It was simple, but it wasn’t.
Not really.
He wasn’t just talking about the baby, and we both knew it. My chest rose and fell too fast.
“We aren’t—” I started, but the words failed me.
He leaned in slightly, enough to change everything.
“We don’t have to be what we were before.”
I spoke with sincerity, “You hated me.”
His jaw tightened. “I never hated you.”
I let out a disbelieving breath. “That’s not what it felt like.”
“Yeah,” he admitted. “I know.”
His expression softened in a raw and unfiltered way.
“And you hated me,” he pointed out.
I didn’t deny it because I did hate him. Part of me still hated him.
“Kraven…” I warned.
When he shifted his gaze to my mouth, my entire body reacted the moment I caught him licking his lips. My thoughts scrambled, catching up to what my body was already reacting to.
Him.
“This is just about the baby,” I insisted.
“And us.”
He leaned closer.
Too close.
“You’re not alone anymore,” he reminded. “That’s also true.”
I sucked in a sharp breath and pulled back, breaking the invisible magnet pulling us together.
“This isn’t right.” My words came out stronger that time.
Leaning back into the couch, I put some much-needed space between us that suddenly felt necessary.
“We can’t do this.”
His eyes searched mine. “Do what?”
He almost made me laugh. “You know what.”
“Say it.”
My jaw clenched. “Cross the line again.”
His stare darkened. “But it’s what we do best.”
