Chapter 11 #4
Warren fed me twice more throughout the day.
By hand, just like he said, and all while his own food lost warmth.
When I told him as much, his answer was, “I’m not touching mine until you’ve eaten every bite of yours.
” While insisting upon feeding me himself is a bit much, the caring intent behind it made me want to cry each time.
He proves to me more and more each day that he’s nothing at all like any of the men I’ve known.
Minding my movements, I tuck my knees beneath me so I don’t disturb the man and baby beside me on the sofa.
He’d quickly stolen Emmaline away after her bedtime nursing for a burping—the man is obsessed with seeing how loud the noise can be—and now they’ve both fallen asleep.
I wish I could remember this forever, the sight of my tiny little girl securely cradled to the chest of her big, strong papa.
She sighs and nuzzles into his shirt, head wobbling around before growing too heavy to hold.
Seeking his heartbeat just like I did, perhaps?
I admit it’s a comforting sound, and for a moment, I’m almost jealous.
I bite back a yawn and leave for the bedroom.
May as well change into my nightgown now so I can put her down for the night and go to bed myself.
From last night until now, so much has gone on that I’m utterly exhausted, and having such a full belly only adds to it.
Except when I reach for a nightgown, my hand comes back empty.
They’re all dirty, just as from the night before.
When I come back, I’m wearing one of Warren’s shirts and being ever so careful not to trip over his long legs as I try to steal my baby from him.
Despite my stealthy efforts, he stirs. “What are you doing?”
Good God, his voice is so deep when he’s tired that it takes me a few seconds to process his words. “Putting her to bed.”
“Mhm,” Warren rumbles. “I like the sight of you in my shirt, wife.” He hides his amusement in Emmaline’s hair at my blush.
“I’ll do it.” He follows me to the bedroom, and the way he gently places her into her cradle has my heart melting.
“Good night, Little Bit. Have good sleeps, okay? Papa will see you in the morning.”
When he unbuttons his shirt, I crawl under the covers and face the wall to hide the heat in my cheeks.
I’ve lost the ability to remain numb at the sight of his body like I’ve done with everyone else in my past, and if he catches me looking at him, I just know his lips would tip up to one side in a smirk.
The room goes dark, then the bed shifts behind me.
I hold my breath, wondering what his next move will be.
“Mara?”
I curl my fingers beneath the pillow and match his quiet tone. “Yes?”
The covers rustle, but Warren doesn’t say anything. Not yet. Seconds tick by, and then, “My hand hurts.”
That’s not what I expected him to say. “What’s wrong with it?”
“It misses yours.”
A giddy flutter builds at his utter absurdity, but I school my expression and flip to face him.
His big form gradually comes into focus in the darkness, and when it does, I see his outstretched hand.
He knows touching is difficult for me because of being raped, but I’ve never told him how the man who fathered Emmaline used to punish my hands.
But none of those men are here now, and I have a new life with a new man. I inch my fingers—the unbruised ones—across the bedding until they touch his. He hums in approval and softly squeezes my hand before running his thumb over it. “Much better,” he says.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
The repetition is soothing. My eyes grow heavy, only to pop open when he murmurs, “But now my arms hurt.”
“What?” I whisper back drowsily.
His thumb stops. “My arms. They miss holding you.”
“Do they?” Even I can hear the barest hint of a smile in my voice.
“I never slept as good as I did last night with you in my arms.”
Neither have I.
Warren silently waits for me to make a decision. I half wonder if he can hear the thundering of my heart as it fights with my head.
In the end, my heart wins. Without saying a word, I inch over into his embrace, and when his hold wraps protectively around me, an immediate peace coaxes my body to relax into his.
This was the right choice. One big hand rests at my lower back and the other around my upper arm as his own becomes my pillow.
Now I can hear his heartbeat again. Rapid and unsteady and completely at odds with his calm demeanor.
“You know what else hurts now?” he breathes into my hair.
“What?”
“My li—”
I smother the rest of his sentence with my hand. “Go to sleep,” I demand. Of course a charmer would keep pushing as far as he could. But now I wonder what would have happened if I’d let him finish. Would I truly be ready for his mouth on mine?
Warren kisses my palm before nudging it away. “Silly woman. I was just gonna say my little finger. The one you hooked yours around when we slept at the doctor’s house.”
“Did I really do that?” I ask with more than a little suspicion and a bit of embarrassment that I misjudged him. “You didn’t just say I did because I woke up and caught you?”
“You really did. Even then, I think some part of you knew deep down that you could trust me.”
Maybe he’s right.
But this time when I reach between us and twist my pinkie with his, it’s because I know with my entire heart that I can.