“Me?” she breathes.
He chuckles. “Yes, you, Tess.” He tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, his large fingers skimming the line of her jaw. “Nothing’s more important than you and my son. I want you to hear that.”
“Okay,” she whispers. “I do. I’m so sorry about your wife, Solomon.” She gives him a small smile. “At least that explains your handsome, grumpy face.”
He cocks a brow. “Handsome, you say?”
“And grumpy.” She smiles. “But mostly sad.”
“Hell, I’m not sad.” His dark blue gaze lands on her face. His massive hand palms her stomach. “I’ve been sad for so many goddamn years. But here, with you, I’m not sad.”
His words leave her dizzy. “Then what are you?” she breathes, doing her best not to hold her breath after today’s scare.
“I’m happy, Tess. You make me happy.”
“I do?”
“You do.” On a chuckle, he pulls her in closer. “Now stop asking me questions, Pregnant Woman, and kiss me.”
He leans in, sealing his lips against hers. Whimpering, she grips his broad shoulders with her nails and hangs on. The kiss deepens. Emotions rise between them. Not wild passion, but something softer. Solomon kisses her like her air is his. Like he’s a desperate man who’s just been saved.
Saved. She saved him.
They saved each other.
When they pull back, they’re breathless. Tessie watches him from beneath darkened lashes.
So much. So much more to say.
“Solomon—”
He cradles her face in his big hands. “I want you to rest.”
She bites her lip. “Will you rest with me? I don’t want to be”—she could lie, she could say alone, but instead she says what she’s really feeling—“without you.”
For a second, he’s quiet. “You’re never without me,” he says softly. “You’ll never be without me.”
Cue heart into overdrive.
Nodding, she blinks back tears as Solomon settles behind her. Strong arms band protectively around her midsection as he tucks her small frame against his big body.
“Thank you for telling me about Serena,” she whispers.
He smiles against the back of her head, but he stays silent, burying his face in her hair. Then, slowly, he palms her stomach. His warm clasp envelops her, and it feels like a claiming.
Tessie’s heart thumps. She doesn’t want rest.
Solomon.
That’s what she wants.
Eyes on her reflection in the mirror, Tessie adjusts the hoop in her ear, then smooths a hand down the front of her multicolor maxi dress. She looks like a sunrise—vibrant pinks and purples and oranges—and feels more peaceful than she has in a long time.
It’s been a perfect day of beach slothfulness, of all-she-can-drink coconut water and Solomon’s lips on hers as they played in the sand and the surf. For the last hour, she’s been confined to the room, Solomon claiming he has a surprise for her.
Still, as perfect as it’s been, there’s been an air of heaviness.
And it’s not just because it’s their last night.
Tessie’s mind keeps spinning with Solomon’s confession. He’s loved before. Had a wife. Experienced a loss no one should experience. He’s blamed himself for so many years for something that wasn’t his fault. She’s honored he shared that with her. It couldn’t have been easy.
His honesty, his warmth, his vulnerability. It makes her like the man he is more and more.
Her attention drifts. Beyond the windows, the palm trees sway in the breeze. A brilliant symphony of reds and pinks and oranges light up the evening sky, almost as if it’s determined to give Tessie the best sunset of her life on her last night in Mexico.
Last night.
Oh God. The idea of walking away from Solomon makes her stomach churn.
With a humorless chuckle, she thinks back to when she first got here. How all she wanted to do was get him out of Mexico, and now. . .now she wants to do everything she can to keep him.
She has to tell him how she feels. Before it’s too late. But tell him what? And who’s to say he even feels the same way? For all she knows, he’s ready to get back to Chinook, and all she’ll be is a distant memory.
Still, she has to try. She’ll never forgive herself if this is one risk she passes up.
She cups her burgeoning belly. She’s grown, bigger than she was when she arrived.
“Right?” she asks Bear. “We have to tell your daddy we want him. The both of us.”
A quick knuckle rap, and then the door cracks. Solomon looms, his large body barricading the suite behind him.
She drifts toward him, magnetized, and then he has her in his arms. Sweeping a hand over her belly then up to cup her face. “You look beautiful, Tess,” he murmurs, but his face is creased in concern.
“Is that okay?” she asks.
“It is. I just hope you weren’t counting on going out, because we’re staying in.”
She arches a brow, impressed. “You planned something?”
“I did. Dinner.”
“I don’t need food,” she teases, pressing up on her tiptoes to brush her lips against his. She could subsist on Solomon’s kiss alone.
“Well, you’re getting it anyway,” he growls, holding her tight against him. “You need to eat more.”
“I like you, Solemn Man. You know the way to a pregnant woman’s heart: food.”
He laughs. “Tess, baby, I got an entire loaf of bread with your name on it.”
Then he’s gone, his loud stomps echoing against the walls.
She slips on black sandals, giving her feet a break for once. Pausing at the mirror once more, she runs her fingers through her golden beach waves. She adds a pop of pink lip gloss and exits the room. There, she follows the faint strains of Johnny Cash drifting through the suite.
When she steps out onto the terrace, she freezes.
Her mouth drops at the setup that greets her. A table dressed for two. Elegant, white-tableclothed. Candles line the terrace. Flowers the color of fire bloom in a vase. Non-alcoholic sparkling wine for her and a bottle of Mexican lager for Solomon.
Speaking of Solomon. . .
He stands at a smaller table, a black apron tied around his waist. A burner and a chafing dish in front of him. Small bowls of already-chopped food covered in Saran wrap. Tongs, spatulas, and knives polished clean and shiny.
She gasps and claps in delight. “You’re going to cook for me.”
A muscle tics in his jaw. He’s fighting that smile she so rarely sees. “Thought we could redo our first dinner here. You know, without the angry barbs.”
“Yeah. I’d love that.” She can barely get the words out. The lengths he must have gone to arrange this stun her. Absolutely take her breath away.
“Here.” Coming to her, Solomon takes her hand. He pulls out her chair and helps her sit.
And then he gets to work.
In front of Tessie’s eyes, Solomon comes alive. Deft, skilled, serious. His large, callused hands work dexterously as he slices into a challah roll. His forearms flex, colorful tattoos popping as he whisks a bowl of sauce. A pan sizzles as he adds the two halves of the bread.
He’s in his element. Focused. Intent. Alive.
He looks up. “You like spice?”
She flushes at the question. “Yes. A lot.”
“It won’t give you heartburn?”
“No, it won’t.” She smiles at his insistence on making sure it’s okay for her. “Stomach of steel, over here. What are you making?” she asks, leaning forward. It’s thrilling watching him. Addicting.
His eyes glint as he picks up a knife. “You’ll see.”
She smiles, imagining his burly body moving gracefully in a kitchen. Her wild, solemn man, barking orders, creating beauty on plates. His brow is furrowed in concentration as he arranges a dollop of a white sauce in a pretty pattern.
Warmth curls Tessie’s stomach, a soft pulse down below as she’s hit with the irresistible urge to kiss him. Simply slam him up against the sliding glass doors and forget about this gorgeous dinner, forget that they both leave tomorrow. All she wants is to feel his hands on her body.
One last time.