My lungs come to a complete halt when Titus reaches out, his slightly calloused fingers pushing a lock of hair that’s fallen from my ponytail away from my face before curling it behind one ear. I hold completely still as the warmth of his touch brushes along the side of my neck before moving away, leaving me concerned I might melt out of my seat into a pool of needy goo on his freshly mopped floors.
“How’s your stomach this morning?”
The question is a bolt of lightning. It snaps me out of the landof wishful thinking I love to occupy, dragging me back to the reality I’ve never been good at accepting.
“It’s good.”Lie. One there’s no point in even producing, but I do it anyway. “I think the move was just a big change and a shock to my system.”
Possibly the truth, but definitely not the reason my appetite has been nonexistent.
Titus makes a low humming noise, like he’s weighing the accuracy of my claim. “Then I should probably start making sure you take at least a couple days off every week.” He straightens, backing away. “I’ve seen what happens when your system is shocked, and it took years off my life, so I don’t have any interest in repeating it.”
I don’t realize I’m leaning toward him as he moves away—until I nearly tip forward out of my seat. Thankfully, by then Titus has his back to me and doesn’t notice. If he did, hopefully he would just assume I was passing out again instead of already missing his closeness.
“I don’t have any interest in repeating it either.” I take the first deep breath I’ve gotten since coming downstairs as Titus returns to the bread and begins slicing through the loaf. “I’ve never passed out before and would happily live the rest of my life without doing it again.”
Titus’s eyes lift to find me. “That’s the first time you’ve passed out?”
I try to decipher the tone of his voice, but can’t. “That’s the first time I’ve fully passed out. I’ve come close before when I stand up too fast or get a little dehydrated, but I’ve never gone all the way down.”
Oop. That might have been the wrong choice of words. Because now I’m thinking about going down. And not in the passing out sort of way.
“I need to go to the bathroom.” I stand quickly, rushing to the hall connected to the garage, before locking myself in the half bath I’ve barfed in more times than I can count.
Not this time though. This time I’m splashing cold water on my face for a totally different reason. A reason that’s going to be way more difficult to deal with. Which is seriously saying something since I’ve lost ten pounds thanks to morning sickness.
The soft knock on the door has my spine snapping straight. Like I’ve been caught doing something terrible. Iwasdoing something terrible—thinking of very specific parts of Titus in very specific parts of me. I just hope to God he doesn’t have this slightest clue what it was, because I will never be able to look him in the eye again.
And I really love his eyes.
“Mariah? You okay?” There’s concern in Titus’s voice, and it makes me feel even worse. This poor guy’s worried about me and I’m just preoccupied by the fact that I haven’t had good sex in…
Oh God. Have I ever had good sex?
I splash my face with more water, because I really fucking need it after that revelation. Grabbing the towel that came in one of Titus’s most recent orders, I pat my face dry as I call out, “I’m fine,” then pull the door open with what I hope is a genuine smile. “Coffee runs right through me.”
Titus’s brows lower, the right one struggling with the act a little more than the left. “You haven’t had any coffee.”
Fucking hell. I need to get my shit together. And I need to do it real freaking quickly, or?—
The doorbell rings, and I almost snort. “Have you been online shopping again?”
He looks a little bashful when he gives me a single shoulder shrug. “I certainly haven’t been out in public shopping, so…”
I start to ask if he ever leaves the house—even though it’s really none of my business—but the doorbell rings again, cutting me off. Which is probably for the best. I don’t really have the right to ask Titus any personal questions considering I’m withholding some pretty relevant personal information of my own.
He tips his head in the direction of the door. “Could you get that?”
I knew Titus’s scars were very likely the reason he didn’t want to meet me face-to-face, but it hadn’t registered until right now that he’d still prefer to stay hidden from everyone else. It’s a vulnerability most men wouldn’t show, and it makes me feel protective of him. Like I’m ready to do whatever it takes to keep the world at bay so he feels safe.
“Of course.” I duck out of the bathroom, doing my best to slide past him without accidentally brushing my body against his. Because if I’m not careful, I’m going to need to jump in one of the iced-over ponds on the property. “I’ll be right back.”
I hurry down the main hall and into the entryway, opening the door to greet the man standing on the stoop.
He looks at his clipboard, then leans to peer around me. “Where do you want this thing?”
“Umm.” Now it’s me leaning to peer around him. “What is it?”
The man frowns at me, looking real unimpressed that I don’t know what he’s brought. “A dining room table and chairs.”
