Page 139 of Unravel Me

“Yeah.” He opens the door to the room where the playpen is always set up, and my heartbeat trips when I step inside.

The once taupe walls are now a misty gray, with white clouds and black birds painted above, snow-capped blue mountains and midnight evergreens below. A dresser sits on one wall, a gorgeous bookshelf filled beside it, and on the other side of the room is a wood-framed bed, shaped like a house, with gauzy white material draped over its roof. Hundreds of glow-in-the-dark stars dance on the ceiling above us, just like my heart dances in my chest.

“It’s a floor bed,” Adam says. “The mattress sits on the floor, so Connor won’t hurt himself. He was scared of the playpen, so I thought he might like this.”

“When did you do this?”

“This week. Do you like it?”

My eyes burn, because believe it or not, alcohol makes me a hundred times more emotional, but goddammit, I’m determined not to cry tonight. “You did this for him?”

“For you both, Rosie. I want you to feel like you have a place when you’re here. Like you’re…”

“Home.”

“Yeah. Like you’re home.”

Connor stirs in his arms, rubbing his sleepy eyes with his fists. “Dada,” he whispers, smiling up at Adam. He looks around the room, eyes widening, wriggling until Adam sets him on his feet. “Whoooa-ho-ho! Birds!”

Adam follows him to the wall. “And trees and mountains too.”

“Ma-tins?”

“You got it, bud.”

He spies the bed, then makes a run for it, climbing onto the mattress. “Bed! Big bed! Whoooa, big bed!”

“I think he likes it,” Adam murmurs, looking back at me. He smiles softly when he sees the tears running silently down my cheeks. “Connor, go give Mama a hug goodnight, and then I’ll read you a book in bed, okay?”

He wraps his tiny body around mine, pressing a sloppy kiss to my mouth. “Lub you, Mama,” he says, and then dashes to the bookshelf to pick a book while I escape to my temporary room, swatting the tears away.

I listen as Adam reads Connor story after story, as he tells him goodnight and that he loves him, as the bedroom door clicks shut behind him, and his shadow pauses in the light streaming beneath my own door. And when I climb into bed, I listen to the sound of my own breathing, shallow and staggered, the frantic thump of my heart that wants nothing more than to be in the arms of the man I love.

When the house is quiet and dark, and I’ve given up on sleep, I tiptoe down the stairs, into the kitchen. Moonlight streams through the patio door, and the kettle boils as I root through Adam’s pantry for my favorite tea.

I curse Adam’s height as I struggle to reach the mugs, the cool air kissing my bare thighs as I press up on my toes, nearly nabbing it.

The cool air disappears, replaced with a sizzling heat that scorches through the thin T-shirt I wear as a body presses up against my back, warm breath kissing my ear. A strong hand grips my hip, pinning me between his body and the counter as he reaches above me, pulls a mug down.

“Imagine your height was above average,” Adam’s husky voice whispers. “Then you’d only need me for things so much more fun than tea in the middle of the night.”

Oh Jesus Christ.

He releases me, midnight eyes casting me an even darker stare as he fills the mug, dips my tea bag inside, and all I can focus on is that he’s wearing only a pair of boxer briefs, those flawless abs and those drool-worthy thighs on display beneath the fractured moonlight. “What are you doing up, Rosie?”

“I-I-I…I couldn’t sleep.”

“Why?”

“I was thinking about…about…why does Carter call himself Mr. Incredible?”There ya go, Rosie. Much better than telling him you were thinking about sneaking into his room and asking him to fuck the sober back into you.

“’Cause he thinks he’s got the biggest dick.”

See, this is where the alcohol gets me in trouble, because instead of nodding, I respond.

“Okay, well, I’ve seen—everyonehas seen—the outline of his dick, and is it big? I mean, sure. Yes, of course. But I’ve had yours in my body—more places than one—and Iknowyours is bigger, so, who’s therealMr. Incredible?”

Adam laughs, a deep, rumbly sound that settles low in my stomach, tingling between my legs. “I like you a little drunk.”

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