Chapter 3 #4
“I brought soup. Something gentle, in case your stomach’s still difficult.
” He set the bag on her counter and unpacked it methodically, broth-based soup, crackers, a bottle of ginger ale, all of it arranged like he’d given real thought to what her body could tolerate.
His attention never fully left her even while his hands worked, tracking her across the small kitchen like she might vanish again if he looked away too long.
She crossed her arms and leaned against the counter, watching him instead of reaching for any of it.
“Why are you really here, Draven? What do you actually want from me?” She kept her voice steady, though something underneath it trembled, the question bigger than the kitchen they stood in.
“You didn’t have to do any of this. The job, the food, showing up at my door at exactly five like you’ve got nothing better to do with your evening.
” She paused, the folder still sitting where she’d left it at the end of the counter, his whole life stacked neatly inside it.
He set the empty bag aside and turned to face her fully, no hesitation in it.
“I wanted you back before there was ever a baby involved. That’s why I pulled the strings I pulled.
The pregnancy didn’t change anything I was already planning to do.
” He said it plainly, no apology folded in, like the admission cost him nothing now that it was out in the open.
“How am I supposed to know that lasts?” She pushed off the counter, putting a little distance between them he didn’t try to close.
“My high school sweetheart cheated on me the summer before college. My fiancé cheated on me in a walk-in freezer twenty minutes before our wedding. So forgive me if I’m not exactly moved by a man’s confidence that this time is different just because the attraction feels good right now. ”
She started to turn away, toward the sink, toward anything that wasn’t his face watching her like he could see straight through every wall she was trying to put up. He set his hands flat on the counter instead of reaching for her, the restraint visible in the line of his shoulders.
“I’m not them.” He said it low, certain, waiting until she went still to go on. “I know that’s not proof. I know words don’t undo what two other men did to you. But I’ll show you, Sloane. With time. That’s all I’m asking for.”
She turned back, arms still crossed, though the fight in her voice had softened into something closer to fear. “And when the attraction fades? It always does eventually. What happens to me then?”
He crossed the space between them before she could brace for it, his hand coming up to cradle her jaw, tilting her face to his.
She didn’t pull away this time, her breath catching as his thumb traced slow along her cheekbone.
“It’s not going to fade,” he murmured, and then he kissed her, slow and deliberate, swallowing whatever argument she’d still been forming.
She melted into it despite every reservation she’d just laid out loud, her hands sliding up to rest against his chest, the steady, certain beat of his heart under her palm.
He kissed her like he had all the time in the world to prove his point, unhurried, his other hand settling at the small of her back to draw her in.
She let herself lean into the solid warmth of him, into the careful way he held her, like something worth being gentle with.
He walked her backward toward the bedroom without breaking the kiss, his hands moving over her slow and reverent, nothing like the urgency of their first night.
He undressed her with patience now, setting his mouth to each new inch of skin he uncovered, murmuring against her collarbone, her shoulder, the curve of her throat, like he was learning her all over again and meant to commit every part to memory.
She arched into his hands, soft sounds escaping her that he caught with his mouth, his own restraint plain in every deliberate movement.
When he finally settled over her it was slow and tender, his forehead pressed to hers, his eyes open and locked on her face the whole time, like he refused to miss a single flicker crossing it.
She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him closer, her breath shaking against his ear as he moved with a gentleness that undid her more completely than anything frantic could have.
He said her name once, low and reverent, and she held on through every slow, unhurried wave of it until they both went still and quiet together in the dark.
Afterward he gathered her against his chest, his hand tracing slow circles along her bare back, neither of them in any hurry to break the silence settling warm and heavy over the room. She pressed her cheek to him, listening to the steady thud of his heart, still catching her breath.
“There is not a chance in hell this fades,” he said quietly into her hair, his arms tightening like the words needed the weight of his whole body behind them. “Not for me. Not with you.”