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“I’ll take good care of Lauren,” I say.
“I need this baby to get here,” he grumbles.
“So you have two to fret over?” I ask.
“I can’t even think about that right now,” he replies.
I smile at his sweet version of grumpiness and Reese gives my leg a tiny squeeze, a calling card. I turn in his direction, and he leans in, lips at my ear, his breath a warm trickle on my neck as he whispers, “I really want to be in my bed fucking you right now.”
My fingers flex into his arm I’m now holding, and suddenly, I am ridiculously wet, while my nipples ache. That’s how easily this man seduces me. Reese eases back, and we share this crazy-hot—a “make me tingle where I’m already hot”—look. And then we smile, together, in the same moment. God. I’m crazy for this man.
“And we’re here,” Royce announces, as if warning us that our hot little moment, which he must have witnessed in his mirror, has come to an end.
That’s when I realize that we’re pulling beneath the Walker building and into one of the few attached garages in the city. “Lauren is expecting you, Cat,” Royce adds, halting the Escalade in front of the elevator. “I took the liberty of assuming you’d be joining her, and told her as much, when I found out you were back with Reese tonight.”
I don’t comment. He’s being a mischief maker, like his brothers. Reese opens the door and exits, taking my bag with him. I follow, and he helps me out of the car, like a perfectly, well-mannered gentleman. “I’ll walk you up to Royce’s apartment,” he says, holding my bag.
“No,” I say. “You won’t. Thank you, but go deal with your case. I’m going to pick Lauren’s brain for ideas, too. We were good at solving cases together at the DA’s office.” I push to my toes and press my lips to his.
He sets down my bag, and the next thing I know, he’s tangling his fingers in my hair and staring down at me with a wicked-hot look. “I’m going to need to fuck this hell out of my system when I get home. Be ready.” He kisses me, and it’s short, but fierce, and then he’s gone, leaving me breathless and weak in the knees, as he climbs back into the Escalade and shuts the door.
I watch them drive away, and according to the ache between my legs: I’m already ready for that fuck session, while according to the flutter in my belly, I’m falling hard for Reese Summer.
Chapter twenty-one
Cat
Lauren is hanging over the toilet about three minutes after she answers the door, and I grab a clip from a drawer and pull her brown hair back from her face. Finally, she calms and lies down on a big, fluffy cream-colored rug. “How often are you doing this?” I ask, sinking down on my knees beside her.
“I should just camp out here in the bathroom,” she murmurs. “That’s how often.”
“What does the doctor say?”
“That sickness is a sign of a healthy baby. Which sounds ridiculous, except for the fact that I wasn’t sick before my miscarriage at all.”
“You’re miserable. Can they give you anything?”
“I have random drugs that he’s prescribed. But the options are limited, and none that are approved for pregnancy seem to work for me. Do you know how hard it is for me to do my job like this?”
“I’m surprised you’re even able to try.”
“I have people counting on me,” she says, “but Julie helps me a lot.”
“Isn’t she a divorce attorney?”
“She’s burned out and working with me on criminal cases more and more.”
“Divorce isn’t pretty,” I say, “but neither is crime. Are you eating at all?”
“Yes. Häagen-Dazs ice cream. It’s all I can keep down. I’m going to be the size of a ship when this is over.”
“You barely have a belly,” I say, eyeing her flat stomach through her T-shirt and sweats.
“Right,” she says. “I have four months of baby in my butt right now.”
I laugh. “You do not. I checked out your ass already. It’s as cute and perky as ever. Are you any better?”
“Yes. I need ice cream.”
