“How was yoga?” he asks as he buzzes around the kitchen.
Suddenly, my stomach growls so deeply that it’s actually audible.
“What are you doing?” I ask. I’m lost. I’m also getting a whiff of what looks like sizzling steak fajitas, and I am literally drooling as I shed off my yoga mat and slip out of my shoes and pad over to the kitchen to get a closer look. Or maybe a taste.
“I’m making dinner,” he says, like it’s obvious.
“I see that.” I reach for a tortilla chip and drag it though a bowl of fresh guac. The flavors of avocado and onion and chili and fresh lime burst in my mouth, and I am in heaven. “But why are youhere?” I ask around a full mouth.
Ransome smirks a little. “I mean, I do own this house too.”
Since he gives me another Captain Obvious answer, I give him a look and wait for the answer he knows I am actually fishing for but am too hungry and tired to ask.
“I wanted to see you,” he says.
Bingo.
I smirk. “Really?” It comes out low, sultry.
He loads up two plates with warm tortillas, grilled steak strips, peppers, onions, and cheese. “Really.” He takes them to the table and I follow, the bowl of guac in one hand and the bowl of chips in the other. “Do I have to have a reason to want to see you?”
“I suppose not.”
I dive into the food immediately, melting in the chair as I chew. As if it’s not enough for him to be hot and rich and stellar in the sack. No, he had to be a great cook, too.
“How is it?” he asks, as if he doesn’t know.
I answer by giving a chef’s kiss while chewing. It earns me a second smirk. I’m not really sure what I did to earn this treatment, but I’ll take it. I’ll take it all day long.
“So, how’s the baby?” he asks after we both finish our first fajita.
“Big,” I say, and he smiles.
“That’s good, right?”
“I mean, yes, but at some point he’s going to have to come out of me, so I’d like it if he paced himself a little.”
“You’re going to do fine. You’re strong. And he’s a Rozanov, so he is too.”
I smile at that.
I may not be his wife. I may not be a Bratva woman. But the heir growing inside me is a Rozanov, and Ransome knows it. That’s worth a hell of a lot more than a diamond ring to me.
I offer to take the plates to the kitchen sink when we are finished, but immediately Ransome gets up and takes over.
“I’m pregnant, not helpless,” I tell him with my hands on my hips. As if being stubborn about it is going to make him stop.
“And I’m being protective, not controlling,” he shoots back. “So go run a bath.”
I open my mouth to say something sassy, but nothing comes out.
Ransome raises his eyebrows, then points at the stairs towards the bathroom with the glorious tub. The one that covers my knees, my bellyandmy boobs all at the same time.
And there’s no fighting with that.
I make my way up the stairs and run the water in the tub. Meanwhile, I can hear Ransome cleaning up the kitchen downstairs. I seriously don’t know what’s gotten into him or if there is a catch, but I could definitely get used to this.
After lighting a couple of candles, I slide into the rose-scented tub and bask in the oils and warm water. I can’t wait for the day that I can sink into a tub of hot, hot water again. But for now, this is good enough. Luxurious even.
