"Come here," he says, his voice rough.
I rise and let him pull me onto his lap, straddling him in the chair. His hands settle on my waist, thumbs tracing small circles through the silk of my robe.
"What are we doing?" I ask quietly.
"I don't know," he admits, and the honesty in his voice makes my chest tight. "But I can't seem to stop."
"Neither can I."
"Upstairs," he says, his voice rough with need.
"Here," I counter, surprising myself with my boldness.
His eyes darken. "Anyone could walk in."
"Let them."
The recklessness in my voice seems to break something in him. His mouth finds mine again with desperate hunger.
He pulls off my robe. My sleep shirt is gone in an instant. His mouth clamps over one nipple. His low groan vibrates through me. I wonder if he's thinking about ghosts. Is he still in love with the woman he lost to his dangerous world.
"Look at me," I whisper when he seems to drift away into dark thoughts.
His blue eyes focus on mine. I see something vulnerable there, something that looks almost like fear.
"I'm here," I tell him. "I'm right here."
The words seem to ground him, and he responds with a tenderness that breaks my heart. When he finally takes me, it's with a reverence that makes tears sting my eyes.
We move together in the moonlight, two broken people finding solace in each other's bodies, pretending that the world outside this room doesn't exist.
Afterward, we lie tangled together on the thick carpet, my head on his chest, his arms wrapped around me like he's afraid I'll disappear.
"Tell me something true," he says quietly.
I'm carrying your child. I'm falling in love with you.I'm terrified of what that means for both of us.
"I used to be afraid of heights," I say instead. "When I was little, I couldn't even climb playground equipment without having a panic attack."
"Used to be?"
"Real estate cured me of it. Hard to sell penthouses when you can't look out the windows."
His chest rumbles with quiet laughter. "Practical."
"That's me. Practical Hannah, solving problems one neurosis at a time."
"Is that what I am? A neurosis to be solved?"
The question catches me off guard with its honesty. I lift my head to look at him.
"I don't know what you are," I admit.
"Neither do I."
We lapse into silence again, but this time it feels heavier, weighted with all the things we're not saying. The secret I'm carrying feels like a physical presence between us, growing larger with each passing moment.
Literally.
