“Jesus . . .”
“Luckily, it seems like she’s going to be okay.” She turned her attention back to the coffeemaker. “She was kidnapped and held against her will. Like Courtney Pearson.”
“That’s for certain?”
“That they were both kidnapped, yes.”
He slowly shook his head. “And this is the case you’re on? You shouldn’t even be working.”
“Oh, don’t go there. You sound like my father.”
“Then at least let me help you,” he said to the back of her head.
“No.”
“Why not? Because I was a screwup? Those days are over. Hunter didn’t think it would work out with me at the ranch, and I’ve been making damn certain to prove him wrong. I want to help you. I want to see you. What the hell do I have to do to get you to turn around and look at me?”
Kat was staring at the brown liquid dripping into the glass carafe with a concentration worthy of a surgeon. Slowly, she slid her dark gaze his way. Her body was as stiff as a board, and her expression was forcibly neutral. “I don’t care that you were a screwup.”
Blair’s brows lifted. It was, in its way, the most encouraging thing she’d said to him.
“But I don’t need a keeper, or someone telling me what to do.”
“That’s not what I’m about.”
“This baby is mine . . . and yours . . . ,” she admitted reluctantly. “But I’ve got to figure this out my own way. I’ve got to tell people, and . . . think about the future . . . and make plans.”
“So do I. Maybe make some plans together?” His gaze drifted down her lovely back and hips, and it was all he could do to keep from stepping forward and wrapping his arms around her. Instead, he stayed put and said, “I’ve done a lot of things ass-backward, so let’s make it one more. How about a date? Get to know each other. Stuff like that.”
“It’s too late for that.”
She slowly turned around, her fingers clasped around the edge of the counter. Blair looked at her, and she looked right back at him. Seconds ticked by. The huff and gurgle of the coffeemaker punctuated the silence. He reached forward and pulled an errant curl of her dark hair toward him, pressing it between his thumb and finger, his gaze focused on the trapped silky strands. Then he lifted his eyes to hers. “I want to kiss you.”
She stared at him. Was he imagining it, or had something flared in her eyes, a fire to match his own? She inhaled shakily and said, “Okay.”
He dropped the strand of fine hair and moved his palm to the slope of her jaw. Her skin was satin. He ran his thumb pad over her lips, which she pressed together in a moment of restraint.
“Actually, I should—”
“No,” he cut her off. “Don’t think so much.” He kissed her lightly, and his hand slid downward over the green satin to cup her breast. He could feel the nipple through the smooth fabric.
She pulled back from the kiss. “No . . .”
“No?”
She laughed faintly. “This is how I got into trouble.”
“How we got into trouble,” he amended.
“How we got into trouble,” she agreed.
He looked down at her. He hadn’t imagined it. Her eyes shimmered with desire.
He leaned in for another kiss, and she lifted her mouth to meet his. And it wasn’t long before they were grappling for each other, struggling out of their clothes, dropping to the floor, her legs wrapped around his hips. She was as eager as he was, and with desire pounding in his head, Blair made love to her like it was his last moment on earth.
*
Brring . . .
The cell phone brought Kat out of her sex-induced stupor like an electric shock. They’d moved to the bedroom and made love a second time, and now Blair was stretched out beside her, his finger drawing desultory circles on her abdomen, his head propped on his other hand, his eyes heavy-lidded, watching her, that insouciant smile pasted to his lips.
She shot off the bed and ran to the kitchen, buck naked. Her cell was in her purse on the counter. The gold envelope lay on the table. She dragged her eyes away from it and pulled her phone out.
It was her father.
She didn’t take the call. Just carried her phone back to the bedroom, where Blair lay stretched atop her covers, also naked. She sat down on the edge of the bed, and the phone finally stopped ringing.
“You didn’t answer.” He gathered her into his arms, and she told herself to resist, but she went down to him like wax.
“I can’t talk to him naked.”
“Who?”
“My father.”
He drew a line of kisses from her mouth to her neck and down her abdomen. “Hi, Baby,” he whispered against her skin.
She stared at the ceiling, aware that her traitorous stomach was having no problem with Blair’s lovemaking. “I’ll have to call him back.”
“Do it tomorrow.”
And when he moved lower yet, she grabbed the bedclothes, closed her eyes, and groaned with desire.
*
“We have to eat,” Blair said an hour later while they were in the shower together. Between bouts of lovemaking, he’d asked her all sorts of questions about her pregnancy. Half-embarrassed, half-impatient, she realized she had very few answers for him. She knew what she knew, but she hadn’t furthered her knowledge. “I have an appointment with Dr. Cady in about a week,” she said somewhat defensively.
But now that he was interested in food and in truth, so was she. The uncomfortable fluttering had started again, and she knew that if she didn’t eat something soon it would get worse.
“We could go to Betty Ann’s and get some—”
“No. No baked goods.” Kat shuddered.
“Really? Huh. Okay. How about Molly’s Diner then?” He was soaping her back, and she was letting him, with no qualms, while water ran over her head, aware that they were acting like a couple who’d been dating for ages.
But his words panicked her. “We can’t go out in public.”
His hands stopped. “Still don’t want anyone to know?”
“Not because of you. Because of everything. If I’m seen with you, and then Paul Byrd or his daughter or your foreman says something . . .”
“You could beat them to the punch, y’know.”
“I have to figure out how to tell people, and I can’t just start hanging around with you without a whole lot of questions.” She pulled away from him, rinsed off, and opened the door to the shower, letting the water run out.
“Hey!”
He quickly cut the taps as she shut the door behind her. “I’m going to get dressed,” she said. Then she practically ran back to her bedroom and yanked out a pair of jeans and a dark blue shirt that buttoned up the front. By the time Blair appeared a few minutes later, a towel slung around his lean hips, his hair still dripping water, she was dressed and had dragged a comb through her own wet locks.
“So, we can’t be seen together.” His eyes were glacial blue.
“Not until I tell my father about the baby, and I don’t want to do that until this case is over.”
“You want to sneak around in the meantime?” he drawled. “I can do that.”
She fought back a frustrated chuckle. “No. You have to go now. We’ll . . . see each other soon.”