Chapter 682 Maggie, This is Your Daddy 2
Isadora had no idea.
Avery's gaze was dark and unyielding. After a moment, he looked down at the sleeping child in his arms.
Maggie was out cold, her breathing slow and even. The tenderness in his eyes was almost jarring, but when he looked up again, the warmth was gone, replaced by the cool, controlled composure he wore like armor.
Isadora remembered the first time she had felt something for him. It had been that same air of untouchable self-possession.
Avery Montague — wealthy, devastatingly handsome, a man who had never lacked for women.
He tucked the blanket around Maggie, then stepped away from the bed.
"Let's talk in your room," he said quietly.
Without waiting for her, he brushed past and opened the door.
The soft click of it closing behind him left her momentarily adrift. She lingered by the bed, watching Maggie for a long moment before she finally followed him.
Her bedroom was dim, lit only by the warm glow of a reading lamp.
Avery stood at the window, his back to her.
When he spoke, his voice was calm, almost detached, "I can understand why you didn't tell me that night. It was just a one-night stand. Neither of us was ready for anything more. But later... later we were together. For a while, we shared a bed almost every night."
He turned his head slightly. "When we were making love, what were you thinking? Counting the days until you could walk away? Until I would never know Maggie existed? Isadora, she's a person. Not something you get to hide away."
Avery never smoked indoors. Now, he looked like he wanted to, but he restrained himself. He turned fully toward her. "I want Maggie. She will come home with me, take my name. Maggie Montague."
The color drained from her face. "You can't do that."
"You know I can," he replied, flat and certain. "You know I have a hundred ways to make you hand her over willingly."
Her eyes burned. "She's my daughter."
"Is she?" He crossed the room.
His hand reached past her to close the door. She sensed the shift in the air, tried to step back, but his fingers caught her wrist, pinning her easily against the wood.
His face was inches from hers, their breath mingling in the charged space between them. They had been here before, too many times. The heat in the air was as familiar as it was dangerous.
His voice was low, almost a whisper against her skin. "Without me, you couldn't have had her."
The words weren't the only thing that landed. His body closed in, his presence filling every inch of space. She pressed her hands to his shoulders, trying to push him away.
It was useless. He pulled her into him, their bodies locking together.
His face brushed the curve of her neck, his voice dropping lower, "Mad? Because I said I want Maggie, not you as Mrs. Montague?"
She thought he was unbearable. She shoved at him again.
And then his mouth was on hers.
She froze, then struggled, but he was relentless. Her back hit the door, his heat pressing into her from the front. His eyes burned into hers, shadowed with something darker than desire.
It wasn't a confession. It was a punishment — forcing her to feel the weight of what lay between them. His mouth claimed hers, stripping away thought until there was only the raw, physical pull that had always been there.
When it was over, the bed was a mess.
Isadora curled under the thin sheet, her bare shoulder exposed to the cool air. She didn't want to think about what had just happened, but her mind wouldn't stop replaying it.
He had taken her like a man starved.
The sound of running water stopped. Avery emerged from the bathroom, droplets still clinging to his skin, his hair damp and darker. He dressed without a word, buttoning his shirt, buckling his belt.
When he was done, he looked at her. "I'll sleep in the guest room. In the morning, I'm taking Maggie home."
Her head snapped up. "You can't take her!"
"You know I can." His tone was almost casual. "You didn't think sleeping with me would change that, did you?"
Her temper flared. She didn't know he had already cut ties with Autumn. All she saw was a man who had used her, then threatened her. The betrayal burned hot.
She grabbed a pillow and hurled it at him. He caught it easily, set it back on the bed, and headed for the door.
"Avery, you bastard!" she spat.
His hand rested on the doorknob. "You weren't calling me that a few minutes ago."
Her vision went red. He opened the door and left without looking back.
When the room was empty except for her and the wreckage they'd left behind, the heat in her body drained away, replaced by a cold that seeped into her bones. She wrapped her arms around herself.
She felt guilty. And lost. What were they now? He was on the verge of an engagement. Knowing about Maggie, he could have chosen to leave her here — Autumn would never accept the child.
The house was silent. One roof, three people breathing the same air.
Avery didn't sleep in the guest room. He went to Maggie's bedroom, climbed onto the bed, and pulled her into his arms.
He stayed there all night, watching her, holding her.
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