There is something familiar about him. He easily towers over me by at least a foot. He’s not a small man by any stretch of the word. He’s hard all over. My lips still tingle from his kiss. Along with other parts of me.
“You’re pregnant.”
I nod my head. Hurt and anger show on his face. A wave of guilt hits me that I don’t understand. “What the fuck is going on here, Kennedy?”
More banging comes from the door. “Winnie! Answer me.” Jill shouts even louder this time.
“I’m okay,” I shout back.
“Winnie?” He says my name, or I suppose the name Fawn had given me.
“I don’t know your name.” He closes his eyes for a long second. “I’m sorry.”
“What happened to you?” His big hands cup my face so very gently, his eyes searching for something he’s not going to find. I can’t find it either. I find myself leaning into his touch.
I jump when the door flies open, hitting the wall with a loud bang. The handsome man releases his hold on me, spinning around to not only face Jill but a few other locals.
“Do we need to call the police, Winnie?” Lisa asks. I start to shake my head no. This is the first time I’m getting somewhere. I need to know more.
“For fucking what?” I swallow at the hardness of his face. Jill doesn't look bothered by it.
“For accosting the damn girl, you asshole.”
“You can do whatever the hell you want. I’m leaving.” Wait, what? He’s leaving. Panic and doubt start to take over. He’s just going to leave me. Before I can ask, he grabs my hand, pulling me with him.
“I swear to Christ.” Jill tries to whack him with one of the menus, but he grabs it, pulling it from her hand tossing it to the side. “You’re not taking her anywhere.”
“Who’s going to fucking stop me? She belongs to me, and so does that baby in her stomach.”
Jill’s eyes go wide for a moment, not sure what to do with that information. I know the feeling.
He starts pulling me again. I follow after him, not sure where we are going, but he must have some kind of answers for me. He has to. He pulls me out of the diner and across the street.
“Key,” he barks at a tall blond man in all black. He tosses him a key. “In you go, precious.” He opens the passenger door to an SUV. I stand there, not sure I should get in with him.
“I don’t even know your name.” I tilt my head back to look at him. I notice a slight tick in his jaw. There is anger and frustration in his eyes.
“Dane Osborn, but everyone calls me Oz.”
“Oz?” I scrunch my nose. He doesn’t give off the vibe of someone who would be called Oz. A small smile pulls at his lips.
“You never thought that nickname fit, precious. That’s why you always called me Dane.” He can either read my mind or he really does know me. I feel myself relaxing even more. “In you go,” he says again, but this time he doesn't wait for me to do it. He lifts me off my feet and puts me in the SUV like a doll that weighs nothing. He even pulls the seatbelt over me and tucks the bottom part low and away from my baby bump.
The simple act has a knot forming in my throat. I thought I was going to be doing this baby thing all alone. Dane slips into the driver’s seat before taking off. So many realizations start to flood me. I don’t even know where to start when it comes to this man. I hate that he’s a stranger to me.
“Did you love me?” I blurt out the question. “Oh God. Don’t answer that.” I put my hand over my mouth. Why the heck is that the first thing I ask? His deep chuckle has me stealing a glance over at him.
“I missed that blush. I know you hate it, but it’s one of the many things I do love about you.” He corrects my use of past tense.
“And I loved you?” He already said that in the bathroom. Along with his crude words about him and me having sex together. Of course we did. I mean, this baby didn’t come by way of immaculate conception.
“We would have been married by now. Four fucking months I’ve looked for you.” He shakes his head as he turns into the front of a hotel and proceeds to the valet. He’s been looking for me. I was so sure I’d been forgotten.
“Stay,” he orders me before he gets out of the car. I don’t know why I’m letting this man boss me around.
“I’m not a dog,” I say tartly when he opens my car door for me, offering me his hand. He gives me a smirk that has my stomach tightening. What the heck is this man doing to me? With only a few words and touches, my body responds to him in ways it never has to anyone else. Well, at least not in the last few months. Before that I have no clue.