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Dammit.
I had to blow this night by sharing my thoughts too soon. I had no intention of voicing them, but they escaped before I could contain them
Faith’s eyes widened, and her bottom lip quivered. I should have known giving away my true feelings about claiming her forever, no matter how real they were, would freak her the fuck out. She wasn’t ready for that type of commitment, so I should have kept my intentions to myself.
“Is that what you needed, baby girl?” I asked, taking her face in my hand and cradling it.
“Mm. Exactly,” she breathed.
“Where are your washcloths? Stay here and I’ll get you a warm one.”
A smile flickered on her lips. “You know, for a big, bad Dom, you sure are sweet.”
My mouth brushed her flushed cheek, and I told her, “Keep it to yourself, would you? I have my tough guy reputation to live up to.”
Her smile broadened and she gestured. “That way. The washcloths are in the cupboard down the hall. Bathroom’s the last door right.”
I loved us like this.
Domestic.
Familiar.
And I’d prove to Faith I was in it for the long run.
I made a quick stop to relieve my bladder, rinse off, and shook my head seeing her waste bin overflowing onto the floor.
I’d take it out for her as soon as I delivered her washcloth.
“Here you go, sweet cheeks.” I handed her the washrag and asked, “Where do I empty your bathroom trash? It’s spilling over.”
She replied feebly. “There’s no need, Riley.”
“I insist,” I urged.
Her shoulders bobbed. “Through the kitchen and out the door. Gray container.”
I pulled on my jeans and ducked out, lifted the lid of the garbage can next to the garage, and emptied the contents into the larger container.
Glancing down, my heart vaulted in my chest and the ridge of my backbone shot straight.
What the fuck?
Perched on the pile, the stinging evidence of the hidden truth, a white piece of plastic, with two distinct pink lines, one bolder than the other.
Someone had some explaining to do.
Carefully, I took the positive pregnancy test result between my fingers and marched back inside.
With a forceful flick, I sent it sailing onto the bed where Faith was lounging, my tone razor-sharp as I commanded, “Enough games. Start talking.”
CHAPTER8
RILEY
She lay there, looking stubbornly beautiful, keeping her secrets, while I was about to lose my shit.
Some small, functioning part of my frontal lobe, the bit in charge of reason that you might say I’d made inoperable due to smoke exposure, recognized that I was going about it all the wrong way.
