Page 113 of One Night with Number Nineteen

His hand comes in front of my face and then he pulls out a fresh pad. Then he’s handing me the pen.

“No,” he says.

I freeze mid-reach for the pen. “What do you mean, no?”

“That’s not what’s running through that gorgeous mind of yours.” He touches my cheek. “You’re scared, Pages.”

“Of course I’m scared!” I toss the pad aside. “I might have a stalker or a crazed fan or maybe I’m completely delusional and making shit up because…” I throw my hands up. “Because I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”

I groan, dropping my face into my hands.

“Yeah, Pages,” he says quietly. “You’re doing a bang-up job of convincing me you’re fine.”

My head shoots up and I glare at him.

He brushes the backs of his knuckles along my throat. “You’re scared and you’re upset. I should have set an alarm and made sure I was up in time with you to get Ollie.”

“What? No. I let you sleep on purpose. You had a long road trip. You needed the rest.” I shake my head. “And anyway, he’s my kid, Sawyer. It’s not your responsibility to make sure he gets picked up from school on time.”

“Maybe not. But I’m in this relationship with you. And Ollie comes as a package deal.”

My heart thuds hard against my ribs.

Then again when he adds, “And I love the kid, Pages. I want to be there for the big and the small stuff.” He steps closer, nudging me back from the desk, turning me and taking me into his arms. “I know you had to do this alone for far too long, I know that Ben wasn’t…”

I hold my breath, hating I want him to rag on Ben…and prepared to hate him if he does.

“I know you carried far too much weight by yourself for far too long.” He pushes back my curls. “And I know how terrifying it can be to let someone else help you carry it. But I’m here, and I’m going to be taking some of that weight—even if I have to lock you in your bedroom and orgasm you into oblivion to make that happen.”

My eyes well up.

And he notices—of course he notices—his face going so gentle it almost hurts to look at.

“You already did that,” I whisper, going for light.

And failing.

Probably because a tear slides down my cheek.

He wipes it off, cups the back of my head. “And I’ll do it again,” he says just as lightly before he kisses the top of my head and tightens his hold. “I’m here, sweetheart.”

Maybe I should tell him I’m fine again, should pull away.

But he’d just see right through that.

And he’d just tug me close again.

Or maybe it’s that I want to stay exactly where I am.

Because my body melts against his…and the admission just melts out of me.

“I’m scared,” I whisper again.

“I know, he whispers back, his arms tightening. “But together, remember?”

I remember.

But what if together doesn’t last?