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Sure, Australia was a whole fucking continent. I didn’t need to go back to the place I grew up. There were plenty of quaint seaside towns similar to this that I could make a home in. But home wasn’t a place. It was the people I’d chosen.
“Can we not talk about it for the rest of the day?” I requested, overwhelmed with the complicated future ahead of me if this child did somehow survive my scarred womb.
Nora nodded, her expression still soft, understanding. Ever so slightly pitying. She didn’t have to do this when she got pregnant. She had a man who was utterly besotted with her and treated her like she was the most precious and amazing thing in the world for the duration of her pregnancy. “It’ll be okay. He’ll be shocked but happy. He’s a good man.”
I nodded back because I didn’t want to talk anymore. I didn’t think Kip was a bad person, exactly. But I didn’t think he was an entirely good one either.
That’s what made him so sexy.
As a fake husband.
Not so much as a father.
ten
Fallout
“Hey, babe,”Kip greeted, throwing his keys into the bowl by the door. The gesture and the greeting were so routine. So natural.
A point in the column of ‘acting like a real husband.’
He grinned at me with warmth and wickedness in his eyes, slipping off his boots before walking over to kiss me and grab handfuls of my ass.
Another point for the ‘real husband’ column.
“I’ve been thinkin’ about fuckin’ you all day,” he murmured against my mouth.
Despite the kiss, the ass grab, and the way he threaded sex into every letter he spoke, my body did not have its regular reaction.
I mean, I was vaguely turned on because I wasn’t dead.
But I was churning with bone-chilling dread that even the hottest of desires couldn’t burn off.
Kip stepped back, frowning at me, noting my lack of reaction. He was in tune with my body in a freaky way.
But that could be a fuck buddy thing. Spectacular sex resigned someone to be in tune with the other person’s body, the nonverbal signs of consent.
“What happened?” he asked, his demeanor changing immediately. “Did you hear from the lawyers? Is something fucked-up?” He sounded angry, worried even. Like hecaredif something was fucked-up.
Then again, he was most likely worried about the ramifications of the US government finding out we’d committed fraud rather than me being deported.
“Um, no, it has nothing to do with the lawyers,” I told him, avoiding his eyes.
I felt like I was a fucking teenager telling my dad I was knocked up or something.
Like I was going to get in trouble.
Kip’s fingers grasped my chin to tilt it upward, so I had to look at him or squeeze my eyes shut like a child.
I found his ocean-blue gaze. It was hard. Worried. It almost seemed like he… cared.
“It’s something bad if you won’t even look at me,” he said gently.
Shit.
There was nothing for it. I couldn’t drag this out.
Rip off the Band-Aid, bitch.
