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“Thanks,” she bit out. Becka slid past him and walked into the room. She took it in with a cursory glance and crossed her arms over her chest. “Leave my bags. Please.” The last sounded more afterthought than genuine politeness.
Aaron didn’t move. “We need to talk, Becka.”
“And we will.” She looked everywhere but at him. “You got what you wanted, Aaron. I’m here. I know this might sound shocking, but today wore me out. I want to unpack my clothes and maybe take a bath and just decompress a little without having to plan the next six months—the next eighteen years—tonight. That okay with you?” She lifted her chin, her posture telling him she didn’t give a fuck if it was okay with him.
He could keep pushing. She was off center and defensive, but maybe she needed to know he was actually all in with this shit.
Then again, Aaron didn’t know Becka well enough to anticipate how she’d respond. His threat earlier was a well-placed guess based on her close relationship with both her sister and Allie—and his knowledge of Gideon and Roman. But going forward, he was in the dark in a big way. He needed more information, and he needed it fast.
Until then, there was nothing wrong with letting Becka settle into his home and make herself comfortable. He could use the time for a little reconnaissance to pave the way before the baby books arrived. “If you change your mind about food, I can order takeout.” Aaron hesitated. “Is there anything that’s a hard no for you foodwise right now?”
She narrowed her eyes. “So you can keep trying to feed me?”
“No, minx, so I don’t order some kind of takeout that triggers your morning sickness and makes you miserable.”
Becka’s eyes widened. “Oh. Well.” She uncrossed her arms and shifted her feet. “No fish. I wasn’t sick the first trimester, so no reason to think it will start now, but fish is a hard limit.”
He kept his smile under lock and key. “No fish. Got it.” He stepped around her and set her bags on the bed. “If you need anything—”
“What I need is space.” She bit her bottom lip, worrying the piercing there. “But thanks. I know this wasn’t exactly expected news and you’re handling it a lot better than I thought you would.” Becka