Another step. “What will it take for you to believe me?”
“For the Potomac to run clear,” I quip with a saccharine sweet smile.
He doesn’t sigh; he doesn’t show frustration or irritation. The man seems to have the patience of a mule. And the stubbornness.
“I thought you had a new big-time job. What are you doing here all the time?” I demand. He’s here in the mornings. He’s here in the afternoons asking me out for lunch. He’s here in theevenings, asking me out for dinner. I keep turning him down, and he keeps showing up.
“I told them I’ve got a few things to take care of before I start working.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Like what?”
“Like winning back the love of my life.”
The things this man says and the way he says them…. A lesser woman would be a puddle. As things stand with my hormones, I’m almost a puddle. But I have fortitude. Grandma Lucille didn’t raise no spineless fool…just a romantic one.
“Dom…Nick…Dominic,” I snap, “whatever your endgame is, I want no part of it.”
“Call me Nick.”
I take a long, deep breath. “I don’t want to call you at all.”
“I’m here, so why don’t you make use of me? How can I help you?”
I shake my head. “I don’t need your help.”
He moves closer. “How about some coffee? Can I bring you coffee?”
“I stopped drinking coffee.”
He straightens. “What? Why? You love coffee.”
Damn slip of the tongue. At this rate, I’m going to give the game away.
What game, Enya? You’ve got to tell the man that you’re ten weeks pregnant. Soon, you’ll show, and he’ll know. You can’t hide it.
“I made some changes in my life,” I manage to say with just enough arrogance to make it somewhat believable, “you know, after an asshole ex of mine gave me an ulcer.” And knocked me up.
His jaw clenches, and he shows emotion for a long moment, then he reaches forward—slowly, giving me time to pull back—and cups my cheek.
I should move.
I don’t.
Because the warmth of his hand hits deep, and it’s drawing out emotions I’ve been trying to suffocate for months.
“Enya,” he whispers, “baby, let me the fuck in.”
Then he kisses me.
It’s soft. Careful. Reverent. Like he’s terrified I’ll disappear.
For a beat, I melt—my body remembers him before my brain can protest. The warmth, the familiarity, the ache.
Then reality slams back.
I shove him away—hard.
Before I can adjust my balance, I lurch forward, hand over my mouth, and barely make it to the trash can before I throw up.
