A pang of unease stabs me. Part of me is scared he’ll run away again. All of me is hoping and praying he’ll stay and we can become the happy family I’ve always dreamed of. And while deep down, I know I still want his memory to return, a small sliver of me is enamored with this new version of him. When he’s not running away, that is.
There’s this sexy aura about him. Like when he walked in the door and practically undressed me with his eyes. And don’t even get me started on the facial hair. Who knew a light scruffy beard could set off so many darned pheromones.
Heat gathers in my center. But I haven’t finished my dinner yet, and my pregnant self is at war between feeding my body in two very different ways. It makes me wonder if this new Trevor would ever want to combine the two. Food and sex. It’s something we’d never done before.
I guess when you start dating at thirteen, you kind of fall into patterns. Sex at sixteen is awkward and new. And while it did continue to get better—a whole lot better—we never really crossed the line into anything adventurous or outside the box.
So, why, as I sit here eating the world’s best French dip sandwich, am I suddenly having fantasies about doing all kinds of things with the scruffily-bearded eye candy sitting across the table?
Trevor doesn’t fail to notice the way I’m staring. “Something on my face?” he jokes, knowing that’s not it. Knowing that’s not evencloseto it.
“I…” I avert my eyes and shove fries into my mouth as I eye the box between us. “Did you read all of the letters?”
His head tilts to the side as he studies me. He knows I’m full of shit, and the box was not at all why I was staring. “I wasn’t going to read any more than I had that night when I was here. I guess fate intervened when Carter showed up with them. And when I randomly reached in the box, I happened to pick the letter about the IVF stuff.” He takes a bite, taking a long moment to savor it—which does nothing to tamp down my sexual anticipation. Then he removes the lid to the box. “There’s so many more of them. I’m not even sure where to start.”
I grab the lid from him and put it securely back on top, holding it firmly shut with the palm of my hand. “I don’t think you should. In fact, I think we should burn the letters.”
The odd expression on his face is new to me. A cross between confusion and surprise. “But?—”
“Trevor, maybe you’ll get your memory back and maybe you won’t. Up until now, I thought you reading them would help. I thought it was a good thing.” I absently swirl a French fry in the au jus. “Now, I think it’s quite the opposite. It’s partly those letters that are causing you to feel inadequate. If your memories don’t return, all they can bring is disappointment. You said this morning you wanted to start over with a clean slate. It doesn’t matter who you were, just who you are now. Who you’re going to be for our daughter.”
His eyes close. “Fuck.”
I worry that I’ve upset him, but when his eyes open, he’s looking at me differently than he has in the past two months. It’s not with lust or desire. It’s not sadness. It’s not indifference. It’s… reverence?
“You’re one hell of a woman, do you know that?” He pushes his food aside. “I think I could love you someday, Ava Criss. Maybe on some level, deep down, I already do.”
My heart flips. Butterflies dance in my stomach. My head swirls in the clouds.
And I do something completely out of character.
Pushing my own dinner aside, I swipe the box of letters off the table, sending envelopes scattering across the floor. Then, I’m up on the table, crawling my way over to him.
His eyes blaze. The fire behind them tells me everything I need to know. He likes this. He wants this. He wants me. And I want him.
The him who seduces me with his dirty words.
Who makes me crave the command he has over me.
Who has ignited a fire from my smoldering embers.
Time slows. He stands, his chair falling over behind him. He leans in before I reach him and our lips crash together painfully. Pleasurably. Amazingly. It’s deep and passionate. It’s like this kiss is the exclamation point after all the declarations he made yesterday and this morning.
When he pulls me off the table and into his arms, I wrap my legs around him, expecting him to lower me to the floor. But he doesn’t. He puts his hands under my ass and effortlessly carries me toward the bedroom as I assault his neck with my mouth.
I momentarily tear my lips away from his throat. “I think I like this caveman side of you.”
“Yeah?” he asks with a cocky slash of his lips. “How much?”
I all but press my lips to his. “It’s hot.You’rehot.”
I can tell he’s pleased when his cocky grin morphs into a proud smile. But then he shakes his head, blinks a few times, and murmurs, “Fuck.”
Confused by his one-eighty, I ask, “What is it?”
He stares at me for five seconds. Maybe ten. When he’s finally gathered his thoughts, he whispers, “I’m so glad it’s you.”
My head slants left. “Me?”
