The warmth of his hand on my stomach is somehow more intimate than what happened in the barn, and when I look up at him with pleading eyes, expecting this to be the moment his lips tug up in a sneer, all I find is a handsome boy with his eyes closed as his fingers caress my lower abdomen over my clothes.
“Be careful, Zeke.” His eyes pop open at hearing Bronwyn’s voice. “She’ll start telling everyone that you’re the daddy.”
The moment, whatever it was is gone. My hands begin to tremble as I reach down to shove his hands away. I expect his anger and insults, but I’ll be damned if he’s going to spit vile things while he’s so close to the miracle we created.
I hold my breath as I wait for him to laugh and walk away with her. My pulse pounds in my ears as I prepare to watch him walk away like he did yesterday when everyone was laughing at me and calling me a whore for being pregnant.
But instead of the heinous look I’m anticipating, Zeke blinks down at me, and for a moment I feel the bubble around us begin to form once more, but I shake my head to dispel it. The last thing I need is to trust the soft look on his face mere moments before his alternate personality, the one that hates me, to arrive. It’s how he’s dragged me in so easily in the past, and those days are done.
My resolve falters when he leans in and presses a faint kiss to my temple before turning around to face the girl that has hurt me more times than I can count by her words alone.
“Bronwyn,” Zeke says as his hand finds my lower stomach once again.
I’m frozen in place, knowing that this is going to be the worst moment of my life, the lowest I’ll ever feel in front of these people.
“This baby is mine.”
My head snaps in his direction, and my skin tingles where the heat of his hand is pressed against my belly.
“And we’re ecstatic.”
Her mouth drops open as a collective gasp echoes down the hall. The whispers and gossiping start immediately, but the only thing I can focus on is the boy standing beside me.
I want to run. I just know this is going to take some kind of turn I’m unable to predict now that he’s floored me. I’m wide open, and this should be the moment that he strikes his hardest, but instead of pulling away, he draws closer, wrapping his arm around my shoulder and walking us past Bronwyn who still hasn’t managed to get over her shock enough to respond.
“Actions,” Dalton says with a smile in his voice as Zeke leads us away from the crowd.
I’m confused and doing my best not to let what just happened consume me, so I let Zeke guide us into an empty room, blinking up at him when the door closes and we’re surrounded by silence.
“Frankie.” His voice is gruff, full of gravel, much the same way it was in that haunted house.
That night seems like a lifetime ago, but I still get chills with the memory of it.
Before I can stop him, his fingers are tangled in my hair, and he’s lowering his mouth down to mine. I’m stunned, shocked, and overwhelmed by what just happened. So out of it in fact that I don’t stop him when the warmth of his mouth meets mine.
I let him kiss me, and as shameful as it is to admit, eventually, I kiss him back. I revel in the feel of his lips once again on mine. His hands are gentle as he draws me against his chest. His tongue is seeking and desperate, his breaths escaping his nose in rough pants that are indicative of where this is leading. And God, do I feel like a queen in his arms, but then laughter in the hallway reminds me where we are, and seconds later my brain reboots, reminding me of everything that has happened.
I push against his chest, and shockingly he lets me.
His lips are kiss swollen, his eyes half-lidded as his tongue sneaks out to lick away my taste.
“We can’t,” I mutter, barely resisting the urge to wipe my own mouth on the back of my hand.
He’s too close, too right there, and he fries my brain. He’s been able to do exactly that since the first time I saw him get out of the truck on the ranch. Only now I’m not distracted by the sun glinting off his brown hair or the way his biceps flex when he’s working.
My only focus is the way he’s looking down at me, his eyes saying more than his mouth ever has, but the memory of his hatefulness serves as a constant reminder of what he’s capable of.