it meant when she pressed his palm flat against her bump.
Then he felt what she’d felt, and the flood of understanding almost dragged him under.
Samir held his breath as he felt an insistent little push beneath his hand—beneath Laura’s skin. His heart stuttered in his chest, fluttering like the wings of a caged bird. Common sense flew out the window; he was all giddy excitement now. He didn’t even hesitate to slide his other arm around Laura’s back, to hold her in place as he spread his hand wide over her belly and felt every kick.
“Oh my God,” he breathed. When he looked up, he found her grin impossibly wide and her eyes shimmering like silver ocean. “Oh my God,” he said again. “That’s so fucking…”
“It’s weird, right?” She laughed, but it was kind of wobbly. “The weirdest thing ever!”
“It’s the best, weirdest thing I’ve ever felt,” he admitted. “Oh, angel, don’t cry. Please don’t cry.”
“No, no, I’m fine!” Tears streamed down her cheeks, splotches of pink blooming across her face like roses. “I don’t know why I’m crying! It’s just so…” Samir resisted the urge to wince as her voice soared to dolphin pitch. He could hear the sounds and everything, but it kind of came out like “SoohmagahaBABYbumpallkickinrealinsideohgahisohappy!”
“That’s great love,” he murmured. He was rubbing her belly in circles now, which she didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she wiped roughly at her face with both hands and gave him a smile brighter than the sun.
“Sorry,” she sniffed. “That’s just the first time I felt any kicks or anything, and I was starting to think it would never happen! And now, you know… it’s happening! Oh, I got carried away. Sorry. Sorry!”
“Don’t be sorry,” he said, and hoped he sounded calm. Cool. Not at all like he was exploding inside over the fact that he’d just felt the baby’s first kicks—that she’d wanted him to. He was the only person around, after all. Of course she’d wanted to share it with someone.
But now the baby seemed to have abruptly settled down, and Laura wasn’t stepping away—even though his fingers brushed against that slice of bare skin with every slow circle he made. Maybe he should pull back. Maybe she was feeling awkward or uncomfortable and didn’t know how to say ‘Please get the fuck off me’ politely. That was probably it.
Samir was about to let go when she looked up at him, and just like that, he felt it. That electrical charge, like the air before a storm, that coalesced between them when he least expected it. Her fingers brushed his wrist, hesitant and barely there. Then the touch came again, firmer now, until her hand was pressed over his. As if she were keeping him in place. As if she didn’t want him to stop.
She definitely didn’t want him to stop.
“Laura,” he murmured. “Tell me… tell me what you’re thinking.”
Her smile fading, she ran her tongue over her lower lip. It was a nervous gesture, he told himself. That was all. Just because her eyes were starlight and her cheeks were flushed and he could see the rise and fall of her chest getting faster and heavier, didn’t mean he should assume anything.
Then she said, “I’m wondering why you still make me feel like this.”
“Like what?”
She spoke so softly, he barely heard her. “Perfect.”
Samir’s eyes slid shut as if blocking out the sight of her could block out everything else. As if he could ignore his inconvenient adoration, or the surge of anticipation flooding his veins. He had to be careful. This could all go dangerously wrong. He could be dangerously wrong, to hear that word and think it meant she wanted him. ‘Perfect’ could mean anything. The low, husky tone of her voice could mean anything.
Her hand sliding up his arm, his shoulder, sinking into his hair—that could mean anything.
Couldn’t it?
He opened his eyes and found her, still real, still standing there in his arms, but unimaginably changed. That ever-cool gaze was heated mercury, burning into him the way it used to. The way he shouldn’t even remember. When he thought of her, on the nights when he was too tired or too reckless or too fucking besotted to stop himself, she looked at him just like this.
“Say something,” he gritted out.
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Don’t. Stop. No—”
She pressed her hand over his mouth, cutting off his words, his thoughts, his good sense. Then her palm slid away until only the tips of her fingers grazed