Call Me Crazy (Bellamy Creek #3) - Melanie Harlow Page 0,76

about time running out, about what the future would bring, and why I shouldn’t love him.

There was nothing fake about it—I just wanted to be with him.

“Enzo,” I whispered as he moved inside me. “Say something real.”

“What?” He slowed his rhythm but didn’t stop.

“Say something real,” I begged.

At first he didn’t say anything, he just looked down at me, and I was terrified.

But then.

“I never stop thinking about you,” he said, his voice low and serious.

“Keep going,” I whispered, the walls around my heart beginning to crumble.

“No one has ever made me feel the way you do. Sometimes I can’t even breathe.”

“Yes,” I said, pulling him deeper, matching his rhythm. I knew exactly what he meant. “Yes, yes, yes.”

“I want to give you everything.” He stopped moving for just a moment, his lips hovering over mine. “Everything.”

He said nothing else as the need built between us, the compulsion to move harder and faster and deeper—our hearts racing, our skin hot, our breathing ragged and quick. I came first and he followed a minute later, which allowed me to feel every pulse of his release inside me. And I didn’t think about anything except that I loved the way it felt to share something so deeply intimate with him, to share myself with him, to share this bed and this night and this experience. It was the most powerful and intense feeling I’d ever had.

No wonder, I thought as we clung to each other in the warm, breathless aftermath. No wonder this is how a life begins.

Except it didn’t work.

And as I sobbed in the bathroom on a Saturday morning two and a half weeks later, feeling sad and broken and ashamed, I realized how high I’d let my hopes get.

I’d known, even with the Clomid, that it might not work. But the sex had felt so magical. My connection to Enzo so intense. The chemistry between us so fiery.

So I’d thought maybe.

And I’d wished.

I’d prayed.

I’d listened to Enzo tell me how confident he was. And—most humiliating of all—I’d actually felt pregnant.

No joke, I’d actually convinced myself that I felt telltale signs for the first time . . . sore breasts, increased appetite, dizziness, a bloated belly. All symptoms of PMS, of course. God, how could I have been so dumb?

I gave in to the need to cry it out, even though I felt guilty about how sad I was, because some women try for years to get pregnant without any luck. Then I gave up feeling guilty and cried for them too.

Enzo was at the gym, but we were picking up the keys to the new house today at noon—so I knew he’d be back any minute. I didn’t want him to see me like this, so I pulled myself together, took a shower, got dressed, and covered my face with makeup before going downstairs.

When I entered the kitchen, Enzo stood at the island with a cardboard cup of coffee. A second one was on the counter. “Morning, Lucy.”

“Morning.” I didn’t quite meet his eye as I went to the sink and started filling a glass to water the plant in the kitchen window. “How was your workout?”

“Great. I stopped for coffee on the way home. Got you some tea, and don’t worry—it’s herbal. No caffeine.”

“Doesn’t matter,” I said, choking back tears.

“Huh?”

“Doesn’t matter,” I said, my tone louder and sharper. I dumped the water into the dirt.

“Hey.” He took the empty glass from me and set it aside before taking me by the shoulders and forcing me to look at him. “What’s going on?”

I shook my head as the tears spilled over.

He understood without my saying a word, which somehow only made me cry harder. Pulling me to his chest, he wrapped his arms around me and held me while I wept into his sweaty gray shirt. His hands moved up and down my back. “Shh,” he said, kissing my head. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” I blubbered, getting snot and tears and mascara all over him. “I failed. Even on the drug, I failed.”

“That’s ridiculous. If anything, I failed.”

“It’s me, Enzo. You had the test, and you were fine. I’m the problem.”

“Hey.” He took me by the upper arms again and held me back so he could look at me. “This was one missed chance, that’s all. We get more, right?”

I wiped my nose with the back of my hand. “One more.”

“Okay, so don’t give up. You know what they say, third time’s the charm.” His lips tipped up on one