Page 60 of Tangled Desires

Her gaze softens, and my throat tightens. “What about you?”

“Anything my dad cooks, but lasagna’s the best.”

I make a face. “Lasagna? Gross. Hate it.”

Her jaw drops. “You’re joking, right? What’s wrong with lasagna?”

“Everything,” I deadpan, smirking. “It’s mushy and weird.” She shakes her head, scooting back against the pillow, taking all the warmth with her.

“Next, you’ll tell me your favourite colour’s red,” she huffs.

“What’s wrong with red?” I shoot back. “That’s Michael’s colour, by the way. Gonna break his heart with that attitude.”

“Oh, boo hoo.” She huffs, rolling her eyes.

“For the record, it’s blue,” I add, leaning back.

“Why?”

“Your eyes. They’re the kind of blue that digs in and stays. When you look at me, it’s like you’re peeling me apart. Terrifies the shit out of me, but I love it.”

Her gaze drops to my mouth, flicks back to my eyes, and she clears her throat. “I, uh, need the bathroom.”

I watch her go, my chest tightening with something heavier, sharper than usual. It’s more than the usual obsession I’ve felt. This is bigger. Too much energy is coiling inside me, and there is no way to burn it off here.

“Immy!” I vault over the couch and grab my boots. “I’ll be out front.” Grabbing a bucket on the way out, I step into the fresh air. My hands itch to scrub something, twist something,fixsomething, anything to clear my head.

20

21 weeks

The blue dress I’m wearing drapes over my bump, which has officially graduated tograpefruitstatus according to the app on my phone. It’s fine—aside from the pelvic pain, leg cramps, and boobs that now belong to some porn star.

But hey, at least the nausea’s eased up. Thank fuck for that.

Everyone’s here for Callie’s christening, filling Xavier and Isla’s house with that warm buzz of voices and laughter. Even Claire made it down from Sydney—which is nothing short of a miracle, considering she’s usually glued to her job. Her last visit? Two days post-Christmas to meet Callie, and she spent most of it on calls. Now, she slides up beside me and Isla, her eyes bulging as she looks me over. “Five months! I leave for fivebloody months, and this? Imogen Whitley, pregnant? If you tell me you’re baking bread and making jam, I swear—”

I snort, shaking my head. “Oh, shush. I haven’t gonethatsoft. Besides, you’ve barely had time off, CEO woman.”

Isla elbows Claire. “Exactly. We’re lucky you showed up at all.”

Claire sighs dramatically. “Corporate life. You know how it is. But seriously…” Her gaze drops to my bump, and she shakes her head. “You, Imogen? Pregnant? I thought hell would freeze over first.”

“Guess I love keeping everyone on their toes.” I snort.

“Please. You always have. But this?” She waves a hand toward my belly. “This is next level. I’m impressed.”

Isla and I laugh, and I let her words settle in. For once, I feel a little less on guard, surrounded by people who get me. My people. Claire’s eyes gleam with curiosity, “So, who’s the baby daddy?”

Isla chokes on her drink, shooting me a side-eye loaded with trouble. “Oh, you’re gonna love this.”

Claire tilts her head. “Who is it?”

Before I can respond, Xavier walks in, grabs a bottle of oil from the counter, and plants a quick kiss on Isla’s cheek. “Be back soon, babe,” he says, heading out the door. Then Harrison appears, filling the doorway with that undeniable presence of his. His deep, steady voice hits me like a shockwave, and I swear, the baby stirs at the sound.

“All good?” he murmurs.

My stupid face heats up instantly, but Claire’s already clocked it. Her sharp gaze bounces between us, her grin spreading like wildfire. She leans toward Harrison, arms crossed, smirking.

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