Baby Makes Three

I couldn’t meet Wyatt's eyes - not yet - afraid of what I would find there, so instead of doing so I let my eyes trail over his body.

I still couldn’t help but notice how d

evilishly handsome he was in a pair of sweat pants and a tee shirt. Then back up my stare went. Over long legs, muscled thighs, trim hips, a flat stomach and a hard chest.

His jaw was stubborn looking and the lines of his face were sharp. The light stubble darkening his jaw intensified the bad boy aura surrounding him. He definitely didn’t look like the kind of guy you would want to piss off.

When I finally found the courage to allow my eyes to meet his, I found him watching me. He tried to bury his emotions beneath a layer of ice I could tell but the clench of his jaw and the heated light in his eyes told me what I needed to know.

He was angry.

Rightfully so.

Actually, the word angry didn’t adequately describe the tsunami of hot emotion pouring off him. It threatened to burn me alive even though a word hadn’t been spoken yet.

I swallowed and straightened my spine. I needed to pull up my defenses for the upcoming confrontation that was about to go down. No matter what, I wasn’t going to just tiptoe around him. My pride wouldn’t allow it. I would explain how this situation happened and hoped he understood. I knew I deserved him being pissed, hell I would have been too, but my kid was in his house and I needed to see him.

“Can I come in?” I asked, working to keep my voice level.

He stepped back and allowed me to enter.

“Where’s Noah?” I asked as I passed him, careful so that no parts of our bodies made contact. “How is he?”

My focus moved completely from Wyatt to my baby.

“On the couch,” he answered, the words ultra-controlled and giving nothing away. “He’s fine. Poor kid is suffering from one of those twenty-four hour bugs though.”

I headed straight for the living room and immediate rushed to Noah’s side. I dropped the bag I carried on my side and knelt next to the furniture, my hands hovering over him. I was careful not to jostle him even though I wanted nothing more than to pull him into my arms and make sure he was truly okay.

My son – our son – was sleeping peaceful on the couch. A light blanket was thrown over him and his chest rose and fell gently.

“He fell asleep almost as soon as we got here. I woke him up to eat lunch and gave him another dose of the medicine in the bag. He watched television for a few minutes but went right back to sleep. He’s been sleeping most of the time. Is that normal for him?”

My eyes remained on the small child, my mother’s eyes meticulously cataloguing his every feature and searching for anything that might be off.

Luckily, all I saw were the normal signs of a child recovering from a mild sickness.

I answered Wyatt without moving my gaze, giving Noah another automatic sweep of my gaze. “The medication makes him drowsy plus he tends to sleep a lot when he’s sick. He’s no worse for wear. He will get over this soon.”

Thank goodness!

I pushed Noah’s hair back and kissed his forehead, lingering for a moment. Noah didn’t move but continued to sleep, his breathing easy.

A silence filled the room. I ignored it until it became too loud for me to continue doing so.

Steeling myself, I moved my eyes to the man who stood like an imposing mountain at the entrance of the room.

He was watching me.

For a moment I swore I saw a softening in his look as he gazed upon the image Noah and I made. But the look was gone much too quickly for me to believe it was anything more than my imagination.

The molten fury simmering in the depths of his eyes was certainly real though. Shit.

The intensity of his look left me momentarily speechless. Finally I said, “We need talk.”

That was an understatement if there ever was one.

His eyebrow rose as if to say, obviously, then said out loud, “Follow me.”