Because even Marlee, in spite of her chirpy, chatty personality, had an inward maturity he wished she didn’t. His daughter had learned the harsh realities of the world at an age when her spirit should’ve been innocent, without a single bruise. Instead, she’d been kicked in the heart by the very person who should’ve protected her beyond all others.

Never would he forgive Yelene the broken look in his baby’s eyes that ugly day months after their defection when Marlee had turned to him and said, “Daddy, did my mother not want to come with us?”

For the first time in his life, he’d lied to his child, telling her that Yelene hadn’t been able to get out in time. He hadn’t wanted to wound her by sharing the brutal truth—that Yelene had written her child out of her life the instant she became a hazardous inconvenience. But Marlee, his little girl with her wise soul, had shaken her head and hugged him. “It’s okay, Daddy. I know she didn’t love us.”

“Walker?”

He swallowed the memory of the cold rage that had gripped him in its teeth that day as he held his daughter, not wanting the past to taint the wonder that was his family, his mate. “I better go or I’ll be late.”

“Take care of yourself,” Lara said, her eyes seeming to see right through him, to places only she had ever reached.

That tawny gaze ignited a sense of acute and gnawing vulnerability within Walker, but regardless of his discomfort, he fought the urge to close himself off, to attempt to block the mating bond using his psychic abilities. That would hurt Lara on the innermost level, and the one thing Walker would never consciously do was hurt his mate.

“Be good for Lara,” he said to the children as she walked him to the door.

Cookie crumbs wreathing their mouths, they nodded and waved.

“Bedtime in an hour.”

“Dad!”

“Uncle Walker!”

“Forty-five minutes.”

There were no more arguments. Turning to see Lara biting back a smile, he pointed a finger at her. “Early bedtime for you, too”—he dropped his voice—“so I don’t feel guilty waking you when I return.” He hadn’t been a physical man before her, having learned to live with his touch-hunger until it was simply a part of him, but now he wanted to explore each and every sensation with her, then he wanted to do it all over again.

“That’s one thing,” she whispered, rising to press her mouth to his, “you never have to feel guilty about. I’ll wait for my wake-up.”