Page 109 of Finding Peace
The three of us make a quick detour to the sink to wash the day off our hands before turning back to our girl.
Abigail crosses her arms over her chest as she looks between the three of us like she owns the place.
Well—not yet. But she’s about to. Part of it at least. But that’s for a different day.
“Well?”
Lincoln arches a brow. “Well, what, Sweetheart?”
Her smile turns slow and dangerous as she takes her time raking her eyes over each of our bare torsos. “What’s taken you guys so long?”
I open my mouth to answer, but Law beats me to it. “Patience, Honey.”
Then, he walks past us, slow and steady, shrugging off his work boots. His eyes never leave Abigail as he crosses the main living area and moves toward the hallway and to the new room at the end.
His room.
He pushes open the door and steps inside before turning and nodding in our direction. “Inside.”
There’s something about the authority in his tone that settles straight into my bones. And I’ll be damned if it doesn’t send a slow pulse of heat through my chest that I didn’t expect.
Lincoln exhales a quiet laugh beside me and mutters under his breath. “Guess we know what kind of mood he’s gonna be in.”
Abigail—my eager,eagergirl—walks past us and into Lawson’s new room. The space still smells faintly like fresh lumber and new paint, and the large windows are cracked open to allow the warm April air to drift through.
Lawson walks deeper into the room and drops into the heavy armchair in the corner that sits opposite his new king-size bed.
He looks like a king settling onto his throne.
Legs spread wide, arms rested casually on the chair’s sides.
Watching.
Waiting.
My pulse kicks.
Abigail stands in the middle of the room, turning slowly so her skirt sways around her legs. She narrows her eyes playfully as she looks between us. “Care to explain,now?”
Lincoln leans against the door frame, arms crossed, eyes dark. “You’re pregnant, Sweetheart.”
“And?”
Lawson’s gaze sharpens. “And…we wanted to make sure you were comfortable. We didn’t want to pressure you into it again if you didn’t want to.”
The room goes quiet. Abigail studies him for a moment. Then, she smiles. But it’s not her soft and sweet smile. Nah, it’s one that lets me know she’s about to make us look like the fucking fools we are.
“Shame.”
My brows lift. “Yeah?”
She reaches for the waistband of her skirt. “Because this”—the fabric slides slowly down her hips—“is what you’ve been missing out on.”
The skirt pools around her boots, then her hands find the hem of her sweater. Every movement is slow. Deliberate. And so damn sexy.
She pulls her sweater over her head, tossing it aside until she’s standing there in a light pink bra-and-panty set that has the power to make me forget my own name.
Christ.
