Page 46 of Unravel Me

A sea of evergreens peers back at me, tracking their way up the lush mountain, wrapping me in its ethereal beauty, reminding me why I moved here. Why, of all the places my family visited when I was growing up, Vancouver is the one I chose to make my home. There’s a nostalgia in the green, the fresh scent of pine and earth that each gust of wind brings. A peaceful calm that settles all my racing thoughts in this moment, the uneven beat of my heart. Everything is still and quiet, and I feel…at home. With myself. With Connor.

With Adam.

Something warm brushes my back, and two strong arms cage me in, large hands clasping the stone balcony wall on either side of mine.

“Pretty, huh?”

“Pretty doesn’t begin to describe it,” I breathe out.

Soft lips ghost the shell of my ear. “I was thinking the same thing.”

Shrieks of giggles ring behind us, and I glance behind me to find Connor and Bear rolling around on the plush rug.

Adam chuckles, a warm sound that rattles down my spine. “Think my dog’s in love.”

Yes. The dog. Definitely the dog. Not the…not the human. No. That’s absolutely…no.

I watch Adam’s hand move, so slowly, fingertips trailing my forearm before his palm splays over my belly. Instead of worrying about everything he might feel, the soft lines that speak of my love of Saturday mornings spent baking muffins and midweek batches of cookies, too many iced lattes in the summer and far too many hot chocolates in the winter, I sink into the touch. I revel in the connection, firm fingertips that seem to tingle beneath the material of my sundress, like he’s touching bare skin. My heart pounds in my ears, a steady thrum that both liberates and scares me. I swallow the tightness in my throat, lick at my lips, and beg for a sudden storm to douse the heat singeing my skin.

“Your heart’s going a mile a minute,” Adam murmurs in my ear.

“I…” God, that’s embarrassing. I curl my fingers into my palms until my nails bite the skin. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not. Frankly, Rosie, I can’t tell you how good it feels to know that, for once in my life, I’m on the same page as someone.”

Our gazes collide, a silent question in mine:Are we on the same page? Really?I’m too nervous to voice it, even though he’s just said the words. But what page is he on? What chapter? How does his book end, and who does he want standing next to him in his epilogue?

I don’t have a choice; my future is that little boy in there. And even if the decision were mine? He’d be my choice, day in and day out. I’ll always choose him.

How nice it would be for someone else to choose us too.

Adam cups my cheek, spinning me into him. Nerves grip my throat, stealing my breath, but he simply leans forward, presses the gentlest kiss to my forehead, and soothes every worry with eight words.

“I’m glad you’re here, Rosie. Both of you.”

* * *

I have to start doing yoga or something if I’m going to keep up with Connor, because how am I raising a kid as flexible as the fifteen-month-old who just essentially backflipped into the playpen in Adam’s spare room when I was still trying to explain to him that his nap would look different today? Maybe the breathing techniques would also help not send me into a tailspin at the idea of changing our daily routine even just once.

“Did he go down okay?” Adam whispers, making me jump as I back silently out of the room.

“Yeah, went down like a…a…a…” My eyes roll down to Adam’s bare chest, the patch of dark curls that look so soft, I want to run my fingers through them. Down to the lines of thick, sinewy muscle carved so impeccably, and holy motherforking shit, I was right. Itisan eight-pack. And, oh fuck, the swim trunks. They’re tight in the worst way—because I can’t look away—bright, summery stripes that wrap all the way around, hugging every single inch of him.

And, ladies, trust me when I say this: there area lotof inches.

I mean,Jesus shit.He’s bigger than the underwear guy at the bus stop; I’m sure of it. Or is it the stripes? I always avoid them because I think they make me look bigger. Does it work that way on cocks too?

Yes. Yes, it must. Because there’s no way that he…that he…there’s just no way, right?

This is it. I’m looking destruction right in the face. Obliteration. Total annihilation. That’s the only thing that can possibly come from a dick that big. No woman is surviving a dicking from this man, not without being wheeled out afterward, and possibly in a dick-induced coma.

Oh my God. Archie and Marco were right. I’ve been dickmatized.

“Sorry, did you say…total annihilation?”

My eyes snap to Adam raking his fingers through those tousled curls, a faint blush on his high cheekbones. “Pardon?”

“You were talking about putting Connor down for his nap, but you trailed off and whispered, uh…total annihilation.” He swallows. “I think you were looking at my crotch.”

---