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The right side of his mouth hitches up. “No chance. You were panting every time I came into the room. You licked your lips when I took off my shirt and you couldn’t keep your eyes off my ass.”
I make an outraged noise and the smile teasing at his lips turns into a full-out grin. He wraps his arms low around my waist and then yanks me up and against him.
I gasp in a deep breath and lift my hands to his shoulders.
“Yep,” he says, leaning in, his breath warm on my ear. “A little like how you’re panting right now.”
He’s joking and playing it off, but still. He had so little chance to start with. Only two months. Two opportunities to get me pregnant, two of my eggs. If he was only concerned about the money and securing the inheritance, then the smartest move would have been for him to screw anything with a viable uterus and spread his seed far and wide. Or even to have gone the scientific route and fertilized a bunch of eggs in a lab for surrogacy.
But no. Not my Xavier.
He hikes me up just enough so that his rapidly growing hard on digs into the perfect spot between my legs. He drops his head to kiss me and I lick my lips to moisten them in anticipation.
He grins in the way that takes my breath away.
“Just proving my point, Precious.”
I startle, then realize I just licked my lips. Annoyed, I start to push him away, but he just chuckles and lands the most loin-tingling, soul-searing kiss.
I’m half crawling up him by the time he pulls away, still chuckling but also with lust darkening his blue eyes.
“If my father weren’t waiting and no doubt spying on us out the kitchen windows, I would drag you to the ground right here.”
I groan as he sets me back on my feet and starts leading me toward the house.
***
Dinner is as awkward an affair as I might have imagined. I fill in with mindless chitchat about life on the farm. Xavier’s father tries to look interested but I can tell it’s a strain to keep his attention focused on our equine feeding schedules or even how Xavier is training Samson.
“It’s really incredible,” I continue gushing. “He was completely wild only a few months ago and now he’s gentle as a kitten when Xavier’s got his hands on him.”
Xavier scoffs. “I don’t know about that. He’s still got some snap in him. He about took my finger off when I approached him from the right flank the other day.”
I raise my eyebrows in surprise and Pritchard drinks some of his ice water, clearly biting back some comment.
“You haven’t worked on that side as much, I guess.” I look to his dad. “I didn’t know this before I came here, but apparently ideas and things they learn don’t automatically transfer between both spheres of their brains like they do for humans. So if you teach a horse a skill from the left side, you have to teach him the same skill starting from scratch on the right side. Totally crazy, I had no idea.”
Xavier nods. “Ranchers joke it’s like getting two horses every time.”
I shake my head. I can’t believe I never knew that. It just seems like one of those fun facts people would talk about all the time. Xavier jokingly talks about Samson as Lefty and Righty. As in, oh, I spent the day with Lefty today.
“Guess you need to focus on spending some time with Righty, then,” I smile at him.
Xavier inclines his head before shoveling in a huge bite of shepherd’s pie. I’m really happy with how it came out today. Since I’ve gotten pregnant and don’t have to work so hard out on the ranch, I’ve taken to experimenting in the kitchen.
Well, at least the past couple weeks once the first trimester was over and the smell of meat didn’t send me running for the nearest bathroom. This is one of my favorite recipes because it’s hard to screw up. It’s the third time we’ve had it in the last two and a half weeks.
What? So I’m slowly expanding my menu of things I can cook. I grew up a New York where take-out was a major food group.
It’s also a bit odd to be using a fork and feeding myself. God, it’s the first time in months and it feels a bit… well, unsettling and lonely being so separate from Xavier all the way over there at the head of the table with his father sitting across from me. I can’t believe him feeding me has become such a source of comfort and connection after how much I fought it in the beginning.
The few times I catch Xavier looking at me, his eyes focused on my fork disappearing between my lips, I wonder if he isn’t thinking something similar.
“So, son,” Pritchard says after Xavier’s midway through his second helping, “what will it take to get you to come home?”
Xavier’s fork only pauses briefly on its way to his mouth. Behind him, I notice it start to rain outside.
He continues to take his bite, chews normally, and washes it down with his water. He has beer in the fridge, and I’m surprised he didn’t want to take the slightest edge off for this meal with his father. I take a sip of water as I look back and forth between the two men like I’m at a tennis match. Oh dear. Is this where the yelling starts?
