Slash pulled the car up to the curb and parked outside a quaint home in a neighborhood with neat, tidy lawns.
“What are we doing here?” I asked, unlatching my seat belt.
Slash didn’t reply as he climbed out of the driver’s side. For a man who had been a Nomad for the last fifteen years, he was certainly comfortable driving a car. It felt strange though. Like he was an animal outside its natural habitat.
He took my hand and led me up the walkway. Without a word, he lifted the welcome mat and removed a key.
“Seriously?” I asked when he slid the key into the lock. “Not even trying to hide the key?”
He shrugged as he opened the front door. He waved me inside. I looked around for the light switch and flicked it on.
It was a ranch-style home that looked like it had been recently remodeled. The paint was fresh, and the kitchen had been upgraded with stainless steel appliances.
“What do you think?” Slash asked, closing the door behind him.
“It’s cute,” I said.
“Two bedroom, one bath,” he explained.
I nodded as I walked around. It reminded me of the house I’d grown up in. Nothing fancy, but homey.
“The clubhouse is fine if you’re young and wanting to party,” Slash said. “It’s not a great place to be long term.”
“Ah,” I said with an understanding smile. “You want a little more space. A little bit more privacy. Are you going to rent this place?”
“If you like it.”
“I do like it,” I repeated. “But I don’t see what—”
“Move in with me.” His body was taut, his expression stoic.
I blinked. “Move in with you? Are you crazy?”
“No. I’m not crazy.”
“Slash, this is too fast. Moving in together is a big step.”
“Not when you’re having my kid,” he pointed out dryly. He stalked toward me. I had no choice but to back up until I hit the wall. He grinned as he planted his hands either side of me, caging me in. “Gotcha.”
“I don’t want to be got,” I quipped. “I’m not ready to move in with you. Why can’t we just, I don’t know, do sleepovers?”
“Sleepovers?” He raised his eyebrows. “Where?”
“My place. I’ll clean out a drawer. I’ll give you a drawer. Wouldn’t you like a drawer?”
“Woman, you’re hyperventilating. Take a deep breath for me.”
“Damn right I’m hyperventilating! You do these things to me…”
“What things?”
“These big, monumental things—like buy me a car and throw out casually that we should just move in together.”
One of his hands left the wall but only so he could grasp my chin and tilt it up. “Your apartment is barely big enough for you, let alone a baby and all the shit babies come with. Not to mention, your bed is a double. We need a king.”
He pressed closer, nudging his thigh between my legs. My breath hitched when I felt the delicious pressure of arousal spark within me.
“I don’t like that someone threw a brick through your bakery window,” he said, his voice low. “I don’t like you living alone in that part of town.”
I dragged my tongue across suddenly dry lips. “I’m not ready for all this, Slash.”
“Hate to break it to you, but your life is gonna change whether you want it to or not.” His hand wormed its way underneath my shirt and settled protectively over my belly.
“This isn’t how it was supposed to go,” I said, meeting his gaze.
“How was it supposed to go?”
“All of this was supposed to happen after.”
“After what?”
“After the bakery was a success. After I had it all sorted. After I was married. Just…after. But it’s all coming before and—”
“And you never thought you’d wind up having a kid with a guy like me,” he finished.
“I don’t know who I thought I’d wind up with,” I admitted softly. My hand crept up his chest and I let it settle there. “But from what you’ve shown me, I could’ve done a lot worse.”
“You’re right. You could’ve done a lot worse,” he agreed. “We could have a home together. The three of us.”
“Slash,” I whispered, tears coating my lashes.
“Woman, you might not be ready for all this. I get it. I do. But what do you feel? When you’re with me?” he asked.
“Safe. Protected.” I paused. “Wanted.”
He shifted his stance ever so slightly, but it was enough to make me sigh.
“Then what’s the hang up, Brooklyn? The fact that we’re still getting to know each other? We can do that a lot quicker if we’re sharing the same space. Sleeping in the same bed. You falling asleep in my arms every night.”
“Jesus,” I moaned, my eyes rolling into the back of my head. “You know what to say.”
“It’s not a line. I swear it.”
I bit my lip and forced my eyes open to stare at him. “I want you to want to be with me because of me. Not because of…”
“The baby.” He nodded, his gaze darkening. “Can’t I want both of you in different ways? Can’t I want to slide into you every night, have your nail marks down my back, have you screaming my name, but also want to see you grow our baby. To see your body change, knowing we did that together. Knowing we’re bringing something into this world that’s innocent and good?”
The hand that wasn’t resting on my belly grabbed the back of my neck gently. “I gotta remind you of something…”
“What’s that?” I asked as his head dipped slowly toward mine.
“I came back into town because one night with you wasn’t enough. And I have a feeling that even if you hadn’t been pregnant, I would’ve kept finding reasons to come back for you. I would’ve found a reason to stay. You’re enough, Brooklyn.”
I drowned in his eyes, his voice, his touch.
“This is crazy,” I whispered.
