style="font-size:15px;"> So why was it so easy to drift back to that place?
The therapist she’d found after she started at the bank had been gentle, urging her to put voice to the feelings she’d lived with her whole life instead of keeping them locked inside. How humbling, then, to realize just how easy it was to regress.
He lifted his hand from her shoulder, but instead of breaking contact, he moved his fingers lightly over the length of her arm, coming to rest just above her wrist. Although she’d believed her sweatshirt was warm enough to battle the February afternoon chill, she’d had no idea the movement of the worn cotton over her skin could feel so sensual. So erotic.
She’d read the pregnancy books and knew her hormones were to blame for the immediate response to his touch, but deep down Lizzie wondered if it was something more.
Something that went far deeper than she’d admit, even to herself.
“I can only imagine how scared you’ve been, but we’ll get to the bottom of it. No one’s going to hurt you.”
Except you.
She laid her hand over his and gave in to the urge to look at him. Really look at him. Although the afternoon was comfortable, a light wind had filled his cheeks with ruddy color. The pinkish-red hue was a match for his lips, the firm, strong lines of his mouth drawing her attention.
He was a beautiful man, almost startlingly so, with thick lips and a firm jawline she itched to trace. To soften. He rarely smiled, instead facing the world with a stoic facade that tugged at something deep inside her.
It had always been that way, even when they were young. He’d seen so much—had lived with the image of finding his dead mother—and it sat heavy on his shoulders.
Lizzie knew what an impact parents had on their children—whether present or not—but Ethan’s life had been defined by his parents even more than most. Yet even with those ghosts—or demons, as a more apt description of Matthew Colton—Ethan had still made something of himself.
He was so strong. Capable. And so quintessentially male. Thick with muscle, he appeared comfortable in a body that was used to hard work and long days. But it was his face. Long lashes that were a dusty goldish brown framed those rich hazel eyes that had seen so much. There was a haunted quality to Ethan Colton, and she had no idea if he even realized it.
Shadows lurked in those hazel depths, and she desperately wanted to be the one to chase them away.
The hand that covered her forearm tightened, and Lizzie became conscious of the seconds ticking by. Of the sound of their breathing, rising in tempo, matched in rhythm. She couldn’t want this. She had her child to think of, and he or she needed to be her full focus right now.
But heaven help her, she couldn’t look away.
And then there was no choice as Ethan lowered his head, his mouth barely touching hers. Her breath lodged in her chest as her entire body went still.
Did she dare?
And then her arms were around his neck and she couldn’t have pulled away if the barn had risen in flames behind them.
Ethan’s hands shifted to her hips, turning her fully from the fence rails to stand flush against his body. Their child pressed between them, a vivid, tangible reminder that they’d created life.
The past months faded away as his lips met hers. Every ounce of pent-up longing and need seemed to shudder through her as Lizzie gave herself over to the moment. The man she’d dreamed of through more years than she wanted to count was here.
And she was in his arms.
A soft sigh drifted up her throat, the unconscious exhalation an interpretation of all that was in her heart. That sigh seemed to say: Finally.
His tongue met the barrier of her lips and she opened for him, the act of possession unmistakable as he slipped inside. His fingers clutched at her hips, pulling her even more tightly against him, and even with their child between them, she could feel the need that tightened his body with the same driving force that consumed her.
Lizzie lost all sense of her surroundings as her world narrowed and expanded all at once. All she could feel was Ethan. All she could think was Ethan.
All she wanted was Ethan.
The boy she remembered had become a hard man, tough and strong, his body as unyielding as the land that was his.
Yet just like the vivid blooms that found a way to flourish, even in the hardest earth, Ethan had made something of himself. Had followed his dream and his love of animals to create a life for himself.
A home.
Lizzie clung to him a bit tighter, allowing him to deepen the kiss even further, as one thought thundered louder than all else.
She wanted that home with him.
It was that truth that finally had her pulling away. With determined steps, she tore herself away from the only force on earth that made her forget herself.
“Lizzie—” His lips were wet, his hazel eyes almost black with the heavy dilation of his pupils as he stared at her.
“I—” She broke off, the question in his eyes almost powerful enough to have her moving right back into those strong arms.
Almost.
The baby chose that moment to kick, the swift punch of a tiny foot under her rib cage enough to break her fully out of Ethan’s thrall. Her hands went to her stomach, and she winced as their child aimed one more field goal toward her ribs.
“What is it?”
“It must be three o’clock.”
“What? Why?”
“The baby’s active. He starts like clockwork every day at the same time.”
“He?”
She offered up a rueful smile. “Yesterday I called it a she all day. I trade off every day.”
His gaze drifted down over her stomach, and she saw something cross his face before he took a firm step back.
“What is it?”
“I... I mean, do you mind if I—” He extended a hand, and she gripped his palm firmly in hers before he gave himself a chance to pull away.
Shifting away the material of his thick vest, she placed Ethan’s hand high over her abdomen and was rewarded with another kick. His fingers flexed against her skin, the wide press of his palm nearly covering half the width of her as a look of sheer awe had his mouth widening into a smile.
“I think we’ve got a UT football scholarship in our future.” He tightened his hand once more as the baby shot out another foot jab. “Feel that kick.”
“Or a Rockette.” She smiled as the image of thick football pads faded into a sequined dance outfit. Lizzie knew their comments were steeped in society’s views on girls and boys, and she’d had several months to admit to herself she wasn’t fully immune
