Before Linc could say anything, Wyatt sat up before losing his balance and almost toppling backward off the balcony. “Oopsie daisy. Nope,” he said, glancing out toward the ocean. “That was close.”
Blood pounded in Linc’s ears. Monty Edgeworth was right; his kid was reckless. Linc took the long way around the pool to avoid the glass, and when he was close enough to rest a hand on Wyatt’s knee, the boy glanced over and smiled at him. “Oh, hi, Joe,” he said as if they hadn’t just had a conversation sixty seconds ago.
“I’m going to guess my rule about no drinking and no drugs didn’t penetrate,” he grunted as he glanced over the edge of the railing to another pool eighteen stories below.
Wyatt snorted. “You said penetrate.”
Linc rolled his eyes, carefully pulling Wyatt into a sitting position. Wyatt gazed down at him and gave a goofy smile. “You’re old. Like way older than me and even way older than the other super-soldiers my dad hired to babysit me.”
“Thanks,” Linc said through gritted teeth as he tugged Wyatt from his perch before turning and depositing him on his feet safe from the glass. Wyatt pitched forward, the boy’s smooth hands skimming across the hair on Linc’s chest and over his nipples. Linc should have shoved a shirt on before investigating the sound. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.
He waited for the boy to drop his hands but instead, he slid his palms down, tracing the grooves of his abdominal muscles, dropping his hands just before his fingertips could skate beneath the waistband of Linc’s pajama pants.
Jesus.
Wyatt gazed up at him with wonder. “How can you be so old, but still so hot? I bet girls line up for you, huh? Even the ones my age probably want you to be their sugar Daddy. Can you be a sugar Daddy with no money?”
Linc struggled to form a coherent thought. All the blood had rushed from his brain to his cock the moment Wyatt touched him. “I have no idea. Not really my area.”
Was the boy trying to distract Linc? Make him angry? Confused? Was Wyatt confused? Linc walked him back around the pool, his hands on both arms, locking them at his sides just in case the kid got any ideas about groping him again. Linc wasn’t sure he was that strong.
Wyatt stopped short, forcing Linc to do the same. “That’s too bad. You’d be a good Daddy.”
Linc’s dick throbbed, but he just pushed Wyatt back into the house. Once inside, the boy wriggled himself out of Linc’s grasp and stumbled into the kitchen. “I’m starving.”
He pulled a can of whipped cream from the fridge, upending it and spraying the contents into his mouth before moaning obscenely. Linc rolled his eyes, snatching the can and putting it back. “That’s not food. Sit down and I’ll make you something.”
A strange shadow crossed the kid’s face before he gave him a lopsided smile. “GI Joe can cook,” he said with a fake gasp. “Plot twist.”
Linc didn’t bother to answer. He opened the fridge, scrutinizing the contents. There was fettuccini on the shelf and raw spinach in the crisper drawer. With a little more digging he found cream, butter, and parmesan; everything he needed. He spent another ten minutes trying to find the spices and the pots and pans for the meal. He heated the butter in the pan and dumped the spinach in.
When he turned back around, Wyatt was amusing himself by taking all the almonds out of a bowl and arranging them to form pictures. “Come here.”
Wyatt blinked at him. “What?”
“You can help. I’m not your cook.”
Wyatt stood, making his way toward Linc with trepidation like it was some elaborate scheme. Linc handed him a wooden spatula. “Just push them around in the pan so they don’t burn, okay?”
Wyatt frowned but nodded, staring into the pan with the same concentration one gave bomb disposal. Linc smiled. He couldn’t help himself.
He opened the cream and grated the parmesan before returning to the pan. As soon as he approached, Wyatt shoved the spatula in his face. “Here.”
“Uh-uh. You’re the chef. I’m the teacher. It’s easy. Add this.” Linc held out the cream. Wyatt stared at it stupidly before taking it and upending it into the pan with all the finesse of a toddler. It hissed as it hit the burner, and Wyatt flinched, wide eyes cutting to Linc. “It’s fine. Now you’re going to just fold in the parmesan slowly, while you stir. Got it?”
Wyatt didn’t answer, just shook the parmesan into the sauce. Good enough, Linc thought. He placed the pasta in the now boiling water and pulled two plates from the cabinet.
When he’d plated the pasta, he filled two glasses with water and set them next to the plates.
Wyatt climbed up onto the stool next to Linc and picked up his fork. “No. Water first. The whole glass, then you can eat.” Wyatt stared at the fettuccini longingly before picking up the water glass and draining it. “Good boy.”
The words left Linc’s mouth before he could stop them.
He could feel Wyatt’s gaze burning into the side of his face, but he refused to look. Instead, he slipped from the stool and refilled Wyatt’s glass. “Eat, or it’ll get cold.”
“Okay,” Wyatt mumbled.
They ate in silence. Once they finished dinner, Linc rinsed the dishes and stacked them in the sink. “Bedtime,” Linc said, pushing the boy toward the hallway. “Let’s go.”
