son and walk away.
But it feels wrong. Every cell in my body wants to be closer to Nash right now. To get up and personal with him. Invite him home. Take his clothes off. Blow his mind with my mouth on his cock, just to thank him for being so cool with Nolan.
But I know one thing. A dominant lion like Nash doesn't back down easily. So if he's giving me this window of opportunity, I need to take it.
"Yeah, it was nice," I manage to say as I scoop Nolan up to carry on my hip.
Something akin to pain ripples over Nash's face, but then it's gone again, before I can guess what it's about.
"Um, will I see you-"
"You will." The utter assurance in his voice sends a shiver up my spine. I sense a promise or a vow under his words, but I can't decipher it. He's planning something.
Which should cause me worry, but that's not the emotion skittering through my body.
No. It's excitement.
Nash hasn't stopped coming for me.
And he probably won't.
Ever.
And my lioness is purring over it.
Nash
SUNRISE OVER TEMECULA IS BEAUTIFUL. So different than San Diego, where the fog tucks in around the coast. I watch it light up the golden hill where I slept behind Denali's place, casting pink rays against her little cottage and the vineyards below.
Her older neighbor comes out on her porch with her coffee and I go still, so I won't attract any attention.
My body aches from spending the night on the hard ground without any blankets, but the satisfaction of having watched over my mate and cub trumps all else. I don't care if I have to spend the rest of my life sleeping on rocks, if it keeps them safe, I'll do it.
I look back down the hill. Denali's neighbor has moved inside. I stand up and stretch, then creep a little closer to the cottage. I have to admit, I'm hoping for a glimpse of Denali or Nolan. I may be keeping a respectful distance, but that doesn't mean I'm not still drawn like a magnet to them. I want to know everything about them-their daily routines, what they eat for breakfast, what television shows they watch.
Movement catches my eye and I see the neighbor's back on the porch, holding a shotgun. She fires before I can even think.
It's a warning shot. At least I hope it is. It ricochets off a rock nearby and sends me charging down the hill. "Hey!" I shout at the same time she yells, "Hold it right there."
I force myself to slow my pace from a run to a brisk stride as I continue to advance. No one shoots a gun off near my family. Not even sixty-year-old ladies wearing flower print gardening smocks.
Denali flies out of her cottage and I snarl at seeing her out, unprotected. My mate requires no protection, though. She takes in her neighbor, then whips around to see me.