Didn't Expect You (Against All Odds #2) - Claudia Burgoa Page 0,99

wanting his mouth all over my body, placing wet, hot kisses.

I’ve never wanted anything more than this…

I want…him.

“We have to stop,” he says between shallow breaths. “I want this more than you can imagine, but not while things are too complicated.”

He kisses my nose. “When this happens, it’s because we can be committed to each other. Because once I have you, I won’t be able to pretend that I don’t need you—that I can’t live without you by my side.”

I’m frustrated with him, with myself, with the entire situation. Before I can get truly upset, the baby kicks, reminding me that there’s someone who is our number one priority.

This could be a great moment to say, “Your life would be easier without us.” I just don’t have the heart to let him go anymore, because he owns my heart.

He kisses my cheek and goes inside the suite. When he comes outside, he hands me a gift.

“Christmas was a week ago,” I joke, staring at the small present laying on my palm.

He rolls his eyes. “You have to get used to the fact that I like to shower you with presents.”

My heart is all mushy because of this man. He keeps sending me flowers, bringing me ice cream, or just gifting me little things because he thought of me.

Meticulously, I unwrap the box and inside is a gold chain with a rattle charm in the shape of a heart that has a tiny blue stone that is almost the shade of his eyes. I frown and look at him.

“Well, the baby rattle is obvious, and the other is…me,” he shrugs. “I want you to have something that symbolizes the three of us. Maybe someday we’ll add to it when we have more kids. If you want more, that is.”

I want to remind him that we shouldn’t be having these kinds of discussions where we teeter around the edge of our feelings, that we have to keep everything inside. Pretending that I don’t adore this man is becoming more and more difficult.

“This…you and me—”

He places his index finger on my mouth and shakes his head. “No, I can’t hear anything remotely nice or I’ll break my promise, and that might fuck the future of our baby.”

He tilts his head toward the bedroom. “Come on. Time for bed.”

“You’re sending me to my room, aren’t you?”

“I’m not a saint, and I’m running in self-control fumes,” he confirms, giving me a chaste kiss on the lips.

My hands curl around his biceps. I stop him because I’m not ready to let him go just yet. He looks down at me and I realize that I’ve never wanted anyone, or anything, more than I want this and us. It’s nearly painful, but he’s right. It’d be a billion times worse if we lose our baby. It’s weird to go from never stopping to realizing that there’s more in life than work and a career.

To finally be in love with someone. To finally enjoy the sunrise, the sunset, and life without worrying about reaching for the goals I keep raising.

“Sweet dreams, beautiful,” he whispers as he bends down to kiss my cheek and then leaves.

Forty-One

Nate

Throughout January, Ford is in Seattle most of the time. We’re launching a new product in February. Persy comes along, and other than Simone, her cat, and Brock learning to get along, the visit is pleasant. Unfortunately, the next month I have to be in New York most of the time—and Ford too.

Leaving Nyx in Seattle doesn’t sit well, but she can’t fly during her third trimester. I call her at least twice a day, and we text all day long. I hate that I am home only on the weekends, but I’m making sure that when our blueberry is born, I can be in Seattle one hundred percent of the time.

One night, while we’re on FaceTime, she says, “You must be tired of dealing with all this.”

“Of not being with you every day?” I ask. “Yes.”

“No, of having to fly every week and…” she shakes her head. “Do you miss Brock?”

“Not as much as I miss you, and before you offer to let me take him, I have to remind you that he chose to stay with you.”

She smiles. “I think he chose to stay with the blueberry demon.”

“Seven more weeks to go before we meet her,” I remind her, trying to keep our conversation upbeat. “Are we going to choose a name soon?”

“I was thinking of Verity,” she suggests.

“No,” I answer. “Verity…is

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