13 #2
Ruby’s hand leaves mine. She calls for someone, her voice crawling beneath my skin.
I see the cowboy hat, the mirage of a man, a marine, striding my way.
My legs give out, but I don’t fall.
“I got you,” rumbles Davis’s deep voice.
And then I’m in his arms, against his solid chest and being carried. My eyes fall closed and I hold on to him. He smells so damn good. Of earth and coffee and wood. Like a cowboy. Like heaven.
“Talk to me, Koty.” The crunch of snow and leaves beneath his boots. His voice sounds urgent.
“I’m okay.”
“Need more than that, Cupcake.”
“There was a wolf.”
“Yeah.” Unnaturally quiet. “There was a wolf, Dakota.”
“You won’t kill her, will you?”
“How do you know it’s a female?”
“I just know.”
“No,” he says finally. “We won’t hurt her.”
“Good,” I whisper, tipping my forehead to his chest.
Then we’re in the lodge. Davis sets me on the couch and crouches in front of me. He tips my chin and clocks my pupils. I lean into his touch, but just as I do, he stands.
I frown. “What’re you doing?”
“Food,” he says, stomping across the room. I swear the man’s all broody angst and muscles.
He enters the kitchen, and I sigh, following him. “I have to get ready for my shift.”
“You have to eat,” he snaps, grabbing a bowl of eggs from the fridge. He sounds exasperated. “Low blood sugar, remember? You aren’t taking care of yourself. You’re goddamn pregnant, Dakota.”
I huff a dry laugh. How is it he remembers things about my pregnancy even I don’t? Warmth curls in my core as he stands at the kitchen counter with the tight sleeves of his jacket shoved up to expose massive forearms. The thick veins in his hands are like a road map for my lust.
I watch as Davis reaches into the basket of eggs, a deep furrow of a frown on his face. His big fingers clumsily smash eggs against the side of a bowl. Shards of shell scatter across the counter.
I can’t take the massacre of the eggs anymore.
“Let me do it,” I say, going to his side. When he doesn’t move from the bowl, I shove his brick of a bicep. It’s like trying to budge a boulder. “Davis. Move.”
He ignores me, lost in his own world, or fuming, and cracks another egg with violent intensity.
I scan the baking and baby items on the counter. Everything crashes into me. Desperate anger I can’t ignore. Frustration. The man’s a walking contradiction. Staying away, yet giving me everything I need.
All of my life, I’ve done it myself. If I let Davis help me, I’m just getting myself into another situation where I depend on a man. What happens when I leave the ranch? When we both move on with our lives?
Losing everything a second time—I can’t handle that. Fucking up my life twice isn’t an option. I don’t have the strength to do it all over again. I don’t have dreams anymore.
I have reality.
And Davis Montgomery is not a part of that.
I square my shoulders and lift my chin. “Stop.” I drill a finger into his chest.
He rests his hand on the counter. “Stop, what?” he asks, his tone neutral.
“Stop calling me Cupcake and stop leaving me baking and baby supplies.” I pace the room and stop to glare at him. “Stop trying to fix me.” I flip open the baby book and point at the sonogram picture. “Stop doing shit like this. Stop being nice .”
His head whips to me. “Someone has to,” he growls. “Be nice to you.”
“You might be protecting me, but you’re not my mental-health or happiness keeper. Do you understand me?”
Slowly, he turns. His body tight and coiled. Then he storms toward me. He cages me against the fridge, my feet touching the tips of his. My senses come alive. Every part of Davis pressed against me feels right.
He looms over me, his chest heaving like a bull. “I know what you’re fighting, Dakota. I know what’s inside that head of yours. I know what you’re running from. But I’m not walking away.”
My whole body’s vibrating, and his words just shake it even more. “Why?”
“You had to be a fighter for a goddamn long time. You had no choice. Now, you have a choice. Let someone take care of you.”
It slips out of my mouth. “Then take care of me.” I tip my head back to look at him, arch my body into his.
Davis’s hands return to his sides. “We can’t do this.”
“Why? Because you’re so honorable? Because of duty?”
He dips his head, his breath warm in the space between us. “Because the last thing you need is a man pawing at you.”
“I wish you would paw at me,” I whisper. Honesty’s boiling inside of me.
“Dakota.” My name falls strangled from his lips.
“You won’t even look at me. You won’t touch me.”
“Touch you is all I’ve fucking wanted to do since you’ve been back,” he grits out. “But how can I, Koty?”
My lips part. His confession warms every part of my soul. “You can, Davis. But you don’t care about me.”
An agonized sound rumbles in his throat. “You’re wrong there, Dakota. Especially about that.”
“Then prove it.”
Davis roams broad hands up my body. They linger on my waist, gripping it tight. “This is a bad idea,” he husks, gaze blazing.
I grip the hem of his shirt, refusing to let him loose. “It’s the best idea.”
His eyes close. “When you argue with me, Cupcake, it turns me on. Something fierce.”
“Bossin’ the boss man.”
He leans in, and his hips press me back against the fridge. The muscle of his square jaw pulses as his voice drops to a low growl. “What if I fucked you right here, right now? Spread your legs, yanked those pretty panties aside, and bent you over the kitchen counter.”
A tremulous breath escapes me. My sex dampens. My chest heaves. It’s all I can do not to whine my approval. I need it. Every atom in my hormone-addled pregnant body craves Davis Montgomery.
“Got news for you, Hotshot,” I whisper. “I’m not wearing panties.”
He hisses a breath. Desire darkens his face. A big flinger slides into my waistband, all calloused and rough, when we both hear it.
The creak of a door.
A violent burst of barking comes from Keena.
I jump and Davis goes rigid. The change is stunning. Man to machine. His hand goes to his hip, on the gun he keeps there.
I freeze. My eyes dart to the main room.
No.
Footsteps.
Keena’s savage barks echo through the silent lodge.
“Who is it?” I ask in a whisper. A feeling of complete blind panic crashes in on me. My heart’s a hummingbird trapped in my chest.
“Cupcake,” Davis whispers, pressing me back against the fridge. His body becomes a brick wall between me and the intruder. He reaches for the gun on his hip as his lips move against the cool shell of my ear. “Don’t fucking move.”