Page 51 of Sinful Blaze

Daphne is all fire and fury as she stomps her foot and grunts her frustration at me. I catch the way her eyes fall on my chest, then my stomach, and there’s no mistaking the arousal there.

Good. That makes two of us, plamya.

“This is seriously crossing the line!” She’s hissing at me, but still hasn’t looked away from my chest as I tug the shirt off. “You’re… you’re going way beyond what’s appropriate!”

“Then enlighten me: what is appropriate?” I chuckle wryly and toss the shirt aside. “Fucking each other in a storage closet? Having a baby together? Please tell me, because I’m starting to get confused.”

At first, I assume her silence means I’ve got her—which would’ve been much easier than I anticipated.

But then I see the way she’s paled. Her eyes are wide and glued to a spot at my hip.

I glance down, but all I see is my gun holstered in the sidearm belt.

Daphne hiccups. Then wheezes. Then?—

Shit.

I rush to scoop her up in my arms before she falls, but that only makes her dissolve into shrieks and squeals as she frantically shoves me away. Every time I try to comfort her, she slaps at me and scrambles to get as far from me as possible.

But her gaze is fixed on my belt. On my gun.

I hold my hands up in surrender and slowly back off. When I reach the bedroom door, she’s clear across the room and breathing a little easier, though not by much. Her eyes are still wild and her limbs are trembling, but at least she’s not hyperventilating.

I unstrap the holster and sling it over the door handle. It goes against every fiber of my instinct—I never sleep without a gun within reach—but at this point, I’d rather take my chances with a cross-room sprint than threaten her health, or our baby’s health, with this fear response.

“It’s okay,” I say. My hands are still up so she can see they’re empty, unclenched, unarmed as I cautiously approach her. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Daphne hiccups another sob and glances between me and the gun now several feet away from me. “Why do you have that?”

“To protect you. You and our baby.”

She shakes her head. I don’t know what else to tell her. By the way, I make these for a living?

Finally, I’m able to wrap her up in my arms and ease her onto my lap. I curl us both up against the stack of pillows on the bed and cradle her head to my chest.

“I’ve got you,” I murmur into her hair. “No one is going to hurt you. Not me, and not while I’m around.” And I’ll always be around.

To my surprise, she actually snuggles into me rather than tries to pull away. I do my best to ignore how perfect she feels like this. How perfectly she fits onto my lap and against my bare chest.

Her soft breath fans across my skin as she gradually calms even more, and I find myself subconsciously stroking her hair back behind her ear.

I have no idea what the fuck just happened. Clearly, she’s not in the mood to explain it, either. So I decide to question it some other time. Preferably when she’s not coming off the edge of clawing my eyes out.

“I protect my family.” I smooth a hand down her arm to comfort her, to show her I’m not the bad guy, not someone she ever needs to be afraid of. Not like my father. “You’re my family now. I will always protect you. Why do you think I’m so determined to be near you?”

No response.

Is she… is she drooling?

I ease myself back enough to confirm that yes, Daphne has fallen asleep against my chest. I should be amazed at how quickly she’s crashed—but then again, she’s pregnant and it’s late and she did just practically panic herself into passing out.

Maybe this was a mistake. I have no choice but to keep her close and keep her safe, but I’m starting to have doubts about any of this actually being a wise decision.

Then Daphne lets out a soft moan and snuggles deeper into my chest.

I freeze.

I… goddammit, I don’t know what to do with this. I’m not the snuggling type. I haven’t been since I was a kid and my siblings would run into my room when the storms scared them (or when our father did).

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