I draw her back to me, kissing her temple. “It was a year ago. It was in Paris. I can’t say more.”
She strokes the scar through my t-shirt. “Was it bad?”
“Yeah.”
“You….” She nuzzles against me. “Did you almost….”
“Die?” I stroke her hair.
“Did you?” I hear the quiver in her voice.
“No.” A white lie, I believe, is warranted if it means my pregnant woman will rest easy. “And I was right as rain, as the cliché goes, in no time.”
I was out of commission for four months—but she doesn’t need to know that. I have no intention of going back to that life or letting it seep into the one I’ve built now.
She lifts her head and looks at me with profound sadness. “I almost lost you even before I met you.”
“No, baby, that was never going to happen. We are fated.”
I gently touch her lips with mine.
The kiss starts slow and uncertain, but heats up quickly. The chemistry between us hasn’t changed; we’ve kissed before—but this is the first time she’s pulled me close since I left her.
Her hands are in my shirt, pulling me closer. Mine cradle her face, her waist, the curve of her growing belly. I cup her breast and roll her nipple under my thumb.
She moans.
I want her so badly it hurts.
But just as I slide my hand along her thigh, she tenses.
I stop instantly. She’s not ready.
“Nick.” Her breathing is unsteady.
I draw my hand up her body and let it rest on her waist. “Sleep, baby.”
She nestles close to me. “I’m sorry.”
I kiss her hair. “Nothing to be sorry about, baby.”
“I want you.” Her voice trembles. “But….”
“You’re not ready,” I finish for her. “It’s okay. Just let me hold you while you sleep.”
She sniffles. “You were supposed to be different, Nick. You were supposed to be my person, one who wouldn’t use me. My family only wanted me when it made them look good. Barclay wanted my father’s connections. Everyone always wants something from me.” Her voice cracks. “You were supposed to be the exception. And instead….”
It crushes me to hear her pain. “I became just another person who used you.”
She swallows hard. “Yes.”
“I’m not him.”
“I know that.”
“I love you.”
“I know that, too. I want to trust you, Nick,” she whispers. “I just…don’t know how.”
