19
I wake in the dark, sore between the legs, and sigh.
Worn out and worked over. That’s what Davis Montgomery does to me.
The air smells like us. Sex and heat and sweat. I roll my head across the pillow to look at the powerful force of nature sleeping beside me in the rumpled sheets. Davis is on his back, one arm crossed over his muscular chest. And the other arm…
His hand lays pressed up against my rounded belly. So large it nearly covers half of it. As if it’s his.
My core curls in a mixture of longing and desire. I never thought I’d be in Davis’s bed again.
Wildest dreams, right?
The man’s still as amazing in bed as I remember.
For one night, we went back. Uprooted everything. I should feel embarrassed about how I begged, how I lost it. But after two years of hell with Aiden, all I feel is relieved. My trauma is separate from Davis. Because he is not trauma. He is safe. Strong. Everything I haven’t had in so long.
I had sex. I orgasmed. I forgot I was pregnant, that everything in my life burned down.
One night won’t magically change anything between us, but it means everything to me.
My heart leaps as I scan my eyes over Davis. I reach for him, delicately tracing my fingertips over the steel muscle of his biceps, before dancing them through the dusting of dark hair on his chest. For once, the man looks peaceful in sleep. No nightmares.
The thought of it hits me like a punch in the gut.
Nightmares.
And I’m the cause.
He was keeping it close to his chest. Only tonight, seeing the taut lines of tension in his face, hearing his choked words…
He thought of me. He missed me. He dreams of me.
I roll on my back and glare at the ceiling.
Stop, Dakota.
I’ve got to stop adding hope to the mix.
I need my life back. And it doesn’t include Davis.
A hunger pain slices through my stomach. I hiss a breath and look down at the small bud of my belly. Note to self: skipping dinner for sex isn’t the best idea.
Even if it feels like it was.
I kick off the sheets and slip on an old T-shirt of Davis’s. In search of a midnight snack, I quietly pad down the stairs to the kitchen.
When I open the fridge and scour the contents, the recipe automatically assembles in my head. I’ve always seen it like a game of Tetris. But instead of blocks, images slide into place.
With only three ingredients, I could whip up soft-boiled eggs on Greek yogurt with a side of buttered sourdough. Instead, I settle for helping myself to a strawberry yogurt. One bite calms the hunger pains and a content feeling spreads through me.
It’s the witching hour. Prime baking time. I can feel it in my bones.
As I eat, I watch the moon through the window.
My gaze slides over the ranch, the large gate in the distance, the snow on the ground.
If Aiden’s in Resurrection, he won’t make my life easy, but I believe Davis. I trust him. If he says I’m safe, I’m safe.
What I have to do is get it together. I have so much to plan and prepare. Apartment. Job. Sanity. I can’t let myself—or my baby—down.
A shuffle of noise behind me has me turning.
Davis, wearing gray sweatpants and a furrowed brow I long to smooth out with my fingers, stands in the kitchen, Keena beside him.
“What’s wrong?” he rasps, voice thick with sleep.
“Nothing.” I smile and hold up my spoon. “Just hungry.” My gaze drops to my stomach. “Or should I say the baby’s hungry?”
He takes a tentative step forward, like some massive machine. The bullet wound on his shoulder is a constant reminder of the hero he is. “That’s not enough protein. You want something else?”
I drop the spoon into the sink. “No. This’ll do it. You were right about me taking care of myself. I’ll do a better job. And thank you.” Heat creeps into my cheeks. “For tonight. For everything.”
A muscle jumps in his jaw. “You don’t have to thank me for that.”
I wiggle my fingers at Keena, reach for a box of dog treats. “You want one, girl?”
She looks at me, sniffs, then turns and exits the kitchen.
“Don’t worry about Keena,” Davis says, his arms folded across his mile-wide chest. “Sometimes she holds a temporary grudge because she’s dramatic.”
“And I thought Fallon was bad.”
He chuckles and crosses the kitchen to run his hands down my shoulders. “What else do we need?”
I blink at him. “What?”
His eyes drift over my face. “In this kitchen, for you to bake.”
I open my lips to tell him to stop it, but in his gaze, I see myself. I see him six years ago. Angry. Defeated. Broken. And I see what he’s trying to do. Not fix. Push.
“Knives,” I tell him.
“We have knives.”
I scoff and palm his chest. Revel in the feel of his hot, hard muscle. “Good knives, Hotshot. A knife so sharp I can slice an apple mid-air.” I return my attention to the kitchen. “And a mixer. A big one.”
“How about this?” Eyes lit with a wicked gleam, he opens a drawer to expose an ancient hand mixer.
I shudder and pin him with a stern stare. “That is an act of war, Davis Montgomery.”
The deep, velvet sound of his laughter fills the kitchen. It’s so beautiful, so earnest, it loosens the rock in my chest.
“I’ll get you all that and more,” he says, his smile fading. His eyes are now hard, commanding. “But first, I need to talk to you about what happened today.”
I bite my lip, hating to relive today. “I swear I saw him, Davis.”
He’s quiet for a long second, then he says, “I believe you. I put in a call to Richter. He’s going to pull security footage and see if we can spot him.”
“What if he’s in town?” I step closer to him, expecting him to pull away, but he takes me in his arms. “What if he comes to the ranch?”
