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Twelve
She woke up crying. She was glad she had the nap after the doctor appointment, but she had a dream... This dream where Kit was sitting in a rocking chair, shirtless, holding a tiny baby, somehow the epitome of her fantasies, both sexual and domestic all at once, and seeing him there with that familiar wood paneling behind him, seeing him enmeshed in her life, had made her cry in that dream. And when she’d woken up, the crying hadn’t been only in the dream.
She tried to get herself together. She went to sit and work on a bracelet that she’d been beading for a few days now, but she couldn’t focus.
She was pregnant. Really pregnant, and there was nothing wrong.
Kit had been there for her exhaustively... And she was... She was having a really hard time. With everything. She didn’t understand how her life had gone from stagnant and stuck to this. She had wanted something different, but this was decidedly more different than she had been anticipating.
He was coming for dinner. He was cooking for her again. He did it for her all the time, and she just...
She was beginning to feel helpless. Like all these changes were spinning out of her control. It certainly wasn’t the sweet, easier life that she had planned for.
That she had thought she would maybe begin to pursue.
Maybe the problem is you don’t know what you want.
She did. She wanted the baby. She wanted everything to go smoothly with Kit.
She was not ready for him to show up, and when he did, she felt pretty raw still from everything.
“How are you?” And it was the concern that got her. The concern that made her want to run and hide from this. From him. But she didn’t have the luxury of doing that. It was all supposed to be easy, right? Because they were friends?
Except when he breezed past her and went into her kitchen, grocery bags in hand, she had the sudden realization of why it wasn’t easy.
They were having a marriage. All this intimacy, emotional and deep. Sex had at least been a distraction after their conversation about grief at the ranch, but... This was just all the emotional stuff. Nothing else.
He threw a dish towel over his broad shoulder and started to take ingredients out of the bag in front of him. She didn’t know that was such a sexy thing to do, but it was. That sort of determined and focused competence. More than competence. The thing about Kit was that he was great at everything he did.
Get it together.
He got out a cutting board, and some vegetables, and began to slice through them with ruthless efficiency. And she was enthralled.
Trying to wrap her head around this moment. This life. And suddenly, it was like all the feelings were just too big for her. All of this. Because how was he here in her kitchen. And how was she here, pregnant with his baby? And what was her life? Was she still herself even?
It had seemed simpler when it was sex.
Because the sex wasn’t like anything else. It was like a fantasy. It wasn’t like her marriage. It wasn’t like building a life. It was like burning everything to the ground. In an incendiary flame. It wasn’t thinking or talking. It let her make him into something less complicated. Muscle and rough hands and a hard body.
That’s what it let her have. And so she did what her body was begging her to do. What her senses demanded. She moved up behind him, and pressed her breasts to his back. She felt him go still. Completely and utterly still. He set the knife down flat on the counter, and then he growled, turning around and cupping her face, her chin held tightly in his palm. “What exactly are you offering me?”
And suddenly, this was dangerous Kit. The one who had put everything she knew in jeopardy every time she saw his face. The one who made her question everything.
It was that Kit. Yeah. That one.
“I would think that was pretty obvious,” she said, sucking a sharp breath as she moved her hands to the front of his jeans. Her knees buckled. But thankfully, he was holding so tightly to her that she didn’t fall. Because there he was. Hard and rigid already beneath her hand. Big and heavy and she could remember what it had been like to have him inside her.
Yeah. She could well remember.
Her breath hissed through her teeth as she let her fingers skim his hardened length. “I want you,” she said.
“Do you?”
“Yes,” she said. “I want you, now. In me.”
“Me? Or are you thinking about someone else?”
“I have never thought about someone else when I wanted you.”
