Filed To Story: Filthy Beautiful Lies Book PDF Free by Kendall Ryan
“How does your arm feel?” Pace asks.
I hold it out and rotate it around. Other than the cast being annoying and itchy, it’s fine. “It feels alright.”
“Good,” Pace says.
Max has only glanced up at me, hardly acknowledging my presence, and is content to play independently on the floor with the kitchen implements Pace has given him.
“Morning, bubs.” I lean down and kiss his head.
He looks up and gives me a gummy grin. “Mumma…”
“I hope he hasn’t been too much trouble.” My eyes cut to Pace’s again.
He looks absolutely delectable in the morning, I decide. His short hair is messy and he’s wearing gray athletic shorts and a white-tee. His long feet are bare and every part of him is casual and sexy.
“This little guy? He’s a piece of cake,” Pace says, pulling me from the visual inspection of his body I’d been indulging in.
My skin warms. “He’s not always so easy.” I have no idea why I’m trying to warn him away. But he needs to understand what he’s stepping into.
“I don’t mind, Kylie. I will take care of both of you.” His tone is firm, and the expression in his eyes is so sincere, so intense that I know we’re no longer just talking about sleepovers, complete with breakfast. His deeper meaning about wanting to take care of us both slams into me and makes my stomach tighten. “Pancakes will be ready in a few minutes,” he adds.
“Anything I can do to help?”
“Nope. We got this.”
“Okay, I think I’ll just go change.”
After breakfast, the day went on much the same. Pace was attentive and sweet, and Max seemed content-happy with the extra attention he was receiving from not one, but two caregivers.
I knew Pace would be going back to work tomorrow, but so far, neither of us had mentioned me leaving. He even went to the grocery store and stocked up, saying he wanted to make sure we had enough food for breakfasts and lunches. I could only assume he meant during the workweek when he was gone.
Being here alone during the day would be no different than being alone at my own house, but if I stayed here, at least I’d have help in the evenings, and that was when Max was at his most difficult.
I could still work via my laptop when Max was napping-whether I was here or at home. And there was something comforting about knowing I wouldn’t be alone at night.
As a single mother, living alone, I sometimes felt vulnerable, and I knew I would even more so with my right arm in a cast.
***
By dinnertime, I’m feeling eager to earn my keep and decide to treat Pace to my homemade marinara sauce. I make awesome pasta sauce. It’s my super power. I tell myself it has nothing to do with impressing this man. It’s just a luxury to have the time to actually prepare a nice meal, something more elegant than sandwiches, so I take full advantage. And with Max playing quietly in the living room while Pace watches him, I’m able to devote the time to chopping garlic and onions and simmering tomato sauce.
I hum quietly while I work, enjoying the moment of solitude and the occasional sounds of baby giggles and masculine laughter that drift in from the living room. Doing everything one-handed takes extra time, but that’s fine with me.
When everything’s finished, I peek my head into the living room. “Pasta’s ready,” I call out to the guys.
Pace is lying on the living room floor, and Max is climbing his body like it’s his personal jungle gym. A brief flash of jealousy flares inside me. I am usually the one to fill this role. But moments later, Pace enters the kitchen with Max on his hip, my heart warms at the sight of them.
“It smells great in here.”
I get the sense his kitchen hasn’t seen this much action in a while. The only thing in his fridge when we’d arrived were bottles of imported beer and questionable takeout containers, along with a few lingering odors.
I prepare Max’s plate first, allowing it to cool while Pace and I fix bowls of pasta for ourselves. I’m pleased to see he takes a large portion.
Once we’re all seated at the table, I watch for Pace’s reaction as he takes his first bite. “Well?” I ask.
His eyes drift closed, and he groans low in his throat. “Goddamn, woman.”
My smile is wide and immediate. “You like it?”
“Very much so,” he confirms. “This is incredible.”
I try a bite, and I have to agree. Pace stocked his cabinets with authentic olive oil and imported stewed tomatoes from Italy, and you can taste the difference in the quality of the ingredients.
Even Max seems pleased, he shovels big bites of pasta into his mouth, using both fists. Without a highchair, meal times have been interesting. And messy. But Pace doesn’t seem to mind, and since it’s his home, I let it go too.
“You know that I work for your brother, but you’ve never told me what it is you do for a living,” I say to Pace. Sitting in his beautiful home, watching him enjoy a home-cooked meal, suddenly I’m curious to know more about this man.
“I’m a real estate investor. I find inexpensive or rundown properties and buy them, turning a nice profit after they’re fixed up and sold. I have plenty of money to provide for a family, and a flexible enough schedule to actually enjoy one.”
“Oh, God, that’s embarrassing. That’s not at all why I was asking.” I want to bury my face in my hands.
“I know that. Don’t be embarrassed. I told you that because it’s something I want you to know.”
“Okay.” I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about this information. With every passing glance I can feel deeper meaning and emotion seeping out of him. Everything I know about Pace warns me to stay away. He’s a young, wealthy playboy who enjoys sex and likely has several women on the side. But in every interaction with me, and with my son, and especially now being here in his home, where I feel comfortable and at ease, my mind is confused. My physical attraction to him is off the charts, but somehow, with every hour we spend together, it’s turning into something more than just physical attraction. I do not know how to handle that information. I’d sealed my heart off a long time ago, afraid I couldn’t weather another crushing blow like the one Elan delivered. Yet, there’s a tiny voice inside of me whispering that I should go for it. I’m not a big drinker, but suddenly I’m wishing for a glass of wine.
As if reading my mind, Pace rises from the table and retrieves a bottle of red wine from a rack across the kitchen. “I’ve been saving this for a special occasion, but something tells me it’d pair nicely with the pasta.”
He holds up the bottle for my inspection. “What do you think? We still have to get your mini ready for bed…”