His face was shadowed as he towered over me. “I was a little prick too. Sometimes worse because I was the oldest and everything went to Elijah. Then I got hurt.”
I put my hands on his chest again. It was like his pecs were a magnet and my fingers were lined with iron. “You got no help?”
“Not until my grandparents took me in. Then I saw what it was like to be unconditionally loved.” He let out a derisive snort. “They wished my dad left my mom. Blamed her for corrupting him, but in the end, it was his decision to act the way he did. I don’t know. Maybe they were better grandparents than parents, but they treated me well.”
“Good.”
“Yeah.” There was something noncommittal in his tone. “You deserve to be treated well too.”
“I was. Other than, well, you know, I have a great family.” I brushed a hunk of hair off his forehead. He kept it neatly brushed, even if he was home all day. “I wish you could’ve experienced that.”
“What was it like?” His voice was low, almost guttural. “Being in a big, loving family?”
“Chaotic.” I was still close to him, my face tipped up. Close enough to have all of his attention solely on me. Something I liked more and more. “Sometimes, I didn’t feel seen. I felt like I wasn’t special when compared to everyone else. But they’re always there for me.” The corners of my mouth tipped up. “Someone is, anyway. And Poppy’s my best friend. Which is a blessing and a curse. Sisters aren’t meant to stay together forever. We’ve lived in different states for so long, and now we’re in the same town, and I don’t know. We haven’t talked a lot, but it hasn’t been three weeks. I just…”
“You can tell me,” he murmured.
“I just wonder— Am I still special to someone?” The words poured out before I could stop them.
My breath hitched. That came out more vulnerable than I intended. I had meant to give him a glimpse into what my thoughts were, and instead, I exposed myself.
“You are special, Clover. Never doubt that.” He was closer to me than before, towering over me, yet our faces weren’t far apart. “You’re sweet too, just like the sweet clover outside.”
“Sweet clover’s my favorite weed.”
“It’s not a weed,” he murmured, his gaze dipping to my lips. “It’s a beautiful flower with vibrant petals.”
Could I pretend he was talking about me? “You think so?”
“Yeah.” The word was a whisper across my lips. “I do.”
He lowered his head the rest of the way. When his warm lips landed on mine, I curled my fingers into his shirt. His chest was hard underneath my touch, his heart beating frantically under the material.
He cupped a hand around the back of my neck, and his thumb brushed up the column of my throat. A shiver danced through my veins until I was supercharged with desire. The soreness in my breasts shifted to a demanding tenderness. I had an overriding need for pleasure. All the worry, all the stress, all the change—I wanted to forget.
He opened his mouth again, and I did the same. Our tongues touched, tentatively at first, then with growing impatience until I released his shirt and hooked my arms around his neck. He did the same, embracing me around the waist and lifting me. The squish of my achy breasts eked a moan from me that almost sounded pained.
He stiffened, and his hold went slack. Jerking his head back, he stumbled away. “Shit. I’m sorry.”
I touched my fingertips to my mouth. Sorry for what? That was the most excellent kiss ever.
I kissed Van.
Oh, crap.
I kissed Sullivan Wagner. The uncle of the baby I’m pregnant with. “I-I’m sorry. It must be the hormones making me do something completely out of character.” I winced. Did that come off as insulting as it sounded? From the way his gaze shuttered and his expression shut down, yes, it had. Dammit. “I mean?—”
“No, I get it. I’m not your type.”
“And what is that?” I shouldn’t have asked, but his tone could’ve buzzed down all the sweet clover outside that he compared me to.
“Uptight business douche.” Ouch. “And my type isn’t my brother’s castaways.”
My gasp filled the room, and hurt rebounded through my body, pinging off organs and bones. Pain stabbed through my chest wall, and I put my hand on my stomach. His words were a slap, but they were also true. I was tossed away. Why would he want me?
His features turned stricken for a hot second before his jaw tightened. His guard must’ve slammed back into place. “I’ll sleep on the couch tonight.”
My embarrassment turned blinding, anger taking its place. I wasn’t going to be a punching bag for a Wagner. I was Clover Duke, and I could take care of myself. “You’re just like him, you know, hitting me exactly where it’d hurt the most.”
