She turns toward the dresser, gravitating to a framed photo of Elody swaddled in a pink blanket before picking it up and studying it.
She was so tiny.
No more than six pounds.
A mixture of love and gratitude rushes through me. No matter how my marriage fell apart, my daughter was worth every second of heartache.
“Wow. She was so small,” Kia whispers, tracing a fingertip over the glass.
I step close enough to feel the warmth of her body. “She wasn’t even twelve hours old.”
Kia stills, a flicker of emotion crossing her face too abruptly to pin down. I can’t help but wonder what just passed through her mind.
After a beat, she sets the frame down with care. “I should probably get ready for bed. It’s been a long day.”
“Yeah.” I take a step back before my self-control fractures any more than it already has. “That’s probably a good idea.”
As she moves toward the door, I blurt, “If you need anything else, you know where to find me.”
She glances back, her gaze settling on mine. “Thanks again, Laiken.”
And then she’s gone, disappearing across the hallway.
I close the door before I can come up with an excuse to invade her space, as if the distance I’m forcing between us might save me from myself. I lean my forehead against the cool wood and squeeze my eyes tightly shut, breathing out through my nose.
It doesn’t help.
A low groan slips free anyway.
Trouble.
Kia Van Doren is absolute, undeniable trouble.
One accidental touch, and my body won’t stop vibrating.
After forcing myself to get ready for bed, I slide beneath the covers and stare at the ceiling, painfully aware that the pretty blonde is sleeping right across the hall.
Too close.
Too damn close to be considered harmless.
13
Kia
My eyelashes flutter open, and for a few disorienting seconds, I have no idea where I am. Even the ceiling above me is unfamiliar. The light filtering in through the curtains is softer than the harsh glare I’m used to waking up with. The air here smells different too. And the shirt I’m wearing definitely doesn’t belong to me.
That’s all it takes for reality to snap into place.
Laiken’s penthouse.
The guest room.
I’m wearing his T-shirt.
Warmth slides through me as I shift beneath the covers. The shirt hangs low on my thighs, the hem brushing against bare skin. It’s soft and worn, stretched just enough to make it comfortable. It’s familiar in a way that doesn’t make sense.
Without thinking, I lift the collar to my nose and inhale. The scent is a mix of cotton and soap. There’s something deeper beneath it that’s woodsy, smoky, and unmistakably him.
