“Yes.” I reach up, cupping his cheek and forgetting my growling tummy. “I think I’m very much at risk of falling in love with you, Roman Graves.”
Roman’s sweet grin twitches, and he leans in until his mouth is a mere centimeter away.
“For the record,” I whisper, the breath between us warmand electric, “I didn’t say that Iamin love with you. I said I’m at risk.” I gulp. It’s like Roman opened the floodgates, and I have no other choice but to confess all my secrets to him.
“Noted,” he says, his grin widening. “Can I kiss you now?”
“Yes, please.”
A low rumbling laugh filters through Roman’s lips just before they press to mine.
Forty-Three
After Stella informedme there is chivalrousness and then there’s stupidity, I spent the night spooning my girl to keep her warm in the middle of winter. No more sleeping on top of the comforter for me. Which I am completely fine with.
However—married or not—this relationship is new, and I won’t do anything to make Stella uncomfortable. She owns every ball ever invented in every last court.
Lying here, I’ve studied the groove of Stella’s jaw, the way her hair splays over the pillow, the way her back and my chest fit like a glove. If she were facing me, I’d notice the curve of her lips, the rosy pink they just naturally are, the way her brows arch all on their own, even when she is expressionless and sleeping.
My wife is beautiful.
A low ring sounds from the nightstand next to her. Stella’s phone. I’m deciding just how to reach across her and silence it, when she stirs. She turns around, facing me, herarm sliding over my hip and around my back. Her eyes blink open, and then she’s looking at me.
One corner of Stella’s mouth lifts in a smile when she sees me looking back. “Mornin’,” she says, but the word is cut short. “Oh. My phone.”
Yes, it’s still ringing. She rolls back—dang that cell—and picks it up. She answers the call without much thought, but then she is just waking up. It’s only seven in the morning.
She holds the phone to her ear. “Mom?” she says, her voice still gravelly.
“Stella, dearest,” Rebecca says. “I’m staring at your ear.”
“Oh.” She holds the phone to her chest and peers at me, wide eyes. “FaceTime. Crap,” she whispers. “Go! Get out!”
I lift my head from the pillow. But— “Stell,” I say, pointing back to myself. “Husband. Remember?”
She gives her head the smallest of shakes. “Right. Stay.”
“Stella?” Rebecca says.
Blowing out a quick exhale, Stella pulls the phone back, letting Rebecca into her room with a view of our bed. “Hi, Mom.”
Rebecca blinks. “Well, hello there, sleepy head. Still in bed?”
“We are honeymooners. And it’s”—Stella squints; she hasn’t put her glasses on yet—“seven in the morning.”
“I see.”
“Hi, Mrs. E,” I say, and Stella positions the phone so that more than my ear is in view.
“Roman! Hello, darling boy. Scott and I can’t wait to have you come for a visit. Any chance you two have changed your mind and you’ll come home for Christmas?”
Stella wilts a little beside me. She’s put her parents’happiness on her shoulders, and when she’s less than perfect, she wants to hide.
No more. None of that is her responsibility.
“Next year?” I say, backing up her decision to stay in Tesoro this year. “There’s just no way I can make it work. I’m sorry.”
“You are busy being a professional athlete and all. That reminds me—Stella, have you found work in Tesoro yet?”
