Page 181 of California Wild

“No—” she gasped, eyes flying open, breath catching on a wave of nausea that hit her like a sucker punch.

Everything inside her turned.

The heat, the rush, the pleasure—it all disappeared in an instant, swept away by the sick twist in her stomach.

She shoved at his chest, rolled fast—too fast.

Then she was up. Barefoot. Running.

She barely made it to the bathroom before she dropped to her knees, fingers gripping the toilet as her stomach heaved, the intensity of it knocking the breath right out of her.

Behind her, the sheets rustled.

And then—his voice.

“Hayley?”

But she couldn’t answer.

Not yet.

Because this—this was what love looked like now.

Lust. Regret. Need.

And morning sickness.

Her entire body shook, chills rolling over her as she braced her palms against the porcelain. Her eyes watered as she gasped for air, another wave of nausea threatening.

And then—

Warm hands pulling her hair back, fingers smoothing over the nape of her neck, his presence solid behind her.

She squeezed her eyes shut, embarrassed, weak. This was not how she wanted the morning to go. A deep inhale, slow, steady.

“Breathe, baby. Just breathe.” His palm swept up and down her back in steady strokes, his other hand gathering her tangled hair into a loose fist, holding it away from her face.

She sucked in a shaky breath, her body still trembling. Another deep inhale. Another wave of nausea. She heaved.

Jesse didn’t move. Just stayed right there, grounding her, holding her, taking care of her.

When the worst of it passed, she slumped forward, resting her forehead on her arm, completely drained.

Jesse’s hand trailed down her spine, slow, deliberate. “All done?”

She nodded weakly, exhaling. “Yeah.”

He was quiet for a second. Then, soft—“I hate seeing you like this.”

Her heart clenched.

She closed her eyes, swallowing past the burn in her throat. “I’m okay.”

Jesse huffed out a breath like he didn’t believe her.

Then—he moved.

Hayley barely had time to react before Jesse scooped her up, cradling her effortlessly against his chest. His arms were strong, steady—so damn steady—while she felt like a limp rag doll, weak and nauseous and weighed down by exhaustion.

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