Claim My Baby (Crescent Cove 2)

“Laurie’s four. That’s not all that long ago.”

“I’m not my brother.” He rose and picked up his plate, clearing the table with his usual efficiency. Damn tattooed forearms on full display, making me clench my thighs.

Halfway out of the room, he stopped and glanced back. “Do you want me to run you a hot bath? With or without bubbles.” At my stare, the corner of his mouth rose. “I keep some here in case I bring Laurie over. She loves them.”

“What about with or without penis?”

His smile grew. “That too is optional.”

I sat back in my chair. He still hadn’t detailed his intentions as far as being in the child’s life or not, but he seemed to be acting as if he’d be around. That would be the best-case scenario, of course. I didn’t want to shut him out of his own baby’s life. I also didn’t want to force a connection he didn’t feel.

It was early days yet. And just maybe it didn’t all have to be figured out tonight.

“If you don’t mind.” I ducked my head, feeling shyer than I had a right to be, all things considered. “A bath sounds really nice.”

“I don’t mind. I’ll even wash your hair.” His heavy-lidded expression told me in no uncertain terms he was happy to wash—and dirty up again—any part of me I’d like.

Stalling and not sure why, I went back to the strawberry shortcake. I’d polished off half of it by the time I heard water running upstairs, as well as Oliver puttering around in the bathroom. As much as he ever puttered.

Once I’d eaten as much as I could, I wandered into the huge rustic kitchen and did a little pivot to take it all in. Between the gleaming appliances, hand-carved cabinets, and the miles of granite countertops, the opulence was clear. Somehow the space still managed to feel homey rather than cold. Inviting rather than showroomesque.

I cleaned off my plate and put it in the dishwasher before heading upstairs. Lord, I had to pee again. Hello, baby.

Stopping in the doorway, I started to speak. “Hey, I need to—”

Then I blinked. And blinked again.

The main light had been left off and a soft glow came from sconces high on the wall, plus the half dozen candles lit on surfaces around the bathroom. Oliver was on his knees, sleeves rolled even higher, sinewy muscles shifting as he trailed his hand through the fragrant, bubbly water.

“T-this may be a fire hazard.”

He chuckled. “And I’m the unromantic one. Don’t worry, I snuffed out the ones in the living room.”

“Good. It only takes one to start a forest fire. With all those woods back there…” I gestured behind me.

As he moved back, my gaze locked on something else. Pale pink petals—roses?—floated on the surface of the water, and a couple squat vases of blooms had been placed on the shelves around the tub. I swallowed deeply, rubbing my throat to keep everything moving.

“From Valentine’s Day,” he said simply, and I wanted to cry.

How had everything gotten so screwed up?

Rather than ask that question, I blurted something even worse.

“I have to pee.”

He rose and left the bathroom without another word. I did what I needed to, washed up, and quickly stripped. I didn’t even bother studying my appearance this time. My hair was still out of control, and my makeup was probably long gone. I was too weary to care. That warm bath full of bubbles and roses was beckoning to me.

I slipped into the water and let out a moan that bordered on obscene. Sweet heavens, I must be achier than I realized, because the heat seeping into my bones offered unspeakable comfort.

As did the door opening before his dark head peeked inside. “Okay?”

“Better than okay. It feels amazing. These bubbles are like silk on my skin.” I splashed my hand through the water.

“I’m glad you like.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ll just—”

“Don’t go.” There was no keeping the plea out of my voice. I needed him.

Just needed so much.