“You’re hungry too.”
He crosses his arms, biceps bulging, and leans back in his chair. “I’ll survive.” His lips twitch. “I’m not sure you will. I saw the way you devoured that sandwich last night.”
She gasps and stabs a spear of melon. “That is an act of war, and I won’t have it.”
She chews the fruit, studying the man across the table. He wears the cargo shorts and T-shirt she picked out for him. Handsome.
But.
She frowns.
Holy shit. Is it possible she actually likes him better in the flannel?
She shakes off the inane thought.
“So,” Tessie says, searching for a topic to intercept the ridiculous thoughts inside her head, “after this, I was thinking. . .beach?”
“No.”
“Please?” Dropping her fork, she prayer-palms her hands, trying not to laugh at his disgruntled expression. “C’mon, we have to put your swim trunks to good use. What if I get swept out to sea and need something burly to hold on to?”
His frown deepens. “Tessie—”
“You can be my anchor. Besides, it’s your last day, Solomon.”
“My last day,” he repeats.
Is it just her, or did a look of disappointment cross his face?
And why does she feel disappointment too?
This was their deal.
Come up with a solution and then move on with their lives.
Tessie’s stomach churns.
Indigestion, she tells herself.
It’s all just indigestion.
Tessie’s laid out on a lounge chair. A coconut drink balanced on her belly. Two straws, hooked together, feed into her mouth. In her hand, a fuchsia-colored book with two cartoon characters embracing on the front.
She looks happier than Solomon’s ever seen her.
It’s about damn time. At breakfast, he decided it was his personal mission to make sure she had fun. To make sure that asshole she calls a boss gives her space. Right now, Tessie doesn’t have a worry in the world, and that’s how it’s going to stay.
Truth is, Solomon’s settled in and enjoying this vacation too. Sand between his toes. Beers that magically refill themselves. The soothing crash of the surf in his ears. He’s never been to a place like this before, but he’s warming to it.
Tessie rolls her head to look at him. They’ve been at the beach the entire day, wasting away in the late afternoon sun. She makes a sound of contentment, slurping the last of her coconut water. “Why do all drinks taste better in the sunshine?”
“I like beer in the mountains.”
“Of course you do. I, for one, would love to be reincarnated as a swim-up bar in my next life.”
He chuckles. “Having fun?” he asks, hoping like hell she is.
She sits up, surveying the beach. “Oh yes. Bound and determined.” With a waggle of her brows, she lowers her sunglasses. “You should try it. Take off that shirt. Show a little rippling pectoral. I know you got ’em.”
“Tess.”
“Solemn Man,” she teases, her flirty tone making warning bells go off in his head. Christ. This girl’s dangerous. For his head and for his heart. And yet. . .that raging want inside him has him perpetually losing it.
A beam of a smile curves her lips. “Anyway. It’s perfect. The drinks are perfect. The weather is perfect. Everything is perfect except my hair, which is a frizzball.”
“Looks good to me.”
She huffs. “Well, we can’t all have your perfect beard.”
He grins. “Perfect, huh?”
With a small sigh, Tessie scans the horizon. Solomon redirects his gaze to the magazine in his hands, damning the flexing of his cock. He’s got a hell of a view, and he’s not talking about the ocean.
Tessie wears a string bikini that shows off her long legs and the small bump of her belly. The sun has her lithe body glowing. Her sea-damp hair melts over her shoulders like honey. Her nose is tinged pink, dotted by a W-shaped constellation of freckles that have come out with the sun. Solomon’s mind flashes to last night. Just last night, he was kissing her, his hands in her tangled hair, her— Her phone.
Her phone is fucking pinging.
Every muscle in his body tenses.
Cringing, Tessie lifts herself up on her elbows to inspect the cell phone on the side able. “It’s Ash,” she says as she types back a reply. “Relax, Rambo.”
Relax. Right.
The tightness in his shoulders ebbs—barely. He’s still on edge from the scare at breakfast. Those goddamn eggs. Sure, he overreacted, lurching up from the table like a goddamn madman but, Christ. He wasn’t taking any chances. Food poisoning can be serious for anyone, let alone a pregnant woman. Let alone his— This girl who gives him heartburn on a daily basis.
His mind moves back to their conversation at breakfast.
They worked out a solution, but it doesn’t feel like enough. Yet, what are his choices? Move to LA? Ask Tessie to move to Chinook? He can’t do that. She’s got a job and a life. He’d never ask her to give that up. They’re two people from two different worlds, who both have to move on.
But do they? Is that what he wants?
Time’s ticking down. It’s his last day in Mexico, and though it should be a relief that he’ll be back in Chinook tomorrow night, relief is the last thing he feels.
Leaving Tessie. . . he doesn’t like it.
Movement beside him has his thoughts clearing. Tessie’s kicking her feet off the lounger and standing up. Her hands cradle her sunscreen-oiled belly. “Going for a swim. Want to come?”
Hell yes, he wants to come. Wants to follow her around the beach and keep his hold on her if there’s a wave.
“Record high. Might as well.” He stands, finally giving in and reaching behind him to tug off his shirt. He grabs a beer from the bucket, ignoring Tessie’s hoot, and then, together, they stride down to the beach.
As they trade the sand for the surf, Solomon has to fight the urge to drape a towel around Tessie’s shoulders.
She’s pregnant. She’s got a man by her side, and still, heads are swiveling, Exorcist-style. It pisses him off and makes him proud all at the same time. Because Tessie’s hot as hell, so goddamn sexy, and she’s not even trying.
Fucking let them rubberneck. Let their tongues drag on the sand like cartoon wolves. Because he’s the one by her side, and damn if that doesn’t have him hard as hell.
He takes in her pretty profile. Every atom in his body wants to kiss her again. Wants to take her to bed and keep her there, moaning in his arms. It turns him on so goddamn much to see her carrying his son. Solomon clears his throat, dragging his mind out of the gutter. She’s made it clear what she wants, and it’s not him. And she’s got enough problems without adding a slavering man to the mix.
“You know, I like having you here,” she says, bumping her shoulder against his arm as they stroll down the sand for the surf. “You’re like my shield.”
His eyes flick to hers. “How so?”
“Now I can point at you when people ask who the father is.”
He bristles at the thought of nosy assholes invading her privacy. “Who asks that?”
She flaps a hand. “Oh everyone. Perfect strangers. They even try to feel my stomach without asking. Like it’s their right or something.” The edges of her lips turn down.
Solomon doesn’t like it. Not one damn bit.
“You have no privacy when you’re pregnant.”
“Guess I’ll have to get you a T-shirt that says baby daddy with an arrow,” he teases, wanting that gloomy look off her face. Wanting to break the hand of anyone who tries to touch her belly without her permission.
A squeal bubbles out of her. “Did you make a joke? Are you joking about this?” She laughs, a delighted expression crossing her face. “Solemn Man jokes. He lives.”
He halts. “Okay, that’s it. You’re going in.”