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Snickering, I burrow down farther in the bed, hugging a pillow to my belly. “Try living with the bitch.”
“Thank you, no.” Rye rests his head in his hand and smiles down at me.
The mix of tenderness and contentment in his eyes unnerves me, and I break eye contact, focusing instead on the massive swell of his shoulder muscle. That’s a distracting sight too, because I suddenly want to lick his skin. It’s safer than dealing with emotions when I’m currently a hormonal mess.
“You never answered my question,” I say to his chin. “How do you know?”
When he doesn’t speak, I glance up and find him grimacing. “What’s that look?” I’m half amused, half horrified. How does he know?
Rye scratches the side of his head, sending his thick hair up on end. “I’m trying to figure out how to answer without getting in trouble.”
“It had better be fast, or it’ll get worse.”
“I’d rather tell hot dog jokes.”
“I bet you would. No joy, Peterson. Talk.”
“Damn it,” he mutters under his breath. “Jax warned me never to bring up lady issues to a woman.”
“Good advice, given that you both have the delicacy of a bull in a china shop.”
“Yeah,” he admits then leans in a little. “But, really, Bren, is there a tactful way to talk about Aunt Flo?”
“True. Now, spill it.” I tweak his nipple, loving the way he yelps and rubs his chest with a scowl. It’s all show, since I didn’t pinch that hard. But it’s a good show, since I now can’t stop staring at his massive pecs. I want to be the one rubbing them.
Down girl. You can’t have sex.
“Evil pixie. I have a mind not to answer you.”
“Don’t make me pinch you again.” I wiggle my fingers in emphasis.
“Okay, okay. Put away the pincers.” Rye rests on his pillow, bringing his face closer to mine. His gaze slides over my features. It’s a lazy perusal as though he’s simply enjoying looking at me. When he speaks, his voice is gentle and unhurried. “Let’s put aside the fact that I can count, and it’s been a month since the last time she was around.”
“Ah. Right.”
He keeps talking as though I haven’t interrupted. “When evil Aunt Flo is about to come knocking at your door, you start switching from coffee regular to mocha lattes. You put your hair in a low, loose braid, which makes me think you get headaches.”
Dazed, I nod. “Feels like someone’s kicked my skull.”
“Poor baby.” Rye reaches out slowly. The tips of his fingers trace a small line along my temple then slide into my hair to stroke it. “You start favoring those pretty jersey dresses that skim your long body instead of those sexy tight skirts that hug your fine ass. Sophie once complained to everyone in the room that her womb feels like there’s a war being waged inside when she’s on the rag, so I’m guessing looser clothes are more comfortable.”
“You pay more attention than I thought,” I whisper thickly.
The blunt, callused tips of his fingers caress my jaw. “When are you going to believe me? I notice everything about you, Berry.”
I’m struck silent, little fissures forming around the edges of my heart. Would it be too much to ask for just one kiss? Probably. Definitely. I’d want more.
“Oh,” he says as if remembering something. “And you wear that vanilla and caramel cookie scent when dealing with Flo. Until the day it’s over, when you switch to celebratory lemon cake perfume. Both of which, by the way, drive me absolutely frantic to take a bite out of you.”
I swear I hear a crack inside my chest. “You…You notice my perfume selections?”
The corner of his mouth kicks up just a bit. “Pay attention, angel. I notice. Every. Thing.”
Somehow, he’s slipped his arm under my neck. His big hand splays wide between my shoulder blades as he eases me against him. I go willingly because it’s too good to deny. And though his biceps are nearly the size of my head, and rock hard, he makes a surprisingly comfortable pillow.
A sigh escapes me, and he slowly rubs my back and toys with the ends of my hair. This is definitely cuddle territory. We don’t do that, not without sex. But he feels familiar now. Familiar and good. Until he arrived, I’d been restless and unsettled. I can deny it all night long, but his presence, his touch, is what I needed.
“You were surprised when I told you I had my period last month,” I point out, still stuck on this whole revelation.
“I was distracted by an overwhelming case of lust and desperation.”
“Poor, Rye-Rye.” I nuzzle my cheek on the curve of his shoulder. He’s warm and solid and massaging my sore spots.
“You hurting?” His husky whisper gusts across the top of my head.
My hand finds his waist where his skin is like heated marble. “Not particularly. I took some painkillers before bed.”
