Page 69 of Tristan’s Temptation

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he said, disentangling himself and settling her back down on the lounge chair. “I’ll get her.”

He covered Shannon with the blanket and she nuzzled deeper. “Mmm. Thanks, hon.”

He padded through the sliding-glass door and into the house, past Bosco snoring on the couch and down the hall to the room that had once been his den. It was painted pink and yellow now and had Pooh Bears and butterflies gamboling on the walls. And there. There in the crib, standing up and clutching the rails with tiny fists, was Emma. His Emma. Her pudgy cheeks streaked with tears.

“Oh sweetheart,” he murmured, scooping her into his arms. “Don’t cry. Daddy’s here.”

She smelled like talcum powder and sweetness. He cuddled her closer and she cooed and patted his cheek. He gobbled at her fingers until she laughed.

“Did you wake up? Did you? Are you going to be a night owl forever?” He grabbed a blankey and headed to the kitchen to make her a bottle.

God, how he loved the feel of her in his arms.

If someone had told him a year ago he would love another female with the depth he felt for Shannon, he’d have called them crazy. But now here she was, his baby girl. His Emma, with her corkscrew curls, fawn-like eyes and adorable bow-shaped lips. He loved her more than he ever thought a man could love. And he loved Shannon even more, as astounding as that was.

Emma murmured and burbled and spit at him as he waited for the bottle to warm and he talked right back at her. All nonsense but the most important words he ever said. He tested the milk on his inner wrist and then sat in the big rocker they’d installed in the living room. He held his baby girl and stared out at his wife sleeping in the shadows on the patio on a balmy night.

At some point, she stirred. She always did. A mother’s instincts defied comprehension. Shannon somehow knew her baby was eating. Her body wanted to be there. To provide.

Tristan sat in the rocking chair, holding his daughter. Out in the shadows, his wife stood and stretched. The moonlight captured her silhouette even through her fuzzy robe and the breath snagged in his throat. God. She was lovely.

She put her hand on her belly and lumbered toward the house, yawning all the while. “Oh,” she whispered. “You’re feeding her.”

“You were sleeping.”

She yawned. “I was tired. Sorry.”

Tristan chuckled. “No worries. I love doing this.”

“You do, don’t you?” Her eyes glowed in the moonlight. “You’re such a good father.”

Emma lost the nipple and grunted. Tristan rushed to reposition it in her mouth.

“Sweet darling.” Moving slowly, Shannon leaned down to kiss Emma’s forehead. The baby, cheeks working, merely grunted.

Tristan put out a lip. “What about me?”

Shannon smiled and bent to kiss his forehead as well. “You are my darling too.” She sat on the arm of the sofa and watched. Just watched as Tristan tipped up the bottle and continued feeding their ravenous child. When the bottle was empty, when Emma was sucking on air, he tossed the blanket over his shoulder and gently lifted her up, rocking and patting her back.

Shannon stood, her features luminous, warm and filled with love. “How’s our girl doing?” she cooed, rubbing a tuft of rampant curls.

Emma belched and they shared a smile. “Our girl is doing fine,” he said. He put his hand on Shannon’s big belly. “And how’s our boy doing?”

Her hand joined his and they shared a long, lingering moment. And then they felt it. A tiny kick. Her eyes widened and she laughed. “Oh, he’s doing fine,” she said. “I think your mum was right.”

“She was?”

“I think he’s going to be a handful. Just like his father.”

She kissed him and it rushed through him, just as it always did, like a wildfire.

Love.

Complete, absolute and all-consuming.