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Kip moved faster than me. He wasn’t hauling a beach bag, and he was still working out and in shape. Therefore, he could take the bag off my shoulder and bar my way to the beach.
“You are not swimmin’ out there,” he barked, eyes no longer a mixture of things. No, this was the hard resolution of a man who thought he called the shots.
“And why do you think you’re entitled to make calls like that?” I asked him, bite to my voice.
“Because you’re carrying my fucking child.”
My brows rose. “Oh,nowit’s your fucking child.”
He glowered at me. “It has always been my child.”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed. There was an edge of bitter hysteria to it, of course. “Always?” I repeated. “Like when I went to all the doctor’s appointments with Nora? When I was suffering with morning sickness that is, in reality, your worst hangover on repeat for the entire fucking day for months? I’m so sorry, I must’ve missed your presence and support through all the anxiety, vomiting, and hormonal roller coasters!”
I was yelling now. Which was fine. If there was someone who deserved to be yelled at, it was this guy.
Kip’s nostrils flared. He was pissed. And it better be at himself.
“You’re right. I wasn’t there,” he said through his ironclad jaw. “But I am now.”
I put my hand on my hip. “And that means you’re going to control my every move now? Try it, dude. See how long you survive.”
He chuckled. It was an empty sound. “I survived a fucking war, babe. I can survive you.”
I smiled at him, leaning in so our lips almost brushed. On account of my new size, I didn’t factor in my stomach grazing against his flat abs, but I just went with it.
“You may have been to war, but you definitely can’t survive me,” I purred, licking my lips. My tongue ran along the seam of his.
He opened his mouth immediately and relaxed his grip on the bag. I snatched it, skirted around him, and stomped to the doors.
Kip recovered quickly—he was a former soldier, after all. But I was in an open space and already to the stairs by the time he got to me. And since he was alternating between manhandling me and treating me like I was impossibly fragile, he wasn’t going to attempt anything as I walked down the stairs.
“You’re not getting in,” Kip growled as he caught up with me on the beach.
My feet sank into the sand, usually something that calmed me. Not now that there was a six-foot alpha male trying to tell me what I could and couldn’t do.
“If I feel like getting in, I’m going to get in,” I informed him, setting my towel down in the sand.
“We’re not having this conversation.”
I squinted at Kip, who had his hands on his hips, staring at me like his word was law.
“We are having this conversation,” I said. “I’m pregnant, not an invalid, and I have been swimming on my own for decades now.”
His nostrils flared. “It’s too dangerous. And too fucking cold.”
“Not with you right here, absolutely bursting at the gills to play the hero and pull me out when I’m not even drowning, remember that?” I asked him.
Kip’s jaw twitched as he regarded me with a harsh expression. “Okay, this isn’t going to work, I need a new tactic.”
I screwed up my nose. “What do you mean new—”
His kiss cut me off. At first, I struggled against it—not that that did much, and I didn’t struggle that hard. It only made it more erotic.
I tangled my hands in his hair, tearing at his scalp, and reveled in his groan of pleasure mingled with pain.
Kip lowered us onto the towel, lips never leaving mine. I straddled him, gasping as my pussy rubbed against his hard cock.
One of his hands went to the tie at my neck, undoing it so my bikini fell forward and my breasts were exposed.
