Because the way he just said that, all deep and serious, while wearing this black ensemble, makes me swallow my tongue and want to beg for more.
Trying to mask the overwhelming thudding of my heart, I say, “Oh, here I thought it was Elijah.”
Once again, he shakes his head at me. “Smart-ass.” He puts his shoes on and a deep blue velvet jacket with black lapels.
He adjusts his cuffs and then holds his arms out. “How do I look?”
Really.
Fucking.
Good.
Lickable.
Suckable.
Fuckable.
I plaster on a smile and offer him a thumbs up. “Matching.”
“Matching?” He raises a brow at me. “That’s all you have to say? I’m matching?”
“Takes a noble man to be able to mix textures like you.” I offer him a golf clap. “Well done, dear sir.”
His quizzical brow grows higher. “You’re acting weirder than usual. What’s going on?”
“Nothing is going on,” I say over the roar of my escalating pulse. “Everything is normal over here.”
He still eyes me. “Why don’t I believe you?”
“Trust issues, perhaps?” I hop off the bed, and I reach for his bag to help him, but he’s quickly at my back, taking the bag from me. “Hey, I can help.”
“You’re pregnant. You’re not lifting anything.”
“Uh, I lifted a donut to my mouth yesterday. Where were you then, huh?”
“You are something else right now.” He moves down the hallway toward the living room, where he sets his bag down and turns toward me. “I’m slightly nervous about leaving you in this sort of state.”
Hands crossed at my chest, I ask, “And what sort of state would you be referring to?”
He gestures up and down my body. “This insane state where you’re clearly losing it.”
My fingers drum along my biceps as I maintain my crossed position. Head tilted down, I say, “Has anyone ever told you not to call a pregnant woman insane?”
When I glance up at him, I can see the panic in his eyes, which, of course, makes me laugh. And for some reason, I can’t seem to stop myself. I close the space between us, and I wrap my arms around him while chuckling.
“Don’t worry, I’m not about to bite your head off before you leave.”
I press my cheek to his chest, and stiffly, he returns the hug. “Well, that’s good.” He’s coming off as awkward, and it’s probably because I’m holding him, and we don’t normally hold each other.
But I can’t seem to let go. The baby is forcing me to do this, to keep my hold on him.
The baby is soaking him up.
His strength.
His delicious smell.
