Page 42 of Hidden By His Side

Down the hall, Ramiro’s bedroom door stood open. It would be so easy to slip into his bed. Ramiro wouldn’t make her go away. He’d hold her. His arms around her would feel so good. She might even fall asleep again.

All it would take would be putting her needs above his own. Summer had always expected too much of him. She wanted him to be everything—her best friend, her family, and the man who loved her. As perfect as Ramiro was, he was just a man.

And she was just a burden.

Her feet carried her away from the bedrooms.

Summer had always wanted to live in Ramiro’s house, but she didn’t truly belong there. Her hand hovered over her stomach. She couldn’t imagine a child in this place either.

She forced her hand to drop. That was fine. She’d just get rid of it. It wasn’t Ramiro’s baby, anyway.

Would she want to keep it if it was? Her breath left her at the thought. Having a piece of Ramiro growing inside of her would be amazing. Even though he didn’t want children, they’d be forever tied in a way that would never break.

Of course, the baby would still have someone like her as a mother. Her eyes burned. No. She’d already done too much crying.

Summer looked through the doorway to Ramiro’s home office. Dark shapes were scattered everywhere in the room. Her hand found the light switch, and the disaster she’d seen before greeted her. This time, the discarded plates and mugs made her nose wrinkle. There wasn’t any smell, but imagining it made nausea swirl again.

There was a fluttering in her chest as well, though. All she’d been doing was taking from him lately. Here was a way she could give back. Ramiro loved how organized she kept the business office.

She stood straighter as she surveyed what needed to be done. She’d been thinking only about herself for too long. It was time to redirect her efforts to something better.

Summer smiled as she got to work.

Ramiro normally wore nothing to bed. The pajama pants he’d found covered him well enough but felt ridiculous. He showered and changed into dress slacks and a button-down shirt, already grumpy because he hadn’t gotten any coffee in his system or seen Summer. The house was quiet, as if she wasn’t even there. He didn’t like it.

The sound of water in the kitchen had him walking faster. He took a full breath once she was in sight. He leaned on the edge of the kitchen island, soaking her in.

Summer was barefoot and humming in his kitchen. The sight wasn’t one he’d dreamed of, but now he wondered why when the scene looked so perfect. She still wore rumpled pajamas, and the smiling sunflower print made his lips twitch.

The tension in her body had faded more today. She wasn’t humming any music, just random cheerful noises, the ones he caught often in the office when she was doing her secretary thing.

She loaded the last dish into the dishwasher, using her hip to push it in so the latch clicked. He couldn’t resist her and drew closer, his arms snaking around her in a hug. She jumped against him, clipping her head on his chin, and he chuckled into her hair.

“Good morning,” he said, his voice husky, but not with sleep. He kept his hips from pressing against her. His arms hadn’t circled her waist. She was such a short thing. His arms fit under her soft breasts instead. If his fingers spread, he’d graze the top of her stomach.

The stomach where another man’s baby grew.

The thought chased away the contentment he’d been feeling. Her head tilted back on his chest and her hands settled over his. She made that happy hum again, and his chest squeezed tight.

“Morning!” she said, her voice the chipper secretary greeting he was used to. “The coffee is ready. I’ll pour you a cup.” Shetried to straighten away from him, but he tugged her back, nuzzling her hair.

“Just a minute,” he murmured. She felt so good in his arms. She’d told him she loved him, and he’d confessed the same. That meant he was allowed to hold her like this.

So why did she still feel so far away? Her fingers even trembled against his.

Ramiro released her, watching her move over to the coffee maker. Her movements were exact as she poured him coffee, adding just the right amount of cream. The sight reminded him of being in the office with her, where he had her close, but not as close as he craved.

“I love you, Summer.”

Her hand faltered, cream spilling on the counter. She clutched at the counter, and he frowned, wishing he could see her face.

The rushing of the dishwasher drew his gaze. They hadn’t used enough dishes with the pizza for a whole load.

She moved to grab a sponge, cleaning up her spill. He noticed the dark smudges under her eyes.

Turning on his heel, he stalked toward his home office. It was as clean as it had been only once before, when he’d first moved in. All the used dishes and take-out containers were gone. No trash cluttered the space. The office was pristine and perfect.

And it wasn’t even eight a.m.

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