'Tis The Season

James coughs to cover a laugh. “Those are your words, not mine.”

“How incredibly P.C. of you, James. Can I ask where you’re from?” I toss my hair over my shoulder and angle my body toward his. Why am I flirting? Oh, because he’s freaking gorgeous with a panty-melting accent.

“London originally.”

“I thought so. I’m pretty good at deciphering accents.”

“Good on you.” He winks.

My breasts swell for a completely different reason than pregnancy. I press my thighs together and look out the window.

The street cleaner had gotten out of his vehicle and begun to locate the owners of the cars.

“It’ll be a while before they get to you. I don’t want you standing out in the cold.”

His words warm me. You’re pregnant, don’t read too much into things. Of course, his instinct is to take care of you. It’s built into their D.N.A. Except, Preston seems okay leaving you alone for long stints of time while he sets up his new life in California. Everything he does is antagonistic and calculating.

“Hey.” James runs his warm hand down my arm. “Are you okay?” It’s calloused. A hand that belongs to a hard worker.

“Yes, sorry. Just thinking.” My stomach protests like an angry monster.

“I think the little lady wants more food and less thought.” His lips turn up at the corners, and I giggle. He’s sweet, with biceps that stretch out his black Henley and big hands that make me wonder if his large feet are a proper prediction of what’s under his gray sweatpants.

Okay, the hormone thing is out of control. I just need food. They say you can eat your emotions. I hope lust is included in that.

JAMES

I can’t help but stare at the beauti

ful woman seated across from me as she bites down on a cotton candy-flavored grape. Her back arches, her eyes drift shut, and she hums in a way that makes me think of a different kind of hunger slacking. I fixed her snack to tide her over while I prepare a traditional British meal. I half-heartedly stir the mushy peas. With her oval-shaped face, large doe eyes, and glowing, honey-kissed skin, she’s stunning. But it’s Faye’s inherent sweetness and the serenity that flows from her that pulls me to her like a magnet.

How could any man treat a woman like this ... let alone one carrying his child? I wonder, recalling the way the man at the store acted. Dark brown hair frames her face and curls around the generous swell of her breasts. My hands itch to cup them, test their weight, and see how she responds. Aren’t they supposed to be more sensitive during pregnancy? Would she make more of the irresistible sounds spilling from between her plump lips if I did?

She moans, and my cock twitches in response. I turn to face the stove to hide my growing problem. I think of the biting wind whipping outside.

“These are my current obsession. It’s one of the few cravings I don’t mind.” Her soft voice spreads warmth throughout my body. Is this what it’s like to have someone home with you? I’d nearly forgotten.

“What are the other ones?” I latch onto the small talk to further distract myself. It’s been a long time since I was this attracted to a woman.

“Ugh. Roasted red bell peppers, and gravy on just about anything.”

I chuckle. “I take it those weren’t a part of your usual diet?”

“No. I loathe them. My parents think it’s hilarious.”

“Oh, where do they live?” I ask, remembering she was spending the holidays alone.

“Not too far from here.” Her voice is subdued and tinged with sadness.

“I’m sorry, are they ill?” I glance over my shoulder.

“No.” Her lower lip trembles and she blinks rapidly.

I turn off the strove and move the peas to the side. “Hey.” I go over and stand beside her. “What’s wrong?” I shove my hands in my pockets to keep from touching her.

“My parents don’t approve.”

“Of the baby?” I whisper, shocked.