His smile widens into a grin. A bit of a smug one.
It stirs something deep in me.
“Yes,” he says. “And one I wouldn’t mind having.”
A laugh breaks out of me before I can stop it.
The fire shifts in the hearth, and we go quiet.
I look at him, at this impossible man sitting on the edge of a guest bed, giving me the truth because I asked for it, even after I had questioned the worst possible thing about him.
“This whole thing scares me,” I say.
“Me too.”
“I don’t know how to do this.”
“Neither do I.”
That surprises a breath out of me.
“We barely know each other,” I say.
“No.”
“And I’m pregnant.”
“Yes.”
“And people tried to kill me yesterday.”
His eyes darken. “That won’t happen again.”
“No one will try to kill me again?”
“No one will get that close again,” he corrects.
“Oh. Okay. Wonderful.” I swallow. “Your life scares me.”
“I know.”
I let out a shaking breath. “This is a terrible foundation.”
“It is not ideal.”
A laugh escapes me.
His gaze drops to my mouth, then returns to my eyes.
“The child makes us responsible to each other,” he says. “But it is not why I want you.”
The laugh fades.
“It's not why I want you either.”
“A shaky foundation is not a life sentence,” he says. “It can be fixed and strengthened.”
“How?” I ask.
