I turn around and flee to the small table in the living room before he notices the tears in my eyes or the wobble of my lips. That would be more than mortifying, and then having to explain to him the reasoning?
Just hormones, I repeat to myself as I sit. Outside, the wind howls, rattling the window by my head. Ignoring Sawyer as he approaches, I take a peek outside, and the ever-darkening sky has my chest tightening with worry.
What happens if we’re trapped together for more than just a night?
What if I reallydogive birth here with him as my only witness?
What if everything goes terribly wrong?
Sawyer sets the plate he put together down in front of me, as well as a mug of soup he must have ladled. There’s something about the simplicity of the meal that brings me a sort of comfort, even with fear heightening all of my emotions.
Glancing up, I take in the hulking man. He seems far more vulnerable now than before. Less imposing or scary, especially as he steps back from the table after delivering the meal to me.
“I know it isn’t much,” he grumbles, “but I hope it’s okay.”
My heart does a little somersault in my chest. “It looks amazing,” I tell him softly. “Thank you.”
He nods once before turning back to the kitchen and retrieving his own dinner. Together, we sit in a comfortable silence I actually enjoy, a silence I don’t need to fill. And for the first time ever, I feel a sense of safety I’ve never had before.
FIVE
SAWYER
By midnight, the power flickers. It shouldn’t take me by surprise that the generator is failing, especially with how harsh the wind is outside. And yet I hold my breath, eyes locked on the naked bulb lighting the kitchen, watching as it blinks.
What I don’t expect, though, is the bedroom door to open and a restless Skye to wander out wearing a pair of my sweatpants and my old volunteer firefighter t-shirt. It hugs her pregnant belly far too well; the material pulling taut over her bump and breasts.
I go stiff at the sight of her. Not just from the tension rolling through my body over the thought of the power shutting off, but my cock goes hard. I don’t know what it is about seeing a woman in my clothes—not just any woman, butthiswoman—but it goes right to my dick, igniting a feeling inside me I don’t recognise.
One thing about me, I don’t get turned on easily. Maybe because of my past, my fear over the repercussions, or any number of things that keep me up at night. But seeing her has all that flying out the window.
“What’re you doing up?” I ask, worry crashing into me as she moves to the armchair and lowers herself into it slowly. “Is it the baby?”
Skye blinks tiredly but shakes her head. “No, it’s the storm. I can’t sleep with how loud it is.” The t-shirt rides up to reveal her stomach; soft pink skin, red stretch marks lining it like stripes, bruised in some areas from how swollen she looks. I swear, just looking at her stomach I see something shift beneath the surface.
Her hand covers the area I’m looking at, face twisting with a grimace. For a moment, all logical thought completely flies out the window. I’m on my feet before I can stop myself, at her side in one step, and on my knees.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, voice low. “What can I do?”
Those striking blue eyes flicker to mine as she tugs her bottom lip between her teeth. “Keep talking,” she says, the corners of her lips pulling in a smile. “I think she likes the sound of your voice.”
My brain short-circuits. “What?”
I could understand the baby likinghervoice; it’s soft in a melodic way, having an almost singsong tone about it. I’ve been told my tone is too rough, too grating.
Skye grabs my hand, her fingers soft and cold as they wrap around mine. She places my palm directly over her stomach. For a moment, I don’t feel anything, and yet I hold my breath as I wait.
But then…a bump against my palm. I follow the movements with my hand, running it over her stomach, which is softer than I expected. The little flutter against my hand takes my breath away, making my heart swell with something I can only recognise as…protective. I know it isn’t really an emotion, but there’s something about not just this baby, but Skye, that I need to protect.
It goes against every other instinct I have.
Skye covers my hand with hers gently, and it again short-circuits something in my brain with how…nice it feels. “Everytime you speak, she moves erratically. I’ve never felt it before,” she explains, her smile widening. “I only noticed it after dinner. Once she got used to how you sounded, she realised how much she liked you.”
A lump forms in my throat, making me swallow hard. “You can’t know that.”
And yet, as soon as the words leave my mouth, the baby kicks at my hand—hard.
Skye giggles. “Oh, I’m more than certain.” And as if to prove that point, the baby barely moves. “Say something.”
