Page 82 of Sugar
Is he angry? Maybe he should be. I wouldn’t blame him, not when I told him I couldn’t promise him anything and then turned around and begged him to take me to bed. The last thing I want to do—that I’veeverwanted to do—is hurt him.
His face betrays no emotion as he continues his perusal, but when his eyes land on mine again, I can see it. The smile he’s fighting.
And then he lets it bloom, lets it take over his whole face, and it fists the air out of my lungs.
Eventually he seems to shake off the weight of . . . whateverthatwas, and bends to remove his boots. “How was your day?” he asks.
“Hm, let’s see.” I hold out a hand to count with my fingers. “I slept ingloriouslylate in the world’s most comfortable bed, had the pleasure of being awakened by a half-naked cowboy with a John Deere fetish, was rightfully spoiled with the aforementioned sugary baked goods, and had a nap on this couch?—”
He straightens so fast I’m surprised it doesn’t send him falling backward. “Half-naked cowboy?” he asks, face grim.
I nod, solemn. “Rhett was riding that lawn mower like they share averyintimate relationship.”
He hangs his head. “I’m gonna fucking kill him.”
I laugh, and it tugs at the corner of his mouth.
“Layla came by. She knows I’m pregnant.”
“She does?”
“Yeah. She figured it out. You know, for a girl who didn’t know her ex-boyfriend’s best friend was in love with her for years, she’s actually pretty perceptive.”
“What did she say?” he asks, ignoring my quip.
“She had . . . questions. And lucky for us both, I had answers.” He gives me a dry look, so I say, “After realizing the timeline, she mostly wanted to know what you thought about it.”
“Ah.”
“And I said you wereunbothered.”
His eyes flash as he walks toward me, a dark hunger there and gone before I can even really process it. He leans down to press a quick kiss to the top of my head before loping into the kitchen. “Good,” he says, opening the fridge.
“I asked her not to say anything,” I add, scrambling off the couch to join him. “I mean, people will know eventually, obviously, but it’ll be on our terms. Oh, and I do have some news about your uncle.”
This gets his attention. He swings the fridge door shut and looks at me, cold beer in hand. “What news?”
I frown. “He filed a motion to the probate court, a demand to compel distribution of the ranch. He listed the inheritance trust stipulations in support of his claim as well as the fact that your father hasn’t been seen working in years and therefore likely isn’t currently fit to keep things running, and . . . he also disclosed ‘based on a source close to the family’ that he believes his nephew has entered into a fraudulent marriage in an attempt to maintain ownership.”
“Shit,” Kasey snaps.
“Don’t worry,” I say. “I bet he made up the source. Or it could have been my father . . . At worst, it just means we have to fight the case. Prove this isn’t fraudulent.”
His eyes narrow. “And at best?”
I give him my bestalready on itsmile as I propel myself up onto the counter. “At best, we file a temporary restraining order against him. Lay the groundwork to support the argument that he’s delusional and grasping at straws. That he thinks he can lie his way into a multi-million-dollar land deed.”
Kasey moves toward me, setting his beer down on the table, and without even thinking I open my legs to invite him closer, the denim of his jeans dragging along my inner thighs as his eyes reverently dance around my face. “World’s most comfortable bed, huh?” He plucks the flower from my hair. I’d forgotten it was even there.
“I thought you were mad at me,” I admit.
“For what?”
“I don’t know. Taking advantage?”
He expels a breath. Shakes his head. And then leans further, resting his hands on either side of my hips. He’s not touching me, not really, but he’s . . .everywhere. And he’s eyeing my neck like it’s the long-lost Holy Grail.
“When I got home and saw you, sawthis—” He presses his lips to where I know a hickey blemishes my skin. It’s the faintest touch. Featherlight. And then his mouth moves to my ear. “Do you know how unbelievablysatisfyingit is to come home to you in my house, wearingmyclothes, pregnant and safe?” The sharp edge of his nose grazes my hair as he inhales a deep, steadying breath. “I must be reverting back to Neanderthal-level instincts because seeing you like this makes me fucking crazy, sugar. If anyone’s taking liberties with this situation, it’s me.”