“And you’re going to say yes, aren’t you?” he said, his smile slow.
“Yeah. I’m going to say yes.”
“Good,” he growled. His lips covered mine.
My arms slid up and wrapped around his neck.
I was insane.
But when Slash’s fingers unbuttoned my jeans and glided down, I didn’t care much about keeping my sanity.
Because, what a way to go.
Slash and I were propped against the wall of the living room. Our breathing had returned to normal, but the afterglow of our encounter permeated the space around us.
“How’d you find this place?” I asked. “It’s charming and…”
“Perfect?”
“Yeah. It’s got a lot of potential,” I admitted. “Kitchen’s small, though.”
“You want a big kitchen?” He took my hand and threaded his fingers through mine.
I shrugged. “I always thought…”
“Yeah?” he prodded.
“I always thought when I was in a position to own a home, it would have a huge kitchen. Like the kitchen itself would be the selling point of the house.”
He was silent for a moment, and then he asked, “What was your home like, growing up?”
“A lot like this place, actually.” I looked at him and smiled. “Modest.”
“What happened to it?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, your dad passed. You got the building that’s become your bakery, but that was his workshop. What happened to his home?”
“Sold it,” I admitted. “It wasn’t worth a ton, but it covered the rest of my culinary school loans.” I looked at our clasped hands. “I figured that because the building was zoned for both commercial and residential, I could turn it into a small living space, funnel everything I made back into the business. The house was just—well, it would’ve gone to waste. And I couldn’t live there. Not after he died, I mean.”
He squeezed my fingers. “You thought it all through.”
I shook my head. “Not really. I was just making decisions, but you don’t really see clearly when you’re—”
“Mourning.”
I glanced at him, his eyes appearing as though he were lost in some place far away. Somewhere in the past maybe. “Mourning. Yeah. Anger runs its course pretty fast and then it’s over. But grief? Jesus. It’s like this dark, heavy cloud that lingers forever. Every now and again the sun pokes through, but…”
“What was he like? Your old man?”
“Wonderful,” I said with a teary laugh. “Just the best father I could’ve ever hoped for. Never bitter. I asked him once why Mom leaving didn’t destroy him, turn him into someone awful and mean. He looked at me and said, ‘Darlin’, she left the best part of herself with me.’”
“Did he ever meet anyone else?”
“Why all the questions about my father?” I demanded.
“Just trying to get an idea about who he was.”
I nodded slowly. “No, he never met anyone else. Spent all his time protecting me. He was a big softie where I was concerned. Scared the shit out of my boyfriends, though. He was the shotgun-on-the-porch, have-her-home-at-nine type of dad.”
“Boyfriends?” Slash huffed.
I sniggered. “High school, Slash. Just high school boys. Dad never met any of the men I dated in New York. They never lasted long.”
“Why not?” he inquired.
“My schedule, mostly,” I admitted. “I worked all the time.”
Slash untangled his fingers from mine and then got up off the floor, cursing as he did.
I laughed.
“What?” He reached down to help me stand.
“You sounded forty-three just then,” I teased.
He wrapped an arm around my shoulder and hauled me into his side. “Brat.”
“Slash?”
“Yeah?”
“What are we going to do about furniture?” I asked.
“Buy some.”
I rolled my eyes. “You know what I mean.”
“Are we going to go through this every time?”
“Yup.”
“I was thinking we could go Dutch on an air mattress,” he said.
“An air mattress?” I repeated.
“And patio furniture for the living room.”
I glared at him. “You’re teasing me.”
“I bought you a car. What’s a little furniture?”
I huffed and tried to walk away, but his grip on me tightened, and then he settled his hand on my belly. “You have the baby. I’ll take care of the furniture. Okay?”
Sighing, I stared up into his eyes. “Okay.”
“You need clothes,” I said to Slash as I handed him the carton of chicken chow mein.
“I have clothes.” He dove into the carton with his chopsticks and held up a bite to me.
“Why do you keep feeding me?” I demanded.
He raised his brows.
With a sigh, I opened my mouth. After I chewed and swallowed, I said, “You’ve worn the same pair of jeans every time I’ve seen you, and as far as I know you only have two shirts and two pairs of boxers.”
“Two pairs of socks, too.”
“There was no point in offering you a drawer,” I joked. “You don’t even have enough clothes to fill it.”
“Don’t need much.”
“Egg roll?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
I reached for the bag of egg rolls and settled back onto the couch. I handed him one, and he immediately took a bite.
I nibbled on my own and studied him.
“You’re staring at me,” he quipped, not taking his eyes off his food.
“I’m not used to having someone else in my space,” I admitted. “Especially not one who wears size eleven boots.”
“You didn’t have roommates when you lived in New York?” he asked.
“Nope. I got lucky and scored a rent-controlled prewar studio apartment on the Upper East Side. Not like I was there much, but when I was, it was just me.”
“So, you’ve never lived with anyone besides your dad?”
“Nope.”
A smile flitted across his face.
“What?” I demanded.
“This is going to be fun.”