Page 144 of Branded
I didn’t want to think about how much I hated that, so I just said, “Eat,” and then I got up and moved back into the kitchen, taking care of the pan, wiping down the counters. By the time I circled back with a third glass of water, Beth had finished her plate.
She looked at the refilled glass, up to me, and fuck me, but I was damned glad to see that her lips twitched, her eyes weren’t the frosty wasteland.
Amusement had coiled through, sunshine melting ice, cracking through the layers of frost.
“I don’t think the doctor meant to drink so much water that I’m going to pass out because my ass is waddling to the bathroom every five minutes.”
I bit back a grin.
“And that would be down from every ten minutes since these babies already seem to enjoy tap-dancing on my bladder.”
“You can feel them?” I asked softly.
It was a question that revealed too much.
“Yeah,” she whispered. “They move a lot, and they really like that jam. See?” She lifted the edge of her shirt, exposing her rounded belly, and I watched, watched in a way that stole every bit of air from my lungs as her stomach bounced and twitched.
That was…
My arm moved before I processed it, hand sliding across the space, lifting toward her stomach. It was too far, too much. I didn’t have permission to touch her, let alone her belly, but I ran my fingers over it anyway.
I felt that flutter.
I—fuck—felt that flutter.
Butterfly wings on my fingertips. Like a twitching muscle. And then a soft push that had me jerking my hand back, jumping to my feet.
“Drink,” I rasped.
“Raph,” she whispered, dropping her shirt, blue eyes not sparking, her skin still pale, especially minus her red lips. But there was understanding written into the lines of her face.
And…
I needed to go.
“Drink,” I said again.
“Okay, Raph,” she said, voice as soft as velvet.
Good.
That was good.
That was…all I could take.
I turned and walked out the door.
It was early enough that the cool air had partially fogged the glass ringing the boards.
Which was just as well.
I wanted the privacy, the quiet.
Which wasn’t just as well.
Considering I got it for all of fifteen minutes before Smitty hauled my big ass onto the ice, feet in skates, legs in sweats, gloves on, and long ass stick in my hands, smirk on my face.
“Self-medicating with ice time?” he boomed.
