From Enemies to Expecting

And she wasn’t wearing any makeup. She’d literally never been more beautiful. He could not tear his gaze from her.

All the color drained from her bare face. “Logan.”

Not expecting him, obviously.

“Surprise.” He held out the flowers. His pulse hammered in his throat, and he wanted to sweep her into his arms so badly his hands were shaking.

She eyed the bouquet, her expression frozen. Why wasn’t she taking the flowers?

“You, um...didn’t respond to any of my messages.”

Which judging by the ice chips currently jetting from her eyes, she already knew. “I’ve been busy. You shouldn’t have come by.”

The long process of dealing with the PED inquest and fatigue and sheer confusion swirled together to step on Logan’s temper. “I wanted to see you. Can I at least ask why the reverse isn’t true?”

Warily, she shrugged, but not before he noted her expression. She wasn’t as unaffected as she’d like him to think. It settled his temper a touch.

“It was a good time to break things off. I really thought you were on the same page with your lack of communication over the last few weeks.”

That speared him right through the chest. She had been avoiding him. On purpose.

“My fault,” he agreed smoothly, mystified why there was this distance between them. It felt like she was trying to push him out.

“Let me make it up to you,” he said with a smile. “And I don’t mean in bed. Unless that’s what you want.”

Her eyelids shuttered, hiding her thoughts from him. But then, he’d never been able to read her, and the frustration of it almost snapped the stems of the blooms in his hand before he realized the pain in his palm came from the thorns digging into his flesh.

“I’ll pass, thanks.”

Something was very wrong. Fatigue pulled at her eyes, and all at once, he clued in that her death grip on the door frame wasn’t designed to keep him out—she was holding herself up. Alarmed, he made his own guess about why she wasn’t wearing makeup. Idiot. When her face had drained of color, he’d assumed she’d been unhappy to see him, but in reality, she was sick.

“Is it the flu or something more serious?” he asked.

“It’s...nothing,” she lied when it was so clearly something. And then she weaved as her knees buckled.

Tossing the flowers, he scooped her up in his arms and shut the door with his foot, refusing to recall the last time he’d done this—when they’d ended up naked together. He couldn’t even enjoy the fact that he was touching her again after an eternity apart.

She felt so insubstantial in his arms, weakly protesting as he strode to her bedroom and laid her out on the bed, then wedged in next to her to stroke her hair.

“What is it? Can I get you something? Water or—”

“No, I’m fine,” she whispered but her eyes closed and her head pushed into his palm like a cat seeking affection. He was more than happy to give it to her. It pleased him to have his hands on her, even in this small way.

The longer he stroked, the more she relaxed and the less his chest hurt. If she was sick, it explained why she hadn’t immediately jumped on his text messages. Probably she’d had one of those silly moments where she’d railed against having him come over and see her without makeup, like he cared about that.

Didn’t she know she was beautiful to him regardless?

All at once, she moaned, and it wasn’t the good kind. Helplessly, he watched as she turned over, curling in on herself. That was not going to work. But what should he do?

Leaving her on the bed, eyes still squeezed tight, he ventured into her bathroom to see if she had some kind of prescription or over-the-counter medication. And maybe if he found something, it could clue him in to what the hell was wrong with her.

There was nothing on the counter except a small mirrored tray covered with tiny, expensive-looking bottles of perfume. The drawers on the right side of the espresso wood–and–marble vanity held her cosmetics in an array of holders and shelves and various hidey-holes that made his skin crawl, so he shut them and pulled open the cabinet on the left.

Hair spray and various other female things lined the bottom. Including a small white plastic wand with a blue tip. It was face up and he could easily read the words Pregnant and Not Pregnant, next to a plus sign and a negative sign. The big circle prominently featured a blue plus sign.

Logan’s brain went fuzzy as his knees gave out and he plopped onto the bathroom floor, half on the short-pile bath mat, half on the white marble tile.

Trinity was pregnant. That’s what was wrong with her.

“I didn’t want you to find out this way.” Her low voice floated to him from the doorway.