And somehow I still haven’t seen the damn thing.
Titus is always out of bed and shuffling to the bathroom before I can come up with a way to get my hands on him. I doubt I can claim I saw a spider run into his pants and I need to find it. Fraudulent arachnid claims can only get me so far.
I need to come up with a new plan.
Blowing a stray hair out of my face, I stack the last of the breakfast I made onto the rolling tray Titus ordered. I refused to call him every time I was ready to feed him, and he refused to let me keep carrying around the handheld version, so this was his brand of a compromise. Apparently pregnant women shouldn’t be burdened by the backbreaking weight of scrambled eggs.
I can’t even be mad at him about it. Not now that I know what happened to Kara.
Thinking about the woman he so clearly loved causes a weird wiggle in my belly. Not jealousy—I’m glad she was able to be loved by someone as selfless and kind as Titus.
What I’m feeling is more akin to fear. Worry that maybe everything Titus has done for me—with me—isn’t about me at all. Maybe it’s really about the woman and baby he lost. Maybe I’m just the right shape to fill the void he’s been screaming into for so long, he doesn’t care what makes it stop echoing back at him.
Which would royally suck.
After adding the carafe of coffee I know he’ll plow through while he eats, I push the cart over the smooth wood floors and into the office situated at the front of the house. Titus is behind his desk, fingers dancing over the keyboard as he works. I only make it a step into the room before his eyes lift to me, watching as I scoot the cart around the area rug so I don’t risk sloshing anything around.
“Your breakfast is here,Mr. Bradshaw.” I slide the tray containing his first meal of the day onto the corner of Titus’s desk. “I kept it simple this morning.”
Mostly because I’m so freaking twisted up over so many things. My upcoming doctor’s appointment. Whether I actually have a place of my own in Titus’s life, or if I’m just a puzzle piece that happened to fit.
What in the heck I have to do to get my hands on him.
Titus scans the tray of food before telling me something he’s been saying more and more when I bring him his meal. “You didn’t have to do that.”
Maybe it’s my nerves over tomorrow's appointment. Maybe it’s fear I’m yet again trying to make something out to be what it’s not. Or maybe I’m just tired of being nauseated and so exhausted I can barely keep my eyes open.
Whatever the reason, I change my normal response from ‘it’s not a big deal’ to, “Yes, I do. That’s what you pay me for.”
It is literally my job to feed him. Lots of the lines between usare so blurry I couldn’t even begin to find their boundaries, but that one is clear as can be. At the end of the day, Titus might be my nighttime cuddle buddy, but he’s also my employer.
Titus’s gaze rests on where I stand. He looks at me the way he so often does. Like I’m the only thing worth giving his attention to. Like he wouldn’t notice if all hell broke loose around him because every part of him is focused only on me.
And it scares me. Makes me want to turn and run away. Because I don’t know what in the hell is happening between us.
I’ve chased men my whole life. Fought to make them see my value. My worth. Done everything I could to show them I’m someone they should want to keep.
But I don’t have to do that with Titus, and it’s a little terrifying.
“Come here.” His command is low. Steady. Strong. When I don’t immediately move, he reaches a hand toward me. “Please.”
It’s that one word that has my feet moving, my arm lifting. As soon as I’m within reach, his hand locks around mine and Titus tugs, pulling me into his lap. He tucks me close, one hand coming to cradle my face. It’s so similar to how he held me the first time we met.
And every time since then.
Because Titus is the most consistent man I’ve ever known. He’s not hot one minute and cold the next. He’s not giving me attention and then ignoring my calls. He’s steady and honest and real.
He’s safe.
“I know this is a unique situation we’ve found ourselves in.” His thumb traces a slow pass across my skin. “Technically, you were hired to cook for me, but I think we can both agree the parameters of our relationship have changed. Yes?"
I nod, throat tight as he gives me something I have never gotten from any man—Honesty. Clarity. Communication.
"So we might have some sticking spots for a little while, and we’ll need to figure out how to navigate themtogether. Okay?"
Again, I nod, a little of my unease ebbing as Titus's warm hand leaves my face to coast down my arm until it rests on my thigh.
"That being said, I want to make something clear to you now. You don't ever owe me anything. Not food. Not cake. Not conversation. You don't have to laugh at my jokes or sleep in my bed." Titus's eyes seem to turn a little greener as they pin me in place. "You don't owe me touches or kisses or access to your body in any way." His hand slides down my leg, stroking past my knee and along my calf. "But, fair warning, I am more than willing to work for those rights."
