Chapter 35
LANEY
"Hey, I know this is completely last minute," I say, pushing open the door to London's bedroom unannounced, "but I was wondering if you wanted to go to?—"
My words die in my throat when I look up and see him standing across the room, frozen by his dresser, water droplets still clinging to his shoulders, and a towel wrapped dangerously low around his waist.
His eyes widen momentarily, my presence catching him by surprise as much as his state of undress has me rooted to my spot beside the door. The air between us shifts, charged with the same electricity that's been crackling under the surface for days.
"I didn't know you were coming over," he says, his voice rougher than usual as he rolls his lips before running a hand through his damp, messy hair. The movement makes his bicep flex, and I have to remind myself to breathe.
"Umm...your dad let me in," I manage, unable to keep the nerves and want out of my voice.
London Hale has the body of a god, and I fucking miss it. I miss him. The past few days since the dinner have been great. We're falling back in step, but we haven't been together intimately. I said I wanted to take things slow. I needed to take them slow. Iowed that to myself to process everything that had happened, to listen to not only what was in my head but my heart. I've done that, and he still hopelessly owns them both.
For a moment, neither of us moves as the air turns electric, and my heart starts to race, and the way his dark eyes are drinking me in tells me he knows the exact thoughts that are running through my head. The hunger there mirrors my own. I want to lick every drop of water off his toned stomach and trace the V that disappears beneath his towel with my tongue.
His gaze drops to my lips, then lower, lingering on the slight curve of my belly before traveling back up to meet my eyes. The look he gives me is pure fire.
"You said you were going somewhere." He clears his throat, but his voice is strained, like he's fighting the same pull I am.
"Ah, yes. I was wondering if you want to go to the doctor with me. My mother set it up at the hospital, said I need to start figuring out my birth plan, deciding if any tests or screenings are necessary, and discussing my job..." I pinch my nose to stifle the stress of the list she ticked off as we discuss the baby. But right now, all I can think about is how badly I want to close the distance between us. "Riding horses during pregnancy is apparently a problem."
"It's not even a question." He takes two steps toward me, happiness written all over his face, ready to crush me with one of his hugs, until he realizes he's still practically naked. The movement makes the towel shift lower, and my breath catches. "I want to be at every appointment." His hand tightens around the towel, knuckles white with restraint. "Just give me two seconds to get dressed."
I nod, but I don't move. I can't move. The way he's looking at me like I'm something precious and dangerous all at once has my pulse thrumming.
"You can wait in the living room," he says casually, but there's nothing casual about the heat in his eyes as he turns to his dresser to rummage through his drawer.
I purse my lips and consider doing just that, but my feet carry me to his bed instead. I don't want to wait in the living room. He's the man responsible for putting this baby in my belly, and right now, that thought has heat coiling low in my stomach, making me ache for his touch. The living room is distance. I'm tired of distance. Besides, looking isn't touching, even if every fiber of my being is screaming to do exactly that.
"The bed will do," I say, flopping onto his mattress, and I'm immediately surrounded by his scent. His head snaps to me, and the look that crosses his face when he sees me stretched across his sheets is pure hunger wrapped in warning. I arch one eyebrow with a smile. "Watching isn't touching."
A slow, wicked smile spreads across his face. "Heartbreaker, you can watch anytime. I like it when your eyes are on me," he says, voice dropping to that low register that makes my toes curl. Then he drops the towel.
And I see everything.
My breath hitches as I squeeze my legs together, fighting the wave of desire that crashes over me. When my eyes fall upon the marks on his shoulder from the last time we were together, faint but still visible, a possessive heat flares in my chest. Mine. He's mine, and I marked him to prove it.
He doesn't move to get dressed right away. Instead, he stands there, letting me look, letting the tension build until the air feels thick enough to drown in. His eyes never leave mine, reading every reaction, every catch of breath. He knows exactly what line he's toeing, and I'm letting him.
"See something you like?" he asks, voice rough with want.
I bite my lower lip, letting my gaze travel slowly down his body before meeting his eyes again. "Maybe," I say, trying to sound casual, even though my voice comes out breathier than intended.
He chuckles, low and dangerous. "Maybe?" He takes a step closer to the bed, and I have to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. "Your pulse is racing. I can see it from here."
"That could be from anything," I counter, though we bothknow it's a lie. "Pregnancy hormones. The shock of walking in on you naked. General anxiety about the doctor's appointment."
"Uh-huh." Another step closer. Now he's at the foot of the bed, hands braced on the mattress as he leans forward slightly. The position gives me an even better view of his chest, of the way water still clings to the hollow of his throat. "And the way you're looking at me right now? That's just...medical curiosity?"
Heat flames across my cheeks. "I'm allowed to appreciate aesthetics."
"Aesthetics," he repeats, amused. "Is that what we're calling it?"
I sit up straighter, chin lifting in challenge. "What would you call it?"
His eyes darken further. "Hunger." The word hangs between us like a confession. "The same hunger that's been eating me alive for days, watching you, wanting you, respecting your need for space, even when all I want to do is?—"
