Page 122 of Embracing the Beat
But he’s still West. The chiseled jawline and bright green eyes drinking me in through the glass create a powerful pull I can’t ignore. Familiarity. Attraction. And, if I’m honest with myself, fleeting sensations of the emotions I thought I was getting over.
Does he notice any differences in me?
With a deep breath, I close the distance to the door and pull it open. His cologne wraps around my senses and my heart in equal measure, reminding me of all the times I burrowed against him in bed, seeking and receiving the comfort of his embrace.
“Hi.” The breathy sound betrays the emotions coursing through me.
“Hi.” The tenor of his voice makes my stomach explode in a sea of butterflies, and I try to tamp down the mix of excitement and nerves.
“C-can I come in?” he asks as he fidgets with a moving box he’s holding in front of him.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this uncertain.
“Oh. Yeah. Of course. You can set that anywhere.” I open the door wider, letting him step past me.
If anyone asks, I’ll deny that I take a deep breath of the citrusy bergamot scent weaving around me. Same as I’ll deny watching the muscles in his back ripple under his shirt as he lowers the box next to the couch.
Liar, liar, pants on fire.
And my pants are indeed on fire.
What is wrong with me?
The hormones. Mia showed me a book that talked all about the hormones of pregnancy, especially the chapter on the safest ways to have sex while pregnant since some expectant mothers experience a surge of estrogen leading to increased desire. Those symptoms had been non-existent…until now.
“Did—did you want something to drink?” I ask. “There’s water and…well, water.”
“I’ll take a water if that’s okay. Here, I’ll get it.” The small space is easy to navigate. Or does it only seem smaller because his presence overwhelms me? “Do you want one?”
I lick my lips, trying to infuse moisture back to the parched skin and nod. “Please.”
He comes back with two bottles and catches me staring at the sealed box. It’s plain—there’s no writing on the side, no indication of what it contains.
“What did you bring?”
“It’s for you. Well, for the baby,” he clarifies.
“The baby?”
He nods and leans down to pull the tape across the seam. With slow movements, he peels open the lid and grabs a worn stuffed bear from the top.
“I-I asked my mom if she still had my baby stuff. I also gave her your phone number—”
“She called. You told your family about me?”
I hadn’t even figured out how to tell my own parents.
“I did. I wanted them to know about you. About the baby. I also told them about what an ass I was, and Whit threatened to stick me on dirty diaper duty for the rest of my visit with them.”
“Oh.” I’m not sure what to say—let alone think—knowing that he’s shared so much with his family.
“This was mine.” He hands over the bear. “My first stuffed animal. I-I don’t know why I had my mom hang on to it for so long, but I always thought I’d give it to my own child someday.”
The fur is soft to the touch, the little bow tie still in place even after the years of love evident as I cradle it in my hands.
“You’re giving this to me?”
“I want our child to have it. To take comfort in something that belonged to Daddy when he was little.”
