My girls. Damn, I’m a lucky man.
Chapter Sixty-Two
Emily
The Next Morning
“Hello, little one.” I rub my index finger along Grace’s cheek. “How’re you this morning?”
Her brown eyes pop open as she’s roused from sleep. She studies me before her eyelids sweep back down followed by her body scrunching up as she stretches her arms and legs.
Under the soft light of the giraffe lamp, her dark curls fall in soft waves along her skull. My chest aches as I rub my hand over my heart. It tears me into pieces that someone didn’t want her but I’m the lucky one who does.
“Good morning, princess. Did you have a good night sleep?” I lift her out of the crib, being careful to support her head and neck before resting her against my chest.
It’s dark outside the window with only streetlight illuminating the view. “Are you ready for a bottle?” Her attentiveness grows with each day. “You’re already so chipper, aren’t you? I could eat you up.”
“That sounds like a good idea. I think I could eat you up.” Jake stands in the doorway in a low-slung pair of shorts and nothing else, making my knees weak. His hair is messed up from where I ran my fingers through it. More like fisted it. “What would it take to convince you to come back to bed so I could feast on you?”
I squirm as thoughts of last night and this morning flash before my eyes. With an arched eyebrow, I say, “Didn’t you do that already?”
“Are you complaining?” He strides through the door, with each step closer, my will to resist him disappears. Not that there’s any will remaining at this point. I’m a lost cause when it comes to him.
“No, I’m not complaining.”
He places my chin between his thumb and index finger, lifting it up until I meet his gaze and can’t look away. “Good. I’d hate it if you were disappointed in my skills.”
“You know your skills are good.” Ugh. I don’t want to think about how he learned those skills. It shouldn’t matter because he warmed my bed last night. And this morning. But it’d be lying if I said it doesn’t.
I hate the thought of all those leggy blondes with perfectly made-up faces. I’m nothing like them. What does he even see in me?
He frowns while dropping his arm down to his side. “What’s wrong? Is the baby sick?”
“What?”
He retrieves Grace from my arms and settles her against his chest. “You seem upset.” His gaze flies over the baby. “Is she sick? She looks fine. She doesn’t feel warm or show signs of distress.”
“She’s fine.”
“Then, what’s wrong?” He cradles her to his bare chest, managing to look even more perfect than he did standing in the doorway.
“It’s nothing.” I march to the changing table and grab one of Grace’s bottles.
“Em, what’s going on?” He follows behind me while patting her back.
I spin around, giving him a pointed look. “You know what’s wrong. You’re doing it again. All you have to do is stand there, and I’m losing my sanity. It’s unfair.”
“Somehow, I’m not taking that as a compliment.”
“It is.” I shrug and step over to Grace, placing the pre-made bottle into her mouth. Her hands jerk upward and shake as she fastens her lips around the nipple and sucks. The heat of his skin radiates toward me. “You’re an amazing lover.”
“And?”
“You got that way by playing the field and thinking about the women that you’ve been with doesn’t do much for my ego. They were all gorgeous.” I avert my gaze from his. “They’re nothing like me.”
There is no point in ignoring what set my mood to sour. He’ll keep digging until I tell him. It’s pathetic. He makes me pathetic. Ugh.
“Wait a second.” His eyes narrow into slits as he readjusts the baby between his arm and side, grabs the bottle from my hand, and pats Grace’s thigh. “I’ve told you there’s been no one else in years. I didn’t lie about that. Yes, I did mess around in high school and after we fought, but that doesn’t mean I madeit from A to Z, or that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with any of them, and all of that ended after I realized that’s not what I wanted.”