His hold tightens. “Then you pick up that family-style can of green beans and hit him in the fucking face with it.”
I laugh.
“He won’t get on the ranch. After Ruby—after last year—” Pain and guilt crease his handsome face, and I listen as he tells me about the arson attempt and how Ruby was hurt because of it.
“Our security is fucking Fort Knox,” he finishes, his voice dropping to a lethal level. “No one gets on the ranch. No one will hurt you. No one will get close enough to try. And…” His large fingers tug at the dog tag around my neck. “You have this. You have me.”
“I have you,” I breathe.
But for how long?
One time, right? That’s how it goes. One night and definitely not forever.
Davis stares grimly at me. “Be a hell of a lot easier if you told me who he was.”
Fear floods my veins and my stomach heaves. “No.”
“Dakota.” He grips my chin gently with his massive fingers. “Tell me his fucking name.”
“Not yet. I can’t.” I glare at him, hating he won’t let me have this one secret. “I have to work my way up to it, Davis.”
And also keep Davis from killing him.
The lines in his forehead deepen. “I can’t keep you safe if I don’t know the details.”
I pull out of his arms and shake my head. “Then I’ll run.” I think of my belongings upstairs, still unpacked, a car I can borrow from my father. “I won’t put you and your family in the middle of this.”
It’s the wrong thing to say.
Davis freezes, and anger reflects in the dark depths of his eyes.
“Help me God, Dakota, you run, you won’t get far.”
Anger crashes into me. Anger that Aiden can fuck with my mind even though he no longer has any hold on me.
“I will never go back to him,” I hiss, stepping backward. “I will die before I let him find me again.”
“Don’t say that.” His features are grave, his voice a low tone of warning. “Don’t you ever fucking say that. Nothing is more important than you. Than the life you have. He will not take it away. He will not take you away. Not from me.”
From me.
My lips part in shock. I want to ask him what he means, but before I can, Davis says, “Don’t run from me, Dakota. Because I’ll keep you here.”
“I hate him.” The words explode from my chest with a vengeance. “I hate him so much.”
“I know, baby. Let it out.”
I inhale unsteadily.
Hot tears flood my eyes. Blood thunders in my ears.
“I lost everything. My notebooks. My recipes. My investment. My arm.”
“What else?” Davis takes a step forward, reaching for me.
Pain wells inside me again, and I squeeze my eyes shut to block Aiden’s voice from my ears. “I can’t bake. My sister hates me. And I’m scared. I’m scared to be a mom.” I whisper it like the baby can hear me. Like he or she will hold it against me for the rest of my life.
“When will I feel okay? Like a human being? Like a mother? I’m sick of feeling like some broken failure. I’m sick of being strong.”
“So don’t,” he says, low and strained.
“What?”
“Be strong.” He captures my wrist and tugs me into his arms, locking me against him.
Shaking my head, I try to shove him away with the heel of my palm, but he holds me tight. Won’t let me loose.
“Scream.”
“What?” I blink and look up at him, thinking I’ve misheard.
“Scream. Let it out, Cupcake. Everything. I want this fucking lodge to shake.”
My eyes meet his.
Somehow, he always knows what I need.
And then I grab onto Davis’s shoulders, dig my nails into the meat of his muscle and scream. The piercing scream rattles my entire body, has my knees threatening to give out, and still Davis holds me upright in his arms.
He doesn’t flinch.
He takes it with me. A man giving me a safe place to land.
Tears stream down my face. Power and rage and exhaustion hum through my bones. I feel like a corpse, a shell of Dakota clawing her way out of her exoskeleton.
When the scream turns ragged—as shredded as I feel inside—I crumple in the secure clutch of Davis’s arms. I grip his shirt and inhale his scent. Man and earth and leather.
After a few seconds, I lift my face to his.
He brushes the hair off my face, studies my eyes. “Feel better?”
I take a deep breath before I answer. “I do.” Everything inside of me feels drained. Lightened. “Surprisingly, that—” I freeze and let out a small yelp. A tear slides down my cheek.
“Koty?” Davis releases me from his arms.
I press a palm over my belly and look down. “The baby,” I whisper.
“What’s wrong?”
I stare at my stomach, watching tears drip onto the dark navy fabric of Davis’s shirt.
“For Christ’s sake, Dakota .” Davis softly grips my jaw, forcing my gaze to his eyes that are dark and laced with worry.
“It moved.” I let out a tearful laugh. “The baby moved. Just like that.”
On an exhale, I fully press my hands to my stomach. Every nerve in my hands, waiting. And I feel it. Movement. A rippling pressure. Tiny surface bubbles rising.
I giggle.
“Oh my god.” I smile. “It feels so…weird.”
“It does?” Davis stares at my stomach.
I bite my lip. “Do you want to feel it?” I ask.
He swallows. “Yeah. I do.” He spreads a palm over the side of my stomach and holds it there. We wait. Then I watch his face soften, all his handsome features crinkling in wonder, as there’s the tiniest ripple of movement.
“That’s your baby,” he rasps. An emotion I can’t place crosses his face.
“It is.” More movement now. A tumbling motion.
“Hi there,” I whisper, stroking a hand over my belly.
My baby heard me. He–or–she woke up. Maybe I just did the same thing, too.