Slowly his head bobbed in a nod.
Ohshit.
“I think it’s hot.”
“You do?”
He nodded more emphatically this time. “Yeah. Was it like an experimental thing? Or did you date this girl for a while?”
She mirrored him and propped her head in her hand. “It was when I went traveling. She’s from Poland. We met in Guatemala and started traveling together, and one thing led to another and we had a couple of fun weeks together.”
“So are you bisexual?”
Krista lifted one shoulder casually. “Maybe. I don’t really know.”
His hand came up, and he cupped her cheek. He tugged her in for a kiss on the lips that was more than peck. Seconds later he pulled away but didn’t release her. “Bisexual, hetero whatever, I’m just glad you’re in my bed now.”
Reveling in the warmth and safety of his touch, she leaned her face into his palm. “Who are you, Brock Hart? I can’t figure you out. I’m having a baby with you, share your bed and yet I know very little about you. And you know very little about me … because you don’t ask. Tonight is the first time we’ve ever really talked about ourselves and it’s been so nice. I want to know more. And I’ll tell you whatever you want to know about me. You just have to ask.”
His brows knitted together for a second, and he studied her so intensely that she squirmed. Had the man even blinked? And then, all of a sudden, he changed again. The scowl returned, the walls or fence or whatever was back up, the mask was firmly on, and his eyes flitted to the clock on the mantel.
“It’s getting late,” he said gruffly. “We should go to sleep.” Without waiting for her to respond, he pulled his hand away and rolled over.
Leaving her staring at the back of his head with a crushed heart and wondering what the hell had just happened.
Chapter 12
The two days before Christmas had been spent in court. More prosecutions, more details, more horrible recounts of horrible events. So by Christmas Eve, which had been fairly uneventful, Krista was exhausted and with nary a flying fuck to give about flying men in red jumpsuits with presents, toys and reindeer. She’d been graciously given, by some holiday miracle, Christmas Day off but would be back working come Boxing Day.
After sipping peppermint mochas at Starbucks with Allie and the two of them exchanging equally corny gag gifts, she headed home. She was eager to shower, throw on her red and white striped candy cane flannel pajamas and settle down in front of a crackling fire with her ratty copy ofLittle Womenas she sipped apple cider and nibbled on gingerbread.
She was crouched down and getting ready to build a fire in the hearth when the front door slammed and Brock stomped up the stairs.
Seemed they were on par with each another that evening. Both miserable. Both wanting to find a bearded man in a red jumpsuit to throat-punch. That made her quickly think of Mickey at the bar and how he was probably dressing up as Santa Claus for his grandchildren. She didn’t want to throat-punch him, but she did want one of his burgers. Her stomach grumbled at the thought.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his tone speaking volumes about just what kind of a mood he was in.
“Rhythmic gymnastics,” she snapped, too tired for pleasantries. “What the hell does it look like?”
He shook his head. “Go pack a bag and let’s go.”
Krista stood up and gave him a dumbfounded look. It was threatening snow, and whatever harebrained overnight, wilderness Christmas campout he might have had planned, she wasnotgoing. She didn’t even want to go out to her car and grab his Christmas present, which she’d stupidly left in the backseat. “Why?”
“We’re going over to my mum’s. It’s a Christmas tradition. Come on, let’s go.” He headed down the hallway to his bedroom to start packing.
She chased after him. “What?”
As if elaborating was going to cause him some kind of physical discomfort, he rolled his eyes and scowled. “It’s a Christmas tradition. We go over to my mum’s house, play board games, eat pizza and drink rum and eggnog. Spend the night and then wake up and have Christmas morning. Been doing it for years. Now go pack. We’re already late. Traffic was insane.”
“I-I’m invited?”
He gave her another irritated look. “You think I’m going to let the mother of my child spend Christmas alone? Especially when her family is in another town? Besides, you’ve already met the Three Stooges, and my mum will love you. GO PACK!” And then, just to drive the point home even further, he came up behind her and shooed her out of his room, across the hall and into her room. “And don’t bother changing out of your pajamas. That’s pretty much the party attire anyway,” he called back as he returned to his own room to finish packing.
It was a huge risk.
He knew that.
Bringing Krista to his mother’s house. He’d rather have a bath with a toaster.But what else could he do? He’d be the king of assholes to leave her at home all alone on Christmas, and yet bringing her meant that the baby can of worms might get popped open before they were ready. Not to mention the woman he was confused as hell about would be given access to the only four people in the entire world who knew a damn thing about him, and what she uncovered, she might not necessarily like. He’d tried so hard to keep his distance, keep his walls up. But bringing her to his mother’s could end all of that.
