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As she turned away, she thought she heard him murmur, “I bet,” under his breath, but when she whirled back to look at him, his smile was perfectly innocent.
Yeah, as if she was buying that.
After grabbing her laptop off her desk, she settled at the bar to put the finishing touches on an article about the charity ball benefiting the LA Zoo that she’d attended the night before. It was due by five, but getting it in early could only help her career. Though Malcolm didn’t treat her any differently, she couldn’t help feeling as if she was persona non grata in the newsroom.
Or maybe that was her own sense of guilt and responsibility. Stephanie—who’d been at the Times for nearly ten years—had assured her that all reporters screwed up sometimes. Maybe that was true. But how many of them screwed up on their first major assignment? When she’d asked Stephanie that, her friend had suddenly needed to make a phone call. Which told Desi everything she already knew.
She’d written the zoo story earlier because she’d thought it’d be hard to work with Nic in her apartment. After all, the place was only about seven hundred square feet, and he was big enough that it felt as if he took up most of it.
Yet, as he unpacked, he was as unobtrusive as a gorgeous, six-foot-four man could be. He didn’t interrupt her, didn’t ask her where he should put his belongings. He just did his thing and let her do hers. If she’d had a little more self-control and actually been able to stop herself from stealing glances at him every five seconds, she probably would have finished proofing her article a heck of a lot faster.
As it was, they finished their tasks at the same time, after which Nic insisted on taking her out to lunch to celebrate their new living arrangement. He plied her with queso and guacamole and deep-fried ice cream—which was nowhere near as disgusting as it sounded—then took her for a walk around Griffith Park. It was crowded because it was a weekend, but it was fun all the same.
She’d spent so much of her life alone—by circumstance when she was young and by choice after she reached adulthood—that it hadn’t occurred to her how nice it could be to do things with someone else. How something as simple as a walk in the park became so much more fun when there was someone to share it with.
And when they finally made it back to her apartment and she saw what she’d missed earlier—three books on pregnancy and parenting that Nic had, if judging by the bookmark placement, been spending some serious time reading—it hit her that she might be in serious trouble.
Because for the first time since she’d decided to let Nic move in, she wasn’t thinking about how to get rid of him. Instead, she was thinking of ways to make him stay.
Twelve
Nic had just finished shaving early Monday morning when Desi called to him from the kitchen. “Nic! Come here! Hurry up!”
The urgency in her tone struck fear into his heart, and he rushed out of the bathroom and through the bedroom without even stopping to grab a shirt. “Are you okay?” he called as he ran through her matchbox-sized apartment. “What’s wrong?”
He got to the kitchen before she could answer, and he glanced around wildly, looking for some kind of threat. But there was nothing, only Desi leaning against the kitchen counter, her hand on her stomach and a huge smile on her face.
“Is something wrong with the baby?” he asked as he crossed the kitchen and stopped directly in front of her.
“He’s kicking!”
It was so not what he’d expected her to say that it took her words a few seconds to register. When they did, his gaze flew to her stomach. He’d felt that one small kick at her desk, but he’d been too surprised to appreciate it—or the fact that it happened on a regular basis. “He’s kicking?”
“Yes.” Rolling her eyes at his slowness, she pushed her clothes out of the way with one hand and grabbed his hand with the other. Then she brought his palm to her bare stomach and held it there.
For long moments, he didn’t feel anything and he looked at Desi questioningly. But she just nodded her encouragement, her hand tightening on his. So he waited, heart pounding and breath held, to feel…something.
And then, there it was. A gentle bump against his palm.
“He kicked me!” he crowed with delight.
“Actually, I think he kicked me,” she told him drily. “You’re just collateral damage.”
“Don’t listen to your mother,” he told the baby as he dropped to the ground at Desi’s feet and leaned his mouth close to her gently rounded tummy. “She’s just grumpy cuz she’s not allowed coffee in the mornings anymore.”
“Hey! Don’t be calling me grumpy to the baby.” Desi poked at his shoulder. “Or I won’t tell you the next time he kicks.”
“See, I told you she was grumpy. Mean, too.” He smoothed his palm over her stomach, checking out the changes to her body since the last time he’d been this close to her. There weren’t many yet, despite the fact that she was nearly halfway through her pregnancy. Just the added roundness to her tummy and the swelling of her breasts, both of which he found sexy as hell.
“You’d be mean, too, if you had to give up caffeine cold turkey.”
“No doubt,” he soothed, just as the baby kicked a second time.
“See! He got my hand again! I told you he was kicking me.”
She snorted. “No offense, but your hand pretty much covers my entire stomach at this point.”
He wasn’t sure what it was that did it, but suddenly he was much less aware of the baby and much more aware of the fact that he was on his knees in front of Desi, his hand resting on the bare, silky skin of her stomach and his mouth inches away from her sex.
