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He whips around to face me. Across the island, he shouts, “You don’t know Tinker well enough to make assumptions about her!”
I flinch, shocked as all get-out. One, he’s never raised his voice at me. And two, what the hell is he talking about? “What are you talking about? What assumptions?”
“Assumptions about––” I watch him struggle, his jaw working. I’m not sure whether he’s trying to speak, or trying to contain something. He turns his ire to the food on the counter, frowning at it. “Forget it.”
It must be his father. He’s worried, and blowing off steam. That has to be it.
“I haven’t a clue what’s gotten into you in the last hour, but I’m tired and we need to focus on why we’re here.”
His demeanor shifts, the anger retreating. “Yeah,” he says, raking his hand through his unruly hair. “You need to eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You need to eat.”
“Dane––”
“Fine.” He grumbles something else I can’t make out. I think I heard “stubborn” but I can’t be sure. “Let me show you to your room.”
Down the hall, he leads me to a large bedroom with a king-sized bed. The décor is country, charming and cozy; the sleigh bed covered with a beautiful quilt and plenty of pillows.
Dane stands off to the side, leaning against the wall with his big hands shoved in the pockets of his dress pants, the swells of his chest muscles tight against his white dress shirt. He watches me with a puzzled expression, serious in a way he rarely is.
At rest his face is flawless. It impels one to stare. Most of the time I forget how beautiful he is. And he unequivocally is.
The sharp cheekbones, the firm jaw, the dip in his chin.
And that body…Dios mío. Massive without looking bulky. Powerful and proportionate. A perfect example of the golden ratio. DaVinci would drool at the sight of this man.
Our eyes meet and he looks away first, his expression uncomfortable, almost awkward. Which is strange because I’ve never seen him appear anything less than overly confident.
“Are you okay?”
A curt nod is all I get. And they say women are moody and irrational. He moves to the door to exit.
“There are towels and a new toothbrush under the sink. Tomorrow we’ll get you some clothes. I can give you a t-shirt to sleep in.”
“I have the one I bought at the gift shop.”
With his head down and shoulders slouched, he turns to leave. I’m really in no mood to play shrink right now. The smart thing to do would be to let him leave––and leave him be. That would be the smart thing to do.
“Dane––” Pausing, he looks over his shoulder. “I don’t want to fight with you. I know you’re worried about your father and I’m sorry.”
His warm hazel eyes hold mine, not a word in reply. He seems on edge, frustrated, as if he’s trying to tell me something I can’t seem to understand.
“Get some sleep.”
Without pausing, he closes the door behind him. I stare at the knotted pinewood, waiting for him to walk back in and explain, to give me some insight on what’s going on with him, but it ends in vain––the door stays firmly shut.
A short while later I shrug off the dress, pull out the oversized t-shirt and slip it on. Too tired to take a shower, I crawl into bed after washing my face and teeth. Tomorrow I’ll try to decipher what that look on his face meant. Tomorrow.
Chapter Fifteen
Dane
I didn’t sleep a wink last night. Not that I’m a great sleeper to begin with. Last night, however, was especially painful. Staring at the ceiling for hours on end put me in a shit mood. And it’s not even due to my father’s heart attack.
He seems to be on the mend, thank God. I called the hospital at 4:30 this morning and heard him arguing with the nurse about his catheter; I pity the poor woman.
No, I didn’t sleep a wink because of a small woman with big blue-green eyes. I know I shouldn’t be mad at her. Hell, I’m the one that embellished the number of women I’ve slept with in the past. The fact that she believes it is what pissed me off enough to keep me up all night.
I don’t sleep around. Damnit, she should know me well enough by now. I’m not sayin’ I’m a saint. At one time, I did. I’ll own it. In my twenties, when I was first drafted. But not now––not for a long time. Not after I hit thirty and realized I needed rest and recovery more than I needed to get off inside a stranger that didn’t care that I needed to be careful with my body, that I couldn’t take even the smallest risk with my knees or my shoulders. Not after the ACL and MCL tear and the fear that I may never play again.
Fact is, I haven’t gotten laid since I met her. I had to choke the chicken once last night and twice this morning already. I’ve jerked off more in the last three months than I did at sixteen. I saw more action then than I do now, that’s for damn sure.
Which is probably another reason I couldn’t sleep last night. For the sake of my mental health, I should probably remedy that right quick. Except––and this is the troublesome part––my dick has developed a preference for the woman sleeping on the other side of the house. The thought of being with anyone else makes him shrivel and hide and that ain’t like him.
Cracking open the door of her bedroom, I find her fast asleep. Figures. She’s not worked up in a lather over me. I’m probably the last man on the planet she’d be attracted to.
Does it bother me that she’s more concerned with what our child will think a decade and a half into the future than she is about me keeping company with other women? Yeah, it sure as shit does. It bothers me that Stella doesn’t care who I’m sleeping with as long as it isn’t her.
I step into the bedroom and she sits up in bed, catching me by surprise. Her hair is piled up and hanging off to the side. Hair a mess, no makeup, and no designer suits––she’s the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen.
Eyes barely cracked open, she takes me in. It doesn’t take long for her to zero in on the tray with food I’m holding.
“Hey.” Her voice is scratchy, deeper than usual––the kind of voice that welcomes a lover. My dick starts to swell and I bite down on the inside of my cheek to distract myself. A damn nuisance.
“Hey,” I echo back. All I can do is hope the tray is hiding the wood pushing against my sweatpants. I walk over to her side of the bed and place the tray on the nightstand. She scoots over, making room for me, and I sit on the edge.
“I’m headed to the hospital.”
“You made breakfast?”
“You didn’t eat last night.” She takes inventory of the food. Her stomach growls loudly and we both smile. “Just in time.”
“I didn’t know you could cook. This looks delicious.” The smile slides off her face, her color turning pale. “Except, I’m nauseous.”
We’re pregnant. It hits me sideways, knocking me off balance a little. With all that’s happened with my father, the baby got lost in the chaos.
“Dane?”
“Can I do anything? Get you anything to feel better? Have you thrown up?”
“No,” she tells me with a small smile. Almost immediately it turns into a frown, her hand moving to cover her stomach. “Maybe the toast will help.” She grabs a slice off the tray. “I don’t want to hold you up. I’ll take a cab to the hospital as soon as I shower.” She grimaces, chewing slowly.
My eyes stray down her t-shirt over the swells of her breasts and stop. Holy hell, her nipples are pointing through the lettering. All the blood in my brain rushes to my dick. I’m so distracted by those gorgeous nipples it takes me a while to process what the t-shirt says.
Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy.
That does it. No chance she doesn’t notice my dick pointing at her like a fucking compass. I’m so hard it’s painful. “Nice t-shirt,” I mutter.
Stuffing the last of the toast in her mouth, she crosses her arms in front. “Itz the owly one they had in a larthe thize.”
Two bri
ght pink spots form on her overstuffed cheeks and I almost kiss her right then and there. As soon as the impulse hits me, I start to panic. “I gotta go. Levi will drive you when you’re ready.”
She swallows. “Who’s Levi?” she asks, grabbing another piece of toast off the tray.
“My brother.”
“You have a brother?!” she shouts, probably shocked her research missed this news. Her expression makes me smile. I can always count on her to do that.
“From another mother––long story. He lives here, helps manage the ranch, trains the cuttin’ horses.”
“I don’t want to be a burden. If he’s busy––”
“Eat your breakfast,” I say interrupting another debate. “Never met a more stubborn woman. I’ll see you later.”
“Fine,” she mumbles around another mouthful of toast.
I get up to leave, turning away so she can’t see my dick pointing in her direction.
“Dane––”
