"Your mother cooks."
He nudged her onto a bar stool around the small counter and went to take out bowls.
"She's an excellent cook. As well as my sisters-in-law." He ladled out the soup and had her mouth watering. "On Sundays, it's a tradition to give the household staff the day off so they can take over the kitchen." He handed her the bowl and a spoon. "It's family time. From as long as I can remember, that has always been the case."
"I envy you your family." The words were out of her mouth before she could take them back. Dipping the spoon in, she scooped up some chunks of carrots and celery and blew on it.
"Leanne..."
"It's fine." Forcing a smile, she cursed herself for the comment.
She had also made a vow some years ago, never to feel sorry for herself or allow anyone to either. "This is really good."
"Yeah." He was about to let it go but decided that it was time to stop tiptoeing around. "It's not fine. Look, like it or not, we're in this together and I... I want more than just to stand by and hold your hand. Even when we were dating, you barely spoke about yourself."
"Because it was never an interesting subject and one I would like to drop."
"We have to talk."
"No, we don't. And if you're going to pursue that line of conversation, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
His eyes kindled emerald fire which had her staring at them in fascination.
"No, damn you. You're not pushing me away. I'm not leaving."
"Look..."
"No." He slammed a hand on the counter hard enough to set the bowls dancing and her jolting. "I'm here to stay and I need you to get that through that bloody thick skull of yours. We're in this together and I'm going to be here for you. I'm in love with you."
He smiled grimly at the panicked look that came over her beautiful face and watched her swallowed whatever it is that was lodged in her throat.
"Yeah, that dreaded word. Love. I love you dammit and it doesn't matter what you do or say, that's not going to change. So, deal with it."
Chapter 4
The soup felt like stones inside her throat and her muscles were stiff as board. He had mentioned that word to her once during their brief relationship and she had ignored it. Thankfully, he never brought it up again, but it had been there, just hanging between them.
Now he was saying it again and from the determination stamped on his face, she knew this time he was not going to be content with silence, or her playing deaf.
"Don't expect me to say it back," she said sullenly, feeling very foolish and very childish.
Tamping down the despair along with the anger, he smiled and nodded to her bowl.
"Not yet. Finish your meal."
She bristled at his patient tone and felt like the most ungrateful bitch.
"Just because I'm pregnant, with hormones racing, don't expect me to blurt out something I'm not feeling. It doesn't work that way, not with me. Love or whatever it is, does not come into play here. So, let's not get things twisted."
His eyes steady on her face made her want to squirm.
"Your soup is getting cold."
"Damn you."
"Yeah," he acknowledged dryly. Scooping out the last of the vegetables from his bowl, he rose to put it in the sink, before putting the kettle on.
"What are you doing?"
