A sweet and beautiful baby who looks just like Brock Steel.
“I was hoping for a response to that,” Brock says.
“A response to what?”
“That I’d like this to be more, Rory. If you don’t share that feeling, let me know now.”
“Brock…”
“Don’t give me the I’m too young for you BS. We’re only four years apart.”
“That’s not really an issue,” I say.
“Then what is the issue?”
I don’t reply right away.
“I know you just got out of a relationship. A relationship that meant something to you.”
I nod. I did just get out of a relationship, and Raine and I were in love at one time. But we weren’t for the last several months before we broke up, and I’m not looking for a new relationship at the moment. There’s too much else on my mind. But I can’t tell Brock about any of that.
Can I?
“Raine isn’t the problem,” I say.
“Then what is it? I’ll help if I can.”
“Can I trust you?”
He takes my hand then, and I tingle at his touch. His hand is so much bigger than mine—dwarfs mine—and I like that. This is why I like men. I like the differences between us. I like the fact that they’re mostly hard to my soft, that they’re bigger than I am.
I like all the things about women too.
But right now? Miss Universe herself could walk into the room, and I don’t think I’d see her. All I see is Brock Steel. All six feet and three inches of him, gorgeous and muscled, that tight ass in those jeans, that beautiful dark hair, and those eyes that are the piercing black of a raven’s. His jawline is sculpted, like all the Steel men, but there’s something perfect about Brock. And that dark stubble that graces his cheeks and chin. It’s all so masculine, and all so magnificent.
“Babe, you’re scaring me a little. Is everything okay?”
“Actually, Brock, everything is not okay.”
He sits with me, right at his kitchen table. We leave the dishes, and I talk to him.
I tell him everything.
The whole story about me and Callie and Pat Lamone. About what we did to him. And what he did to us.
The whole time, as I stammer and stutter and choke back tears, he never lets go of my hand.
When I’m finished—when there’s not one more word to tell—he squeezes my hand, leans forward, and brushes his lips across mine.
“I swear to God, Rory, he will not harm you.”
“Just don’t offer him money. That’s what he wants. Callie doesn’t want Donny to pay him anything, and I don’t want you to pay him anything. If we start paying him off, he’ll never stop asking for it.”
“I don’t want to give him a damned red cent,” Brock says. “But I will. To protect you.”
“But that’s not what I want. Sure, I’d love it if you could protect me, but this is my bed, and I must lie in it. I was the adult in the room back then, and this is on me.”
“You were a kid, Rory.”
“Maybe. But in the eyes of the law, I was an adult.”
“I’ll figure this out.”
“No, Brock. That’s not why I told you. I told you because… Well, you asked. And I… For some reason, I wanted to be honest with you.”
“So we’re on the same page, then?”
“What page might that be?” I ask coyly.
“Maybe you’re hoping this could be something more also?”
I bite my lower lip. I keep myself from nodding, because if I nod, I have to go all in. I’m not quite ready to go all in. Relationship? With Brock Steel? A known womanizer?
So not ready for that.
But a baby?
That, I’m ready for.
I’ve always been in tune with my body, but I don’t believe I can feel every little process inside. In this moment, though, I swear to God I feel my ovary rupture, the egg release.
Sure, it’s probably my imagination, probably because we’re talking about babies. Because I’m sitting next to the perfect genetic material for my child.
It’s probably a lot of things, none of which has anything to do with my ovary actually releasing an egg.
But right now?
I know I’m right. And I know if I go to bed with Brock, I will end up pregnant.
So I meet his gaze. I look into those gorgeous dark-brown eyes.
Brock, would you consider fathering my child?
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Brock
I freeze. Totally freeze, like a statue.
Did she really just ask me what I think she asked me?
After she just told me about the issues she’s having with Pat Lamone?
Her cheeks redden. “What the hell is the matter with me? I honestly wasn’t sure I said that aloud. Can you just forget it?”
I don’t reply at first. Forget? Really? How can I possibly forget that she just asked me to father her child?
Finally, I find my voice. “I can’t say anyone’s ever asked me that before.”