Her big brown eyes widening at his appearance, she smiles up at him, and for a minute his heart stalls. She looks gorgeous as hell sitting there with messy bedhead and wearing nothing but a nightshirt open at the belly.
“Oh, yeah.” Her hands make circles on her belly, spreading the coconut oil over her skin. “Thought I’d come out here to do my counts.”
His brow furrows. “Counts?”
“Kick counts.” She pauses. “You want ten kicks a day to make sure the baby’s still, well, kicking in there.”
A breath whooshes out of Solomon. Fuck. Day after day, he’s realizing he knows less than he thought. Everything about pregnancy seems so tentative. Fragile. Christ, what if something goes wrong?
Bear and Tessie—not untouchable. Anything could happen to them.
Fear. Goddamn fear. It’s doing something to his chest. Has his heart sputtering like a carburetor.
Why does it worry him so damn much? The kid’s in there, and he’s healthy and happy and safe. Thanks to this gorgeous woman. He looks at her, a strange feeling of tenderness overtaking him. All she’s done for his son; he can’t thank her enough. Doesn’t know how to tell her, but he’ll try.
“Well,” he asks, aware he’s been holding his breath. “Did you get them?”
“An hour ago.” She peeks over her shoulder and nods at the pineapple man. The side of her mouth quirks. “Had a sip of juice. That always wakes him up.”
He nods, says gruffly, “Thought you wanted one.”
“I did.” She studies his face. “Thank you, Solomon.”
He shifts awkwardly. “You talked about it enough.”
She rolls her eyes, but a smile plays on her lips. She sees right through him. Then, after a second, she scrunches up her face and hisses a breath.
“Does it hurt?” he asks, coming to sit beside her. “Bear moving around in there?”
He studies the curve of her belly. It looks like a glazed donut, glossy with coconut oil. A memory of earlier tonight, planting kisses on her smooth skin, running his tongue across the arc of her stomach, has his heart turning over in his chest.
“No.” She sits up straighter, long blond hair waterfalling down one slender shoulder. “Most times it’s fine. Other times, it feels. . .gross.” She pulls her lips to one side, like she’s searching her brain for an explanation, then continues. “When he rolls or tumbles, it’s like he’s scraping my spine.” She laughs, probably at the face he’s making. “I know it’s weird. Everything about being pregnant is weird. It’s like having a parasite inside you.” She smiles and looks down at her belly. “A wonderful little parasite.” From under her dark lashes, she regards him. “He’s moving now. You—you want to feel him?”
The offer undoes him.
That girl. That damn sweet girl from the bar is still here. The pissed-off girl who bitched him out in the lobby two days ago is still there too. He’s getting more familiar with both sides of Tessie Truelove. And he’s liking them.
His throat works, but the words won’t come. Instead, he makes a gruff sound of acknowledgment. He places a hand on the side of her smooth belly. Tessie’s watching him, waiting for his reaction, and then he feels it. A bump, a flutter. Hell, a goddamn punch against his palm.
He laughs, and she jumps, blinking like she’s never heard the sound come out of him before.
“Holy shit.” He leans forward, staring in awe at her stomach. He watches, fascinated, as Tessie’s skin ripples.
His kid.
His son.
There’s a tiny miracle growing in there, kicking and moving around.
Rendered speechless, he stays like that, cupping the hard ball of her belly. The curve, the swell. His heart feels like it’s getting the pulse bashed out of it by a wrecking ball.
In that instant, everything feels different. Real. Meant to be. The lines of his easygoing small-town life rearranged. And Solomon’s finding the light on the other side of the tunnel and chasing it down. But instead of feeling like this strange new world is a bad tux he wants to shrug off, because Solomon and tuxes don’t mix, he feels, well, fine. This is all fine with him.
Bear.
Tessie too.
“Kid’s a powerhouse.” He chuckles, his attention shifting from Tessie’s face to her stomach when Bear does what he swears are three roundhouse kicks in a row. “Aren’t you?”
She nods. “He is. He’s got your muscles already.”
“Next time you get up, wake me,” he grunts, the closest he can come to voicing his fear of her sneaking off in the middle of the night. “I’m always awake.”
She smiles. “You don’t sleep? What, are you a vampire?”
He clears his throat, distracting himself from the mental image of his mouth on Tessie’s throat.
Settling back into the couch, Tessie stretches, the shirt lifting to bare even more of her stomach. “Well, I have news for you, Solemn Man; I don’t sleep either.”
“That so?”
“Oh, it’s very so.” As if she’s conjured it, a yawn pops out of her mouth. “It’s the way of the pregnant woman. No sleep, fat feet, peeing every ten minutes, and copious amounts of crying.”
He tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “I can survive all of those, Pregnant Woman.”
Tessie makes a little humming noise and curls up against his shoulder. “Tomorrow,” she murmurs, drowsy. “We have to talk about Bear.”
“We will,” he says quietly, wrapping his arm around her. “Of course we will.”
Minutes pass, and her eyelids shutter. Her breathing softens, evens out. He pulls her closer. The ocean crashes steadily in the darkness as Solomon’s brain comes alive. He doesn’t know what he’s doing anymore. All he knows is he’s got a gorgeous woman in his arms and tomorrow is going to come too damn soon for his liking.
Temporary, he reminds himself.
This vacation.
Tessie.
Everything—with the exception of his son—is temporary.
The sounds of mariachi music and the chaos that comes with a breakfast buffet blur the edges of Tessie’s reality.
She sits across from Solomon at a white-tablecloth-covered table. Prim and proper and perfectly ignoring last night.
This morning, this breakfast, is all business. Not the memory of Solomon barging into her bedroom, panicked and out of breath, thinking she was in danger. Especially not the memory of two toe-curling orgasms.
She is on a tightly planned schedule with her career and her baby, and there is no room to pencil in a very hot, protective mountain man.
Not like she has to worry about him much longer. Because tomorrow, he’s out of Mexico and bound for his mountains.
At the thought, her heart twists. She scowls down at her empty plate.
Stupid traitorous heart. Stupid tongue jumping down Solomon’s throat.
Still. She refuses to be embarrassed. Refuses to regret it. She needed sex. Like water. Like air. A simple human need, and Solomon helped her out.
Just two people swapping body fluids with no strings attached.
But before baby talk, business talk.
“There.” She extends her phone across the table.
Solomon takes it in his big hands. He reads the email. A politely worded missive to Atlas that states she will not be working on her vacation, when all she really wanted to type was GET FUCKED redrum style.
As Solomon reads, she surveys the restaurant, hoping to see the server with their meals. She’s starving. Bear too. He kicks her stomach, just as impatient for a chocolate croissant as she is.
“You forgot something.”
At the rumble of Solomon’s deep voice, Tessie arches a brow. “What?” she asks, taking back her phone and scanning the words again.
“The line that says if he bothers you, I snap his legs.”
She laughs, unable to help the delighted thrill that sweeps over her. “What are you, my personal bodyguard?”
Solomon grunts but doesn’t disagree.
Still, she can’t help but check her phone one last time.
Nothing. No message from Atlas.
“Tess,” Solomon says, the scowl on his handsome face deepening.
“Okay, okay.” She waves a hand, sticks her phone in her purse. “See? The phone’s going away. You can’t grump all day.”
Not even this grouchy caveman can get her down.