Protecting His Pregnant Lover - Leslie North Page 0,13

as he had.

He let her chat idly and offer up directions as he drove. He wanted to say the right thing to her this time—but before he could uncover what that might be, Olive’s voice cut through his thoughts again: “Well, this is me.”

Already? Levon craned his head to look as Olive let herself out of the truck. The home was single-story, modest; it was one he had walked and driven past countless times before, growing up in Harper’s Forge. He couldn’t remember if this had been her parents’ house or not.

“Olive.” Levon pulled his keys from the ignition and followed her out into the driveway. She was already halfway to the front door; if he didn’t know any better, he would suspect her of running away from him. “Can I come in?”

“Uh…” Olive blinked owlishly, adorably, as the automatic outdoor light came on. “Are you sure that’s—I mean, I haven’t had a chance to clean, or anything—”

“Let me walk you to your door, then.” Levon stood outside the golden pool of light, giving her space to process without backing down from his request. After a few seconds’ deliberation, Olive nodded, and led him up the porch steps.

“Really, Levon, the security detail isn’t necessary,” she told him. “You can see for yourself how close I live to my neighbor. They know I’m pregnant, and have already said I can come over anytime I need to—”

He was still trying to devise a polite way in by the time they arrived at her door. He didn’t want Olive alone right now; more than that, he didn’t want her out of his direct line of sight. But he didn’t know how to make that happen without making himself sound like a controlling asshole.

Now her key was in the lock, and he still hadn’t thought of anything brilliant to say. Maybe he should put it to her bluntly. Olive, we need to talk about the baby—

A piece of paper slipped free from the crack of her door and fluttered to the ground. Olive grabbed hold of the frame so she could stoop to pick it up, but Levon got to it first. He rose and held the note out to her under the light; then he drew closer to get a better look as Olive gasped. He had to be sure he was reading it right.

Stay in your lane, the hand-penned message warned. The boy is ours.

Suddenly, Levon realized there was another possible explanation for what had happened when the thug had grabbed Olive. Maybe the reason he’d frozen wasn’t because of the pregnancy, or because she’d talked too fast for the attacker to think straight. Maybe he’d frozen because he’d recognized her voice—realized who she was, despite the darkness—once she’d started talking. That was how he’d known to leave the note here.

Which meant the Reapers were aware of who Olive was, and where she lived. And they knew she was a threat.

In that moment, Levon knew exactly what to say.

“Pack a bag,” he said. “You’re coming home with me.”

5

How did you argue with a Navy SEAL? You didn’t. Olive took one look at Levon’s steely expression, standing there under the suddenly not-so-safe-seeming light of her porch, and complied without protest.

It was only now when she found herself at his furnished rental apartment that she realized she might have had a choice in the matter—and maybe the wiser choice might have been not to stay the night with the father of her child.

“Seriously, Levon. I’ve lived twenty-six years of my life unprotected,” Olive stressed to her white knight for the umpteenth time. She paused in the doorway to remove her shoes, striking out for something to cling onto for balance. That something wound up being Levon’s offered bicep. She blushed, but accepted it.

Just because she was seven months along didn’t make her a porcelain doll!

“And I’ve spent twenty-eight years alive on this earth, which means I know more than you do about surviving,” Levon snapped back. “Did I mention I’m an ex-Navy SEAL?”

“One or two times. In fact, you bring it up an awful lot, considering I’ve always read that special forces are supposed to be discreet.” Levon bent to help her remove her other shoe, which at least meant he couldn’t see her go completely scarlet at the gesture. White knight indeed. “This isn’t a competition, by the way,” she added as his thumb brushed along the arch of her foot in a way she wasn’t certain was necessary. “Also, pulling the age