Chapter 11
Mariah
Icome downstairs to find Titus is once again set up at the kitchen island.
In the week since I passed out, he’s been out of his rooms more than he’s been inside them.
He works in the kitchen. Eats breakfast, lunch, and dinner with me.
He even joins me on the couch at night, watching shows he doesn’t give two shits about.
And I’m pretty sure it’s strictly because he’s worried I’m going to pass out again. It’s the same reason he follows me around all day making sure I eat and drink. The same reason his eyes are on me more often than not. It’s like he thinks I could drop at any second.
And this morning is no exception.
My feet have barely hit the hardwood of the main floor before Titus turns to me. His green eyes sweep me from head to toe, like he’s gauging the state I’m in and the likelihood he’ll have to scoop my unconscious body up off the ground.
“Good morning.” His greeting is a deep rumble that flutters through my insides.
Why does he have to be so hot? Why couldn’t he have been like Walker? Cute, but resistible, instead of intense and intriguing and…
Sexy. The man is just sexy.
“Good morning.” The words croak out of me as I resist the urge to smooth back my hair. To adjust my clothes. To try to look as appealing to him as he is to me.
I can’t allow myself to get in that headspace. Not again. Not with Titus. I’m just his employee. The woman who makes his meals. He’s only down here out of obligation. Thinking—even for a second—there’s more to it, would be setting myself up for failure. Again.
I just really wish I wasn’t suffering from an abundance of additional blood flow and the nearly constant state of arousal that seems to come with it.
Wasn’t expecting that fun pregnancy symptom at all.
I actually assumed my libido would dry up like a raisin in the sun.
At least there’s a reasonable explanation for all my fluttery feelings about Titus.
I’m just horny. Not hopey.
I’d really love for this little side effect to pass. I can’t be spending most of my days—and nights—lusting over my sort of boss.
Guilt pinks my cheeks, and I avert my eyes from where Titus sits—looking serious and gorgeous and virile—as I make my way to the fridge in search of something to focus on besides the way his attention is almost always directed at me.
I open the door and survey the contents, in search of inspiration. “What sounds good for breakfast?”
I’ve tried planning out meals, but since nothing ever sounds good, I struggle to come up with ideas. I can’t wait for my appetite to return. If for no other reason, so I won’t be staring down a pile of ingredients every morning, noon, and night with absolutely no clue what to do with them.
“What about an egg in a basket?” His words ripple up my spine and curve through my limbs.
Why does his voice have to be so sexy? Now that I think about it, why does all of him have to be so sexy?
It’s not fair. It’s like the universe knows I’m trying to change my ways, and instead of helping me out by giving me a boring, mediocre man to cook for—one I would have no problem finding uninteresting—it dropped Titus right into my lap.
Taunting me. Daring me to dream. Tempting me to think of all the possibilities.
To hope for what I most definitely cannot have.
And I most definitely cannot have Titus Bradshaw. Not just because he’s my employer. The source of security I need for myself and Peanut. But because no man is going to be interested in a woman who’s pregnant by someone else.
I should tell him. It would be an easy way to nip this whole little fantasy I’m trying to have right in the bud. I’ve come downstairs every morning since Titus left his rooms with the intention of laying it all out. But every morning I don’t.
Because I’m an idiot. An idiot unwilling to give up her ridiculousness.
I reach into the refrigerator and pull out the carton of eggs. “An egg in a basket sounds perfect.”
It’s one of the easiest breakfasts I’ve made for Titus since coming here, but seems to be his favorite because he suggests it more often than not.
Pulling out one of the ridiculously expensive pans he bought me, I set it on the stove and go to work slicing off the bread. I’ve only got one piece cut before Titus is at my side, his big body crowding me and making my heart beat faster.
“Let me.” He gently works the serrated knife from my hand as his free palm comes to rest against my back, urging me away from the cutting board. “You sit down. I’ve got this.”
The bite of panic clenches my already troublesome insides. “But this is literally my job. It’s what you pay me to do.”
If I don’t cook for Titus, then what is the point of me being here? What’s stopping him from sending me on my way when he finds out I’m kind of a package deal?
Nothing, and that cannot happen.
I was supposed to come here and show Titus how valuable I am.
Make him enjoy my cooking so much it wouldn’t even occur to him to get rid of me once he finds out I’m pregnant.
Instead, I passed out on his floor, making him so nervous it’ll happen again that he’s now the one trying to take care of me.
“You do plenty of things I don’t pay you to do, Mariah.
” Titus's hand stays on my back as he follows me around the island, practically scooping me up and depositing me into the chair he just vacated. He leans close, the scent of him surrounding me as his soulful eyes hold mine. “I probably need to be a little better at making sure you don’t feel like I’m taking advantage of you. ”
Holy cow, I wish he would take advantage of me.
I swallow hard, hoping to God he cannot read my thoughts, because they are really unprofessional. “You’re not taking advantage of me.” A little bit of a smile manages to work across my lips. “You’re actually the best boss I’ve ever had.”
I loved working for Maryann at the inn, but she sure wasn’t making random extra deposits into my bank account. She also didn’t smell nearly as good as Titus does. And I definitely never spent most of the day hoping her body would accidentally brush mine.
Titus's eyes move over my face as a hint of a smile tugs at his mouth. “You’re the best chef I’ve ever had.” I could swear his gaze drops to my lips before snapping back to meet mine. “And I’m not your boss.”
The last words settle between us, hovering in the air as I struggle to breathe.
My lungs come to a complete halt when Titus reaches out, his slightly calloused fingers pushing a lock of hair that’s fallen from my ponytail away from my face before curling it behind one ear.
I hold completely still as the warmth of his touch brushes along the side of my neck before moving away, leaving me concerned I might melt out of my seat into a pool of needy goo on his freshly mopped floors.
“How’s your stomach this morning?”
The question is a bolt of lightning. It snaps me out of the land of wishful thinking I love to occupy, dragging me back to the reality I’ve never been good at accepting.
“It’s good.” Lie. One there’s no point in even producing, but I do it anyway. “I think the move was just a big change and a shock to my system.”
Possibly the truth, but definitely not the reason my appetite has been nonexistent.
Titus makes a low humming noise, like he’s weighing the accuracy of my claim.
“Then I should probably start making sure you take at least a couple days off every week.” He straightens, backing away.
“I’ve seen what happens when your system is shocked, and it took years off my life, so I don’t have any interest in repeating it. ”
I don’t realize I’m leaning toward him as he moves away—until I nearly tip forward out of my seat. Thankfully, by then Titus has his back to me and doesn’t notice. If he did, hopefully he would just assume I was passing out again instead of already missing his closeness.
“I don’t have any interest in repeating it either.” I take the first deep breath I’ve gotten since coming downstairs as Titus returns to the bread and begins slicing through the loaf. “I’ve never passed out before and would happily live the rest of my life without doing it again.”
Titus’s eyes lift to find me. “That’s the first time you’ve passed out?”
I try to decipher the tone of his voice, but can’t. “That’s the first time I’ve fully passed out. I’ve come close before when I stand up too fast or get a little dehydrated, but I’ve never gone all the way down.”
Oop. That might have been the wrong choice of words. Because now I’m thinking about going down. And not in the passing out sort of way.
“I need to go to the bathroom.” I stand quickly, rushing to the hall connected to the garage, before locking myself in the half bath I’ve barfed in more times than I can count.
Not this time though. This time I’m splashing cold water on my face for a totally different reason. A reason that’s going to be way more difficult to deal with. Which is seriously saying something since I’ve lost ten pounds thanks to morning sickness.
The soft knock on the door has my spine snapping straight.
Like I’ve been caught doing something terrible.
I was doing something terrible—thinking of very specific parts of Titus in very specific parts of me.
I just hope to God he doesn’t have this slightest clue what it was, because I will never be able to look him in the eye again.
And I really love his eyes.
“Mariah? You okay?” There’s concern in Titus’s voice, and it makes me feel even worse. This poor guy’s worried about me and I’m just preoccupied by the fact that I haven’t had good sex in…
Oh God. Have I ever had good sex?
I splash my face with more water, because I really fucking need it after that revelation. Grabbing the towel that came in one of Titus’s most recent orders, I pat my face dry as I call out, “I’m fine,” then pull the door open with what I hope is a genuine smile. “Coffee runs right through me.”