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“Let me do it,” I say, going to his side. When he doesn’t move from the bowl, I shove his brick of a bicep. It’s like trying to budge a boulder. “Davis. Move.”
He ignores me, lost in his own world, or fuming, and cracks another egg with violent intensity.
I scan the baking and baby items on the counter. Everything crashes into me. Desperate anger I can’t ignore. Frustration. The man’s a walking contradiction. Staying away, yet giving me everything I need.
All of my life, I’ve done it myself. If I let Davis help me, I’m just getting myself into another situation where I depend on a man. What happens when I leave the ranch? When we both move on with our lives?
Losing everything a second time—I can’t handle that. Fucking up my life twice isn’t an option. I don’t have the strength to do it all over again. I don’t have dreams anymore.
I have reality.
And Davis Montgomery is not a part of that.
I square my shoulders and lift my chin. “Stop.” I drill a finger into his chest.
He rests his hand on the counter. “Stop, what?” he asks, his tone neutral.
“Stop calling me Cupcake and stop leaving me baking and baby supplies.” I pace the room and stop to glare at him. “Stop trying to fix me.” I flip open the baby book and point at the sonogram picture. “Stop doing shit like this. Stop beingnice.”
His head whips to me. “Someone has to,” he growls. “Be nice to you.”
“You might be protecting me, but you’re not my mental-health or happiness keeper. Do you understand me?”
Slowly, he turns. His body tight and coiled. Then he storms toward me. He cages me against the fridge, my feet touching the tips of his. My senses come alive. Every part of Davis pressed against me feels right.
He looms over me, his chest heaving like a bull. “I know what you’re fighting, Dakota. I know what’s inside that head of yours. I know what you’re running from. But I’m not walking away.”
My whole body’s vibrating, and his words just shake it even more. “Why?”
“You had to be a fighter for a goddamn long time. You had no choice. Now, you have a choice. Let someone take care of you.”
It slips out of my mouth. “Then take care of me.” I tip my head back to look at him, arch my body into his.
Davis’s hands return to his sides. “We can’t do this.”
“Why? Because you’re so honorable? Because of duty?”
He dips his head, his breath warm in the space between us. “Because the last thing you need is a man pawing at you.”
“I wish you would paw at me,” I whisper. Honesty’s boiling inside of me.
“Dakota.” My name falls strangled from his lips.
“You won’t even look at me. You won’t touch me.”
“Touch you is all I’ve fucking wanted to do since you’ve been back,” he grits out. “But how can I, Koty?”
My lips part. His confession warms every part of my soul. “You can, Davis. But you don’t care about me.”
An agonized sound rumbles in his throat. “You’re wrong there, Dakota. Especially about that.”
“Then prove it.”
Davis roams broad hands up my body. They linger on my waist, gripping it tight. “This is a bad idea,” he husks, gaze blazing.
I grip the hem of his shirt, refusing to let him loose. “It’s the best idea.”
His eyes close. “When you argue with me, Cupcake, it turns me on. Something fierce.”
