Claim My Baby (Crescent Cove 2)

I missed holding his hand. We seemed to hold hands as often as we could, whenever we were alone. Even when we were just watching the late news before crawling into bed.

“No,” I returned, equally quietly. “I came here tonight to apologize and to tell you about the baby, but not only for those reasons. I wanted to be with you. Didn’t I make that clear?”

“Not so much, no.”

I pressed my lips together and tried not to shiver. Whether it was from the chill outside or the worry closing in on me from all sides, I didn’t know.

“Come in,” he murmured, motioning me forward. He must’ve seen me quaking like the last leaf in a storm.

Not exactly the image of strength I wanted to project.

I followed him up the steps to the porch because I owed him that much. And God, I did not want to be alone with my thoughts. Not tonight.

He unlocked the door and nudged me inside, turning on lights as we went. I couldn’t help letting out a gasp.

If there was a living embodiment of cabin porn, this was it.

A huge, rough-hewn fireplace appeared as if it had been carved out of the rock and inlaid with a polished black marble mantel. The floors were wide-planked and glossy pine, shined to a sheen Mr. Clean would’ve approved of. A large flat-screen took up half of one wall and long forest-green sunken leather couches were paired with matching armchairs. They surrounded a coffee table made of the same marble as the hearth. A soft rug stretched out in front of the fire, and stubby candles of different colors and widths seemed to be everywhere.

The room practically screamed “cozy winter hideaway”, and my inner real estate stager’s heart did a little dance of joy.

“Who designed all this?”

Rather than answer my question, he went to the laptop set on top of a rolling ottoman that matched the rest of the furniture. He unplugged something from the side and then went around the room lighting candles, as if this was any other night.

As if this was the Valentine’s Day we had missed sharing.

“What are you lighting those with?” I followed him around the room, watching him touching the wand to each of them. “How did you get fire from your computer?”

“USB lighter.” He showed me, and I was more intrigued than I should’ve been.

Let no one say I am not easily amused.

Once they were all lit and the room seemed to be shimmering with dozens of tiny flames, he shed his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, baring the heavily tattooed forearms that didn’t seem to go with his austere personality.

Mercy, they were hot as hell.

Seth had a similar number of tattoos, though his were more colorful, and Oliver’s featured denser, darker ink. Not many hues at all. Which fit the man far too well. If one believed the image he put out to the world, in any case.

Over the last few weeks, I’d begun to see there was much more to him than met the eye. The problem was we kept reverting to our old, well-worn roles. Where we were adversaries, on opposite sides about everything. I didn’t know if I dared lower my walls where he was concerned, but I had to try.

For my baby, I would risk more. And if he slammed the door shut, well then, I would face that as well.

He tossed a couple of logs on the fire and crouched to get it going, handling the task with an economy of movement that made his shoulders ripple under his shirt. His ass clenched too thanks to the position, which I might not have noticed if I hadn’t been right behind him and already halfway to being physically compromised. Apparently, my libido had no issues with him whatsoever. Or maybe I could blame pregnancy hormones kicking in early. Or many years of denial. Whatever the reason, I was licking my lips when he turned back to me.

My expression must’ve given me away. He stopped short, his brow furrowing as he reached up to loosen his tie. That move did not help my unwanted state of arousal. Just the quick flicks of his fingers as he pulled the fabric apart made my belly tremble in a way that had nothing to do with the cold.

I needed to be on guard until I knew his exact position. His phrasing outside hadn’t been the best, and for all I knew, things might only go downhill from there.

Instead, I was getting wetter than a Slip ’N Slide with a self-activated hose.

“This cabin was built by my father for one of his mistresses.” Casually, he rolled up his sleeves as he looked around the wide-open space. “Once they ended, the place was rarely used. It fell into disrepair, and last year I started coming here when I needed time to think. Little by little, I started tinkering. Making changes to suit me and my needs.”

“Tinkering?” I couldn’t keep the shock out of my voice. “You did some of this yourself?”

“Most.” He shrugged. “I needed help with some of the wiring, plumbing, and finishing work. But I enjoyed tearing it apart and fitting it back together exactly how I envisioned.”

I gaped at him. “Manual labor? You?”