Page 34 of Second Draft

“Here.” I hand him a dishtowel. “You can dry and put away.”

“I’ll order a new dishwasher tomorrow.” He leans with his back against the counter and watches me wash the first dish.

“I don’t mind doing the dishes by hand. I actually find it relaxing. Reminds me of when I was a kid, helping my mom after dinner. Things were so much simpler then.”

“Yeah, sometimes it sucks getting older.”

“Sometimes,” I mumble, handing him a clean dish.

His fingers brush over mine when he takes it from me, and without warning, heat spreads through my body.

One touch and I light up like I’ve been struck by lightning.

Tingles coat my skin and a rush of desire spreads through me like wildfire.

I’ve never felt anything like I feel when I’m with him.

He oozes maleness. Strength and power.

And even though I have no right to feel it, I feel safe when I’m with him. Like everything will be okay.

It’s both exhilarating and terrifying at the same time.

I suck in a few deep breaths, and do my best to ignore my pounding heart, while tight knots of panic swirl around in my stomach.

My breathing must have stopped, because all of a sudden, there are small little white lights in my vision and everything else starts to go dark. The floor shifts under me, and I drop the plate I’m holding back in the sink.

“Layla.” His arms are around me instantly, steadying me.

Dizziness assaults me, but I’m still fully aware of the hardness of his body, the warmth of his hands holding me. One is on my waist, the other runs up my back until it’s cupping the back of my head.

“I’m…okay.”

He doesn’t let go. “Are you feeling sick?”

“Just a little lightheaded.” I can’t help but lean into his touch. “It’s…normal. Pregnancy hormones or something.”

He frowns and exhales heavily. “Still. You should go in to see your doctor.”

“I’ll tell her about it at my next appointment.”

He’s still touching me.

I know I should move. Take a step back. But it’s like the world around us has stopped.

Almost involuntarily, or at least that’s what I tell myself, I place my hands on his broad chest. I can feel every hard ridge of his body, every muscle as it tenses under my touch.

I have to tilt my chin to look up at him, and when I meet his intense gaze, another thrill shoots through my body.

For a long second, neither of us says anything.

Just feelings.

Raw.

Intense.

Wrong.

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