The pressure in his chest grew, his heart squeezing. Damn it. She should have been told every day how special she was. How beautiful and funny and smart. He’d fix that, starting now. “And I’ll keep telling you ’til you believe it.”
She bit her bottom lip.
“Okay?”
“Okay.” She nodded and relaxed her legs.
He didn’t want to pull out, but there was the pain-in-the-ass condom to deal with. So he withdrew and sat on the edge of the bed. He tugged it off then wrapped it in a Kleenex. He tossed it in the garbage can, perfect shot. “You know something…”
“What?” she asked, circling her hard right nipple with the tip of her index finger.
“Nothing.” He watched her movements, a tingle returning to his cock.
“No. Tell me.” She stopped what she was doing and sat. “Please.”
After a moment of hesitation, he found the words. “In all seriousness, I do want to be a father … one day.”
“Er … okay.”
“So if you got pregnant, if I made you pregnant, then I’d be cool, you know.”
She was quiet then. “It’s too soon for me.”
“Too soon because we’ve just met?” He turned to face her fully. “Or too soon because you’re only…”
“Twenty-six, yeah, perhaps.” She shrugged. “I dunno. I want to be a mom too, one day, but I don’t want to do it alone.”
“You wouldn’t.” He reached for her hand and pulled it to his mouth, kissed her knuckles. “Not if it’s my child. Even if something happened to us, I’d always be there. You’d never have to be a lone parent.”
Unless I took a bullet.
“That’s good to know.” She glanced away.
“I mean it, Belle. I might be a dick sometimes, but I’m not an asshole.”
“I never said you were either.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“I’ve been treated badly, you know I have. Had a string of guys who’ve said they loved me and then left me, and then you—”
“I didn’t help by being AWOL last week, right?”
“Right.”
“It won’t happen again. Now I know it upset you.”
She nodded.
Wyatt wasn’t convinced she believed his words, but she would if it was the last thing he did.
A sudden rush of noise came from outside. He spun to the window.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“A crowd.” He reached for his boxers, pulled them on, then drew back the curtain.
The motel car park was being rigged with a crude backyard-boxing ring. Four oil drums and ropes. Bikers were flocking around it, their excitement evident in their body language and chatter. Money was exchanging hands.