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“He’s coming back, isn’t he?” Max was obviously worried. “He said we’d play baseball tomorrow.”
“He’ll be back.”
“You zapped my strength,” Preston whispered to her, laughing softly. “I can hardly move.”
She smiled because she was pretty sure that without him holding her up, she’d crumple to the floor. “Kids have the worst timing.”
“It definitely could’ve been worse.”
That much was true.
“I’m scared,” Max said. “Will you lie down with me?”
Emma felt Preston kiss her sweaty temple and loved that he didn’t seem to mind the messy part of sex. Manuel had always treated her as though she was somehow distasteful to him afterward. “If you’ll get back in bed and wait for me there, I’ll be out in a minute,” she told Max.
There was a pause. “Okay,” he said at last.
Silence fell as Max shuffled off, and Preston moved away to run a warm, wet cloth over her body. “You’re so lovely,” he murmured.
She reveled in the frank admiration in his eyes. She still wanted to be with him, to enjoy the aftermath of what they’d just shared. But her child came first.
She finished washing up and put her robe on while Preston dressed. Then she turned toward him. She didn’t know what to say. What had happened seemed too powerful, too profound for words.
Giving her the sexy grin she loved so much, he drew her robe tighter at the top. “What time do you get up to test Max?”
“Three.”
“Don’t set your alarm. I’ll take care of it tonight.”
She stared at him. “Are you sure you know how?”
“You showed me earlier, remember?”
“But if you oversleep—”
He cupped her face. “Emma.”
Her eyes met his clear blue ones. “What?”
“I won’t oversleep. If he’s above one-fifty, I’ll let you know he needs a shot. If he’s under a hundred, I’ll feed him.”
Preston’s offer was really nice. But she wasn’t used to having help, didn’t know if she could accept it. Manuel had never gotten up in the night with Max, not even when he was a baby, and she was terrified Preston might not follow through. “It’s okay,” she said. “I’ll probably wake up anyway.”
“Don’t. I’ve got it,” he said simply. And when he slipped his hand inside her robe to cup her breast as he gave her a final kiss, she decided to trust him. After all, he hadn’t let her down yet.
PRESTON LAY awake on the opposite bed, watching Emma. With her mouth slightly parted and one arm flung over her head, she seemed to be sleeping deeply. The moonlight that drifted lazily through the wooden shutters made the creamy skin revealed by the narrow straps of her tank top glisten like a shiny pearl. He couldn’t help remembering the feel of that satiny skin beneath his hands.
He’d thought, after their lovemaking in the bathroom, that he’d be able to forget about touching Emma. At least for a while. But he hadn’t gotten nearly enough of her.
With a silent curse, he cut off the memory of her legs wrapping around him. God, he had such a one-track mind. He’d spent two years filled with nothing except a thirst for vengeance and resolution. He still yearned for those things. But now he craved Emma just as much. He tried to blame his rampant hormones on the fact that he’d gone so long without a woman. But he wasn’t talking two years anymore. He was talking three hours.
Focus on something else.
The numerals on the digital clock on the nightstand flipped from 2:48 a.m. to 2:49 a.m. It was almost time to test Max. He wasn’t sure exactly why he’d volunteered for the job. Except that he couldn’t imagine how Emma dealt with the constant worry, and wanted to ease the burden if he could.
Climbing out of bed, he retrieved the black pouch and went into the bathroom to get everything ready. While he hoped Max’s blood sugar wasn’t low, he hoped it wasn’t high, either. He wanted Emma to be able to sleep.
When he returned with the meter and lancet, he knelt at the side of the bed and stared down at her son. Max’s eyelashes rested against his round cheeks, and his small hand retained the dimples-for-knuckles of a baby’s. Dallas’s hands had been the same way.
The similarities between the two boys ended there. But Preston still felt guilty, almost disloyal for liking Max. One child wasn’t interchangeable with another. And yet he knew there was nothing to be gained from resenting Emma’s son. Dallas was gone. Nothing could change that.
With a frown, Preston pricked Max’s finger, but he couldn’t get any blood out. Apparently, he hadn’t gone deep enough. He squeezed, but there wasn’t sufficient light to see where he’d made the hole. A moment later, an error message on the meter told him he’d have to use a new test strip.
Fortunately, Preston’s second attempt met with more success. The test strip soaked up the drop of blood he’d extracted, and the monitor beeped to show it had enough. Preston gave a sigh of relief as a dark line raced around the screen. After a series of beeps, a digital number appeared.
Preston held it closer to the light streaming out of the bathroom. Forty-six? How could Max be so low?
Trying not to remember the terrifying incident at the pool, he rushed into the kitchen, where he found a snack can of peaches and a spoon. But when he returned he couldn’t get Max to wake up.
“Come on, Beast. I’ve got something for you,” he murmured, dragging Max’s limp body up against his chest.
Max’s head lolled but didn’t rise.
Preston glanced nervously at Emma, who, surprisingly, hadn’t stirred. Was her son typically this difficult to rouse? Or had he gone into a coma or something?
“Max?” he whispered harshly.
Max didn’t respond or even lift his head. But as soon as Preston put the spoon to his lips, he opened his mouth, chewed and swallowed.
Thank God.
When he’d finished the whole can, Max rolled away without saying a word, as if everything was fine. But Preston still couldn’t sleep. He worried that maybe he hadn’t fed Max enough. The numbers didn’t add up. If Emma gave her son a small can of peaches when he was, say, seventy, she probably had to feed him more when he was only forty-six. That can of peaches had been so small.
He hated to wake Emma, but after thirty minutes of worrying about it, Preston decided he’d better check with her.
