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"You’ve more than pulled your weight over the past few months on the campaign. Without your efforts, my husband couldn’t have been elected Prime Minister." She smiles.
I hunch my shoulders. "Th-thank you so much."
"Raise your chin," she orders.
"Eh?"
"Raise your chin, girl, and accept the praise. Own it like a mother—ducking—fitch." She glances down at the still sleeping baby in her arms, then back at me. "Oopsie."
I can’t stop myself from laughing. I move closer, then take in the little bundle in her arms. "He’s sooo small."
She scoffs, "He didn’t feel that small when I pushed him out of my va—a—ah—ina. You know what I mean?"
"Jesus, that’s too much information," a deep voice rumbles.
The hair on the nape of my neck rises. I know who that is. I know that sinful baritone belongs to a man whose soul is as dark as his voice.Don’t turn around. Don’t turn around.
It’s as if I have no control over my body anymore. As if I’m the puppet and he’s the puppeteer to whom I’ve handed over control. I pivot and take in the man lounging in the doorway. Dark hair that’s cut short at the sides and long on top. Square jaw, blue eyes so bright they seem to draw every inch of light in the room. High cheekbones, the makings of a five-o-clock shadow on his chin, even though it’s not even noon. He straightens and his shoulders fill the doorway. Then he prowls toward me, and the rest of the room recedes. Wide chest, sculpted enough that the grey Henley he’s wearing stretches across his pecs. His waist is narrow, his powerful thighs straining the worn jeans he’s wearing. His gaze locks with mine, and as always, it’s as if he’s reached into my mind and learned every dirty fantasy I’ve harbored about him all these years. For a second, those blue eyes flare with cold fire. Then, just as suddenly, he wipes all expression from his face. He looks away, and my muscles sag. It’s as if I’ve been released from a tractor beam. He glances toward his sister and his features form into an uncomfortable expression.
"You’re perfectly aware of how the birthing process takes place," Zara scolds him.
"Yes, but so far, births and anything to do with them have only been a concept. Just like the fact that you are a mother now is something I’m still getting my head around," he drawls.
He walks over to stand on the side of the bed opposite me. Which leaves the entire expanse of the bed between us,thank god.His fingers are looped around one pink and one blue balloon, which say, ‘baby boy’ and ‘baby girl,’ respectively.
"Was covering all my bases, since you kept us guessing until the last moment," he explains, then glances down at the baby in her arms. "Wow, you really are a mom."
"And you’re an uncle."
Cade’s face lights up. He thrusts out his chest, pulls back his shoulders and folds his arms across his chest. "I can’t wait to teach him how to play cricket."
"Would you like to hold him first?" Zara asks.
Cade looks alarmed. "Me?" There’s so much panic in his voice that I have to press my lips together to stop myself from snorting out loud.
"Yes, you." Zara tilts her head.
"Umm. He’s too fragile, maybe when he’s a little older?" Cade takes a step back to punctuate his words. The balloons flutter above him. "I guess I should tie these…somewhere?" He crosses the room to a chair pushed up by the window and ties them to its back.
"Oh, now I realize what’s wrong. The pink balloon says baby boy," I exclaim.
"I’m aware." Cade spins around, then walks back to take his place on the opposite side of the bed, this time, putting more distance between the bed and himself. Not that I’m complaining. The farther away from me he is, the better.
"Shouldn’t it… I mean… Shouldn’t it be the other way around?" I chew on my lower lip, and his gaze lowers to my mouth. His nostrils flare and he looks annoyed.With me? With himself, maybe?He raises his gaze to mine, and my breath catches. There are sparks of something I can only define as... Lust?Nah, not possible, he doesn’t find me attractive, does he?
Zara clears her throat, and Cade seems to snap out of his reverie.
"Who am I here to visit, hmm?" he drawls
I frown. "You’re coming to visit Zara."
"Who is…?"
"Your sister?" I offer.
"And?"
"Uh, she’s very much a feminist, a strong woman, ah—" I tip up my chin. "I get it now. You were making a statement that you knew she’d approve of."
