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“Don’t you want children?” she asks, before she lifts another chopstick full of pad thai into her mouth.

“Jesus,” I mutter, reaching for my water. “Did I miss the part where this dinner turned into a fertility consultation?”

She grins, utterly unbothered. “You’re my husband. If we were actually doing this properly, we’d likely be arguing aboutbaby names by now,” she says, like it didn’t just make me think of how babies are made.

She slides a piece of tofu into her mouth, her eyes fluttering shut for a split second like that mush could actually taste good.

I mean, it probably does. Martin’s a genius. But if she was anybody else I’d bet money she’s doing it on purpose now.

Her shirt slips off her shoulder as she shifts in her chair, her bare skin brushing the leather.

“Can you imagine?” I mutter, mostly to distract myself. “We’d have day long arguments about names because you’d want to call the poor kid Solar Flare or Compostella Moonbeam.”

Her mouth twitches. “Don’t be silly. Compostella is clearly a middle name.”

The laugh rumbles up in my chest, escaping before I even realize it’s coming. Her amused eyes lock with mine.

“This is nice,” she murmurs, like she really means it.

The weird thing is, she’s right. The good food, the smiles, the way she’s looking at me. In another life it’d be something I’d want.

Parker and Hudson have it. This deep, visceral connection with someone. Even Asher, the emotionally constipated bastard, isn’t afraid to show his emotions when Francie is around.

They all go home after a long day in the office, sit down at the table, and really talk with the person they love.

And instead of going home I go out and party, or spend the night cleaning up a rich client’s problems.

There’s a reason for that, the little voice in my head reminds me.

And I see it, the image ofher.Her body lifeless.Fuck.

I take a deep breath, but luckily Eden finishes her food, letting out a little sigh of satisfaction.

My own plate’s still half full. I don’t feel hungry anymore. “Aren’t you going to eat more?” she asks, sounding concerned.

I shake my head. “I’m watching my weight.” Another lie, but at least it makes her smile again.

Standing, she takes our plates, carrying them to the sink, putting the remaining noodles down the garbage disposal. I follow her, trying to help, but she bats me away.

“You cooked… well you picked it up at least. Same thing.” Her hips sway as she turns to the dishwasher, barefoot and bossy, her legs so damn smooth it makes my fingers ache to touch her.

She wipes her hands on a towel and comes to stand in front of me. I can smell the sweet floral notes of her shower gel. And then, without the slightest hesitation, she steps into me and wraps her arms around my neck.

Giving me a hug I didn’t know I wanted. Needed, even. I breathe her in, and tighten my arms around her like a man who’s forgotten how to be comforted.

She stays there for a few long, perfect seconds. Then she steps back with a smile, completely unaware that I’m rock hard for her.

“Night, West,” she murmurs, before she turns around, and I watch her leave the room, her shorts barely covering the tops of her thighs.

And I stand there, hard as granite, reminding myself why it would be a very, very bad idea to follow her upstairs.

EDEN

I stand back from my bed, staring at the clothes I’ve laid out for tomorrow. Khaki pants, a black tank, and a little cropped jacketthat screams ‘corporate but relaxed’. Probably not what West’s investors would love, but I’m not trying to impress anybody.

Except him. Maybe a little.

Then I realize he never told me what time we’d be leaving in the morning. I don’t want to sleep through it this time. I’ll set five alarms if I have to – and let’s face it, I’ll probably have to.