Chapter Eighteen-Remy
I wait until her breathing evens out—soft and steady—before I finish pretending to work at the small writing desk I have set up in the corner of my bedroom and slip into bed beside her.
Our bedroom now.
The thought is innocent enough, but heat fills me the second I think it.
She’s lying there on her side, the blanket bunched around her waist, dark hair curling against her cheek, face relaxed in a way I haven’t seen since that last night we were together.
Back when I thought we almost had a shot at something real.
We can still have that, my inner monster whispers.
I hope like hell he’s right.
She looks so peaceful in slumber.
Innocent.
And fuck, she looks soft.
So goddamn soft it hurts.
I shouldn't touch her. I know I shouldn't.
But I do.
Just a little.
I slide in behind her and gently wrap an arm around her middle. Not possessive. Not demanding. Just needing to feel her.
The second I do?
She sighs in her sleep and moves closer—turns into me like it’s instinct.
Like I belong there.
And she belongs right there with me.
Her body fits against mine perfectly, her ass brushing my hips, her head tucked under my chin. I feel her settle.
Feel her trust me in this unconscious way that’s more honest than anything she’s said awake.
It kills me.
I fucking love it.
And yeah, my cock is hard.
Of course it is.
I’ve got this curvy, complicated, impossible woman wrapped in my arms, warm and trusting, with nothing but a thin shirt between us and a hundred unspoken things in the air.
But I ignore it. For now.
Because this moment?
It’s not about sex.
It’s about her.
It’s about the fact that I’m pretty fucking sure I’m already in love with Andrea Ramirez.
God help me.
But what she did—what she almost did—still sits heavy in my chest.
She was going to shut me out completely.
Use me.
Get what she wanted and disappear.
And maybe I could’ve accepted that if it was just sex.
But it’s not.
It’s never been just sex with her.
So yeah. That part? It hurts.
If I let it, it’d eat me alive.
But I don’t want to let it.
I want to fix this. I want to fight for her.
For them. For us.
My arm wraps around her body, and I flatten my palm against the soft swell of her stomach.
My babies. My twins.
They’re growing inside her right now, and I swear my heart just about squeezes me to death.
Hell, I’m still pissed, but also? I’ve never been happier.
So yes, I want to ruin her plans—I will ruin them—and I’m going to replace them with something she never expected.
Andy isn’t about to get to experience life as a single mom—she’s gonna have a life she never expected.
One she doesn’t even think is a possibility.
One she doesn’t think she deserves.
Andy’s going to have a long life with me. With Callie. With the twins. With everything.
She’ll learn to love me. I’ll make her. Because I sure as shit am in love with her.
But to do that, to get her to realize it, I’m going to need a game plan.
And I’m not a games guy. Never have been.
But for Andy? Maybe it’s time I broke a few rules.
Or made some of my own.
Because this time?
I’m playing to win. I’m playing for keeps.