She glanced over her shoulder at him, her arms still raised, hands clutching the cups she’d been in the process of stashing in the glass-front cabinets.
“I’m fine,” she assured him with a small frown.
“Well, seeing you on top of this thing, I’m not. Come down. Please,” he added, the plea softer than his demand. His fingers tightened on her, the tips denting firm flesh.
For a long moment, she studied his face and though he wanted to turn away to avoid that penetrating stare, he didn’t.
And he hated the part of himself that enjoyed looking at her more than it desired escaping her scrutiny.
“Okay,” she finally murmured, slowly descending the three short steps. He guided her, not letting go of his grasp on her hips until her feet met the kitchen floor.
Then, as if her flesh singed him through the layers of her clothes, he released her, shifting backward—as much as he could in the tiny kitchen—and inserting much-needed space between them.
But he’d miscalculated; he should’ve never touched her. And now, it was too late to fix the error. Much too late.
Unless he could cauterize the nerve endings in his fingertips, he now knew the dichotomy of firmness and softness in her hips and the dip of her waist that hadn’t fully disappeared yet with her advancing pregnancy. His hands contained the knowledge of just how wide those hips flared and how perfectly they fit his palms. In the moment right after her feet hit the floor, his body learned exactly how it would cover her, surround her. With the top of her curls brushing the base of his throat, and his chest easily spanning the width of her shoulders with plenty of room... With his cock inches from nestling against the small of her back directly over the delectable swell of her ass... Yeah, in bed, with her on her hands and knees in front of him, his bigger frame would swallow her smaller one. He could fuck her and protect her at the same time.
Jesus Christ.
His heart thudded against his rib cage.
Where had that thought come from?
This was Sydney.
Leontyne’s friend. The young girl with the wide heart and wounded eyes that he’d once comforted next to her sister’s grave. Even if he was ready to be with another woman—which he wasn’t; no way in hell was he ready—she was pregnant by another man and married.
This inconvenient and unwanted attraction had turned him into a deviant who lusted after another man’s wife.
“I know Leo most likely browbeat you into staying with me, but you don’t have to.” Sydney’s husky voice tore him from the self-loathing he’d been circling like a drain. “I can finish unpacking on my own. You can go. I won’t rat you out.”
She smiled. The gentleness in the gesture and the words dug under his skin and burned like live coals.
“I don’t need handling, Sydney.” And though he felt like an asshole for snapping at her, he couldn’t stop himself. “Contrary to whatever Leo or Wolf might’ve told you, I’m not fragile.”
Sydney tilted her head to the side, studying him silently before giving him a slight nod and crossing her arms over her chest.
Don’t you fucking look down, he silently ordered himself. But his eyes shot him a “To hell with that,” and dipped. Taking in how sweet, rounded flesh swelled over the neckline of her tank top, that shadowed cleft a siren’s call. Had she been smaller before the pregnancy? Was she sensitive?
None of his. Damn. Business.
“All right then,” she said, tone still gentle with a new vein of steel barely running through it. “First, let’s clear something up. Leo and Wolf didn’t say anything about you. As a matter of fact, other than telling me you’d volunteered to help me move in here—which was obviously a lie on their part—your name didn’t come up in our conversations. Sorry to disappoint your sensitive ego there,” she drawled. “Second, I don’t need anyone to tell me what I can ascertain all on my lonesome. Me being pregnant bothers you. Don’t deny it.” She thrust up a hand, palm out as if jamming the denial he had been about to vocalize back down his throat. “Yesterday, you couldn’t get away from me fast enough after realizing I was pregnant. And today, you can’t even bring yourself to look at my stomach.”
He started to contradict her, to reassure her that no, he didn’t have a problem. But the words couldn’t squeeze past the constriction of his throat.
She was wrong...but she wasn’t.
How did he explain that it wasn’t just her pregnancy? Rose Bend had seen its fair share of pregnant women in the last two years, and as mayor he’d encountered babies as well as expecting mothers. No, the explanation became murky and difficult when he tried to introduce his dick into the mix. Being attracted to a pregnant woman scared the shit out of him.
But that enlightenment would also mean he had to talk about Tonia and Mateo. And he couldn’t do that. Not today. Not with her.
Not when a noxious cauldron of emotion—shame, guilt, betrayal, lust and an unforgivable thread of excitement—brewed and bubbled just beneath his sternum. No, he couldn’t bring his wife’s name up here when the woman who’d kindled that storm of feelings stood not even feet away from him.
That seemed like even more of a betrayal.
Especially since Sydney was another man’s wife. About to be the mother of that man’s child.
“I’m not judging you, Cole,” Sydney continued, lowering her arms to her sides. He caught the slight twitch of her right hand. As if she’d been about to stretch it toward him but decided against it. “And while I might not know the details, I think I understand.”
“You do?” He arched an eyebrow, hating the caustic bite in his tone. “What do you think you understand?”
She didn’t bat an eye at his sarcasm. “I saw you over at the cemetery, Cole. And you told me yourself you were visiting your wife and son.” She glanced away, her throat working. But when she returned her gaze to him, her eyes were clear, her voice steady. “I don’t need the details. They’re yours, not mine. Especially if you’re not ready to give them to me. But all that to say, I don’t need excuses if you don’t want to stay... If you can’t stay,” she murmured.
Part of him leaped at the out she offered him like it was a rapidly unraveling lifeline. But then, a shadow flickered in her chocolate eyes. There and gone like a bend in light, but he recognized it. Was intimate with it.
Loneliness.
Sydney was lonely.
No.
Something deep inside him roared the denial. He couldn’t abide her hurting. Couldn’t abide being a perpetuator of that pain.
“I’m good, Sydney,” he said, choosing not to analyze the impulse, the urge that demanded he remain here with her. “Put me to work.” He threw a pointed glance at the step stool. “I’ll start with the cups.”