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His hand drops down to fan over my baby bump. “Nugget okay?”
“Mhmm,” I murmur into his chest, my eyes already feeling droopy.
He kisses my forehead as I fist his sweatshirt. I curl my body into him, determined to share his skin. I’m not sure if he asks me any more questions, and I doubt I answer. I’m a leaf on the breeze, floating off into a dreamless sleep.
4
IKEA
“Ilmari? You home?”
Poseidon barks, and I jolt upright. My phone slips off my chest, clattering to the floor. I glance around the dark living room, my eyes pausing on the wall of glass. Outside, a blanket of grey clouds hang heavy and low. Spring in Florida. Cool and rainy, just the way I like it.
I arrived home from practice as the first drops began to fall. When I got inside, the house was empty, which is a rarity. Given our differing schedules, someone is almost always home. Exhausted from a full-body workout, I slid open the glass door and dropped onto the sofa, content to listen to the rain.
Clearly, I must have fallen asleep.
With a groan, I roll to my side, snatching my phone off the floor. My whole body hurts. I’m getting too old for this. The season is nearly over and playoffs are about to begin. Is it wrong of me to secretly hope we don’t advance?
I stretch and yawn, cracking my neck.
“Oh—sorry, babe,” Rachel calls from the kitchen, setting her shopping bags down. The dog dances excitedly around her feet. “Were you asleep?”
“It’s fine,” I reply, checking the time. Nearly five o’clock. I was asleep for almost two hours. No one came home in all that time? Odd. “Where are the others?”
She’s busy moving around the kitchen, opening and shutting cabinets. “Umm…I think they were meeting up with Novy and Morrow for a quick bite.”
I get up from the sofa, doing another stretch. Every muscle feels tight. I’ll sit in the sauna after dinner. Maybe I can convince Jake to give me a massage tonight. He’s damn good at them. But he always demands a string of favors in payment. Last time he made me walk the dog for a week.
“Do you have any plans tonight?” Rachel calls.
I step around the end of the sofa and move towards the kitchen, pausing to take in this side view of my wife. Rachel’s long, brown hair tumbles down her back as she lifts up on her toes, reaching for a high shelf of the cabinet. Her pregnant belly presses against the counter and she winces.
“Let me,” I say, rushing to her side. The dog skitters out of my way.
“Last one,” she replies with a smile, handing me the glass.
I go to take it, but she holds on, our fingers brushing as she reels me in. Our lips press together in a quick kiss. Stepping in next to her, I easily set the glass on the shelf.
“Say, since you’re so strong and soooo good at being helpful…”
I pause, glancing over my shoulder. She’s wearingthatlook. The look she gets when she’s about to ask me to do something she knows I don’t want to do. It’s equal parts pleading and seductive, like she’ll beg me to fuck her and then I’ll be the one thanking her.
“What do you want?” I say, my tone laced with obstinance. I can’t help myself. She says it’s because I’m an Aries. I know it’s because I’m Finn.
She steps in closer, establishing touch. Her hands stroke up my forearms, her thumb brushing over where her name is tattooed on my skin. Her rounded belly, heavy with our child, presses in at my hip. I groan, fighting her pull. But it’s hopeless. She is the sea siren and I her weary sailor, destined to crash upon her rocks.
“I need your help,” she says, her voice an alluring murmur. “I can’t do it on my own. Not in this condition,” she adds, one hand brushing over her belly.
My senses fill with her scent, the feel of her, the magnetic pull I still feel every time she’s close. She’s not fighting fair. I pull my arms gently loose of her grip. “Just tell me, Rakas.”
With a smirk, she drops her siren act, her voice returning to normal. “I need you to go to IKEA with me.”
My arousal sinks like a lead balloon. “Fuck. Tonight?”
“Come on,” she laughs, placing her hands on my shoulders. “It won’t be that bad. In and out. I just need to pick up a bookcase for the baby’s room. And unless you want me lifting heavy boxes—”
“No,” I growl. “My eight-months-pregnant wife will not be lifting bookcases. I thought we already had one,” I add. It’s not a question. Iknowwe have a bookcase in the baby’s room. I put it together.
