Chapter 23 #2
She laughs brightly. “Yeah, until Kasey comes home and bends you over this—”
“Layla!” I squeal, and we both burst into more laughter. “I admitted to sleeping in his bed, not sleeping with him.”
She throws me a deadpan look. “You have a hickey the size of the Gulf Coast on your neck that you didn’t have at dinner last night.”
Well, fuck.
Layla and I spend the next hour gorging ourselves on everything she brought over—well, I gorge myself while she mostly watches with captivated interest—and she leaves with a tight hug that surprisingly makes me very teary-eyed.
“Pregnancy hormones,” I insist.
“Sure.” She pats me on the head, grinning. “See you soon, I’m sure!”
I watch her shuffle down the stairs and back toward the main house thinking, in another life, we would have made great sisters.
In the hours after she leaves, the reality of everything crashes back down around me: our fake marriage, this baby, the things I let myself tell Kasey last night while he held me in his bed.
By the time he gets home I have a whole speech prepared to let us both off the hook, but as I watch him walk in through the door, it dies on my tongue.
Kasey is so . . . handsome. And filthy. His hands look like they were dipped in motor oil and his face is creased with dirt.
He reaches to pull his hat off, revealing sweat-dried hair curling along his neck that I want to comb through with my fingers.
His gaze finds me on the couch in seconds, his expression neutral, if not a little tired. “Hey.”
“Hi,” I say. “Are you hungry? We’ve made a serious come up on commercial baked goods, if you’re interested.”
His mouth twitches. “You must have been busy with hunter-gatherer duties.”
I shrug. “I provide just as well as any man.”
“Don’t doubt it.” His eyes skim down my body, taking in my shirt. He seems to linger on it, shoulders going stiff.
“Hope it’s okay I helped myself,” I say, embarrassment creeping in. How mortifying of me to just assume.
He nods once. “Of course.” He doesn’t move from where he stands. Instead, he just watches me. I fight the urge to try to covertly disappear beneath a blanket.
Is he angry? Maybe he should be. I wouldn’t blame him, not when I told him I couldn’t promise him anything and then turned around and begged him to take me to bed. The last thing I want to do—that I’ve ever wanted to do—is hurt him.
His face betrays no emotion as he continues his perusal, but when his eyes land on mine again, I can see it. The smile he’s fighting.
And then he lets it bloom, lets it take over his whole face, and it fists the air out of my lungs.
Eventually he seems to shake off the weight of . . . whatever that was, and bends to remove his boots. “How was your day?” he asks.
“Hm, let’s see.” I hold out a hand to count with my fingers.
“I slept in gloriously late in the world’s most comfortable bed, had the pleasure of being awakened by a half-naked cowboy with a John Deere fetish, was rightfully spoiled with the aforementioned sugary baked goods, and had a nap on this couch—”
He straightens so fast I’m surprised it doesn’t send him falling backward. “Half-naked cowboy?” he asks, face grim.
I nod, solemn. “Rhett was riding that lawn mower like they share a very intimate relationship.”
He hangs his head. “I’m gonna fucking kill him.”
I laugh, and it tugs at the corner of his mouth.
“Layla came by. She knows I’m pregnant.”
“She does?”
“Yeah. She figured it out. You know, for a girl who didn’t know her ex-boyfriend’s best friend was in love with her for years, she’s actually pretty perceptive.”
“What did she say?” he asks, ignoring my quip.
“She had . . . questions. And lucky for us both, I had answers.” He gives me a dry look, so I say, “After realizing the timeline, she mostly wanted to know what you thought about it.”
“Ah.”
“And I said you were unbothered.”
His eyes flash as he walks toward me, a dark hunger there and gone before I can even really process it. He leans down to press a quick kiss to the top of my head before loping into the kitchen. “Good,” he says, opening the fridge.
“I asked her not to say anything,” I add, scrambling off the couch to join him. “I mean, people will know eventually, obviously, but it’ll be on our terms. Oh, and I do have some news about your uncle.”
This gets his attention. He swings the fridge door shut and looks at me, cold beer in hand. “What news?”
I frown. “He filed a motion to the probate court, a demand to compel distribution of the ranch. He listed the inheritance trust stipulations in support of his claim as well as the fact that your father hasn’t been seen working in years and therefore likely isn’t currently fit to keep things running, and .
. . he also disclosed ‘based on a source close to the family’ that he believes his nephew has entered into a fraudulent marriage in an attempt to maintain ownership. ”
“Shit,” Kasey snaps.
“Don’t worry,” I say. “I bet he made up the source. Or it could have been my father . . . At worst, it just means we have to fight the case. Prove this isn’t fraudulent.”
His eyes narrow. “And at best?”
I give him my best already on it smile as I propel myself up onto the counter.
“At best, we file a temporary restraining order against him. Lay the groundwork to support the argument that he’s delusional and grasping at straws.
That he thinks he can lie his way into a multi-million-dollar land deed. ”
Kasey moves toward me, setting his beer down on the table, and without even thinking I open my legs to invite him closer, the denim of his jeans dragging along my inner thighs as his eyes reverently dance around my face.
“World’s most comfortable bed, huh?” He plucks the flower from my hair. I’d forgotten it was even there.
“I thought you were mad at me,” I admit.
“For what?”
“I don’t know. Taking advantage?”
He expels a breath. Shakes his head. And then leans further, resting his hands on either side of my hips. He’s not touching me, not really, but he’s . . . everywhere. And he’s eyeing my neck like it’s the long-lost Holy Grail.
“When I got home and saw you, saw this—” He presses his lips to where I know a hickey blemishes my skin.
It’s the faintest touch. Featherlight. And then his mouth moves to my ear.
“Do you know how unbelievably satisfying it is to come home to you in my house, wearing my clothes, pregnant and safe?” The sharp edge of his nose grazes my hair as he inhales a deep, steadying breath.
“I must be reverting back to Neanderthal-level instincts because seeing you like this makes me fucking crazy, sugar. If anyone’s taking liberties with this situation, it’s me. ”
Heat expands through every inch of my body. And yet—
“What about . . . you?”
“What about me?”
I sigh. “This could get messy, fast.”
He snorts. “Ava, I think we sprinted past messy two and a half weeks ago when you barreled into this cabin and begged me to be your husband.”
“I didn’t barrel in here!” I swat him. “And I certainly didn’t beg.”
He laughs, a web of wrinkles creasing the contours of his eyes. And it fills me with so much contentment I might burst. “Whatever you say, sugar.” His voice rumbles through me. And then he’s backing away, picking up his beer. “I’ve got a shift tonight. I’m gonna shower and head back out.”
I frown, watching him turn the corner into his room. “Wait!” I shout. “Can I come?”