Winger (Seattle Sharks 3)

It wasn’t like me at all—usually, I was so focused on work and expanding my menu options or whatnot that I found stopping to smell the roses trivial. I couldn’t have been more wrong. These past couple days with Warren had been like the vacation I’d never had, and while I was still guarded emotionally—for both the baby and my sake—I was happy.

Except for when I thought about how’d I’d flinched away from his touch last week.

Then I was mortified.

I hadn’t meant to…it just happened on reflex. A survival mechanism. Something I knew stemmed from my own absentee family. I would not do that to my child, and I wouldn’t allow anyone else to, either. While Warren was currently making me happy and doing all he could to prove himself, I knew once the Shark’s season started everything would change.

I had to keep reminding myself of this every time I felt myself relaxing a little too much in his presence.

Warren’s hand rested effortlessly in mine, the action becoming so expected it was natural by now. The contact felt better than I’d admit, and whenever he did that thing where he traced the lines on my palm and wrist, I practically melted.

“This is beautiful,” I said, walking up to the first giant saltwater tank on the right. The thing was massive, rising all the way to the ceiling. The gorgeous blue water only made the neon colors of the fish pop as they meandered back and forth.

“It really is,” he said, and I glanced his way. He was looking right at me but quickly averted his gaze to the fish. “Nemo.” He pointed to the small clownfish, swallowing hard.

“Good eyes.” Heat flushed my body.

How were we nervous around each other?

I was carrying his child for Christ’s sake.

Maybe that was the reason.

Or maybe it was because of our insanely unique situation. Or it was because I wasn’t used to this new side of Warren. The one who floundered, the one who had vulnerability in those normally cocky eyes, the one who’d reached for my tummy yesterday and I’d pulled away.

Guilt ate at my insides.

Yes, I was terrified.

Terrified of letting myself feel for him.

Anything—friendly, more than friendly. It was all a slippery slope, one I didn’t want to put on the baby. It wasn’t just my heart that would get crushed if I fell for a guy who wasn’t commitment ready to put us ahead of his career.

Again, not that I could blame him. He didn’t ask for this. Neither did I, but I owned it in a way that claimed my soul. I would be enough for this baby. I would be everything.

Warren led me around the aquarium, stopping to admire each tank with an aloofness that set me at ease. Like there really wasn’t any place he’d rather be, as he’d said the other day at the carnival.

“Oh my,” I said as I followed him into a large tunnel-like walkway. The entire room was surrounded by glass, even the ceiling. A variety of fish swam lazily over the ceiling and down past the walls surrounding us. “Look at this guy!” I hurried to the right side, pointing to a giant sea turtle that moved through the water with such easy, fluid movements.

“Damn, he’s big.” Warren leaned next to me as we got closer to the glass.

I nodded, watching him swim.

So this is what normal people do on dates.

Go to cool places, see cool stuff, content to simply be together.

I could get used to it.

But I shouldn’t.

Right. Because Warren wouldn’t be around forever. He was only doing this now to prove he was capable of it, not to show he was in it for life.

Well, I can at least enjoy it while it lasts.

A five-foot bull shark darted past the glass, jolting me. I stumbled backward, but two strong hands caught my hips to steady me.

“Whoa, there,” he said, smiling down at me. “I thought you weren’t afraid of Sharks.”

My heart raced in my chest from the surprise guest, but it increased due to Warren’s touch. He was so close I could smell him—delicious, spicy, man.

“Only when they surprise me,” I said, trying to calm my breathing.

“Learned that the hard way,” he said, no doubt remembering the episode in the kitchen. The same one where I pulled away. I needed to amend that as soon as possible. This baby was as much his as it was mine, I just couldn’t help protecting it with everything I had.

“Oh!” I flinched, the baby-ball using a karate chop move on my ribs—like it was scolding me for remembering my blunder. I palmed the left side of my round stomach, my brow scrunched.

“What is it?” Warren asked, his eyes darting from my face to my hand. “Do you need to sit? Should I call the doctor?”

The panic in his features melted my heart.

This beast of a man—solid like he was carved out of marble, with dark eyes fierce enough to steal breath—was worried about us. About me.

“No,” I said. “The baby is just trying to be like you, I think.”

He swallowed hard. “What?”

“Strong. The thing has a mean kick.”

Warren laughed, and the baby-ball kicked again.

My heart thumped hard against my chest, threatening to climb up my throat as I reached for Warren’s hand. I’d pushed him away last week, but I’d been taken off guard.

I was in control, now, and I wanted him to feel this.

To give this piece of myself to him.

“Here,” I said, guiding his trembling hand to where the baby kicked like a ninja who had too many Redbulls.

He wetted his lips, his eyes both unsure and excited as I held his huge hand on the spot on my tummy.

I held my breath, waiting.

Nothing.

Warren’s eyes flashed up to mine, and I hated the defeat I saw there.

“Laugh again.”

“What?” He asked. “I can’t laugh on command.”

I rolled my eyes, keeping his hand firmly in place. “Picture Rory skating in a tutu.”

He glowered at me.

“Picture Gage taking a shot in a feather boa and a tiara.”

Nothing.

“Ugh, fine. Picture them both wearing that and being attacked by bees on the ice.”

Warren laughed, shaking his head.

Kick. Kick. Kick.

His laughter died, replaced with a gasp.

He laughed again, this one a little forced but more in awe.

Kick. Kick.

I watched his eyes glued to the area where I held his hand. They glittered just slightly.

“I can feel you, baby,” he said, the tone so soft I may not have heard it if I hadn’t been so close. He finally looked at me. “It’s incredible.”

“Baby-ball likes your laugh. Go figure.”

It was a hell of a laugh.

One that made me weak.

“You keep calling it baby-ball,” he said.

“Yes,” I said, releasing his hand, allowing him to rub it over my belly. “It looks like a perfect ball, doesn’t it?”

“Perfect.” He slowly reached toward me with his other hand, but flickered his eyes to me in question, like he was afraid I would run away again.

I nodded, swallowing the emotions in my throat as he set his other hand on the opposite side of my belly.

I sighed at the contact, the way his warmth seeped into my skin and filled me in ways no innocent touch should. A deep hunger roared to life, as it often did around Warren, and I found myself out of control of my breathing again.

“Are you all right?” He asked, never letting me go.

“Mmmhmm,” I mumbled, wishing I could find the voice I was so sure of a moment ago.

“You don’t know the sex, do you?”

For a moment, all I heard was sex.

Yes, please.

“Wait,” I said, blinking out of my lust filled haze. “What?”

“Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?”

I shook my head. “I wanted to be surprised.”

He smiled. “I love

that.”

The moment was charged and yet soft.

Aching hunger and yet filled.

Hot damn, the man made my head spin.

Made my heart wish for things I knew weren’t possible.

But for the moment, I was content in the chaos. I would soak this up for as long as I could because I couldn’t remember a time when I’d felt so…cared for.

“You hungry, baby?” He asked, and for a moment I thought he was talking to me again, but he was looking at my tummy, and it somehow made it much more adorable.

Kick. Kick. Kick.

Oh my gosh, baby-ball you’re already starting banter with your father?

Father.