Page 29 of Sterling Heat

He lifts the bottle. His hand shakes enough that the pills rattle within the container. “I can’t have these here.”

Holy shit. “Of course.” Without thinking, I rush to him and take the bottle from his fingers which are clamped tightly around it. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

“You couldn’t have. You shouldn’t know.” His voice thickens. “And stop apologizing.”

I have so much more I should say to him. Tell him I’m proud of him for getting clean, staying clean. Hell, even proud of him for telling me the truth about this sliver of his past. But I also can’t believe I didn’t know. Didn’t even suspect. Then again, why would I? He seems so put together with the bakery and this beautiful apartment. Plus, he’s still a relative stranger to me. However, I should know better about facades and false natures. I’d been with a man for eleven years who gave promises with a smile and declarations with sincerity, and never meant a single word he’d uttered to me.

With the pills in my hand, I brush past Sebastian for the bathroom. Dumping the lot in the toilet, I flush twice to make certain all the pills disappear. Then I peel the label from the bottle, fold the sticky sides together and tear it into small pieces, dumping it in the toilet next.

When I stand upright, Sebastian is at the bathroom door, hands on either side of the jamb. His expression is pinched, his jaw tight. With his head bowed, he appears bewildered. He doesn’t look at me when he says, “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I don’t need them,” I quickly explain. “A few ibuprofens will be good enough, but I’m not really sore.” I wave at my lower region, causing Sebastian’s gaze to fall there, but that’s the last place he’d want to go right now because I’m still recovering from labor.

That doesn’t mean I don’t fantasize about kissing him or him holding me, but he isn’t going to want anything to do with me, even if I was healed.

Slowly, he looks up, eyes meeting mine. The blue of his eyes is like a soft flame, full of shame, regret, and something more. Confusion, maybe? Like he’s trying to work something out about me but can’t.

As I stand inside the bathroom, I don’t feel trapped, but something swirls between us, like the beginning of a summer storm, when hot air meets rain-heavy clouds.

I lick my lips. Sebastian’s nostrils flare.

His chest heaves.

My heart hammers.

“Shower?” My voice squeaks on a question that sounds like an invitation when I only intended to reiterate why he needs the bathroom.

“Why aren’t you reacting to what I told you? I’m a drug addict.” His expression hardens, eyes narrowing.

Should I be overreacting? I’m staying with a man I hardly know but have so many reasons to trust. He delivered my baby. He came to visit both of us. He’s pretending to be her father. And he kissed me once like I was precious.

“Because you told me it was a long time ago and you are currently recovering. I get that it’s a continual process. And I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize your success. Thank you for being honest with me. I trust you.”

“Sugar.” His voice cracks. His hands tighten on the jamb like he’s holding himself back when I wouldn’t mind him leaning forward and letting me hug him.

And I would hug him. I’m proud of him for his recovery. It’s a difficult path.

“Baby, you need to get out of that bathroom before I show you how little you should trust me.” There he goes warning me again, like he’s a bad man. Like he could frighten me. He’d never hurt me. I know it down to my bones.

Instead, seduction underlies his tone and warmth rushes through me. He couldn’t possibly be attracted to me. Not in comparison to the other women I’ve seen in his life. Sedona. Rena. Still, my breasts feel even heavier and my pulse beats faster. Maybe? Or maybe, I’m the one who can’t be trusted as my hormones wreak havoc and my imagination runs wild.

With a heavy push against the jamb, Sebastian forces himself backward, but he only turns sideways, pressing his back to the jamb next. The position offers me the opportunity to escape but only a sliver of space. There’s enough room for me to get through the doorway, but not without our bodies sliding against each other. This is a dangerous game, but I make my move. I maneuver myself, squeezing between Sebastian and the door frame, relishing every second of my weighted breasts brushing against his firm chest. My nipples are painfully sensitive beneath my thin shirt as they sweep against the rough fabric of his. Sebastian hisses and I soak up the sound of him sucking in air through his teeth. A sizzling sound like I’ve burned him, scorched him through layers of fabric. I’m hyperaware of every point of contact. My nipples erect. My hand brushing against his. My nose almost meets his neck, inhaling him. My eyes remain focused and wide on the expanse of his chest as sparks crackle along my overstimulated skin.

As soon as I’m free from the doorway, the connection fizzles and Sebastian has given me his back, closing the door behind me. Despite the soft flirtation in what he said, there’s no apparent effect on him.

With a shaky hand, I swipe at my forehead, wiping away an image of him taking me against the bathroom sink. Silly woman.

With a clearer head, I return to my room to dress for a hospital visit.

I’m going to see my baby again.

+ + +

At first, our drive to the hospital is silent. I’ve had time to digest what Sebastian told me and gather questions about his past. Questions I should have asked before deciding to stay with him.

“Just ask me.” He’s read my mind and flexes his hand over the steering wheel before tightening it again.

“I don’t want to pry.” What’s happened in the past really isn’t my business, but I’m still curious. I’m always fascinated that some people can get clean while others can never stop using. Where is that fine line? What finally wakes someone up to their addiction while for someone else, he only slips into oblivion?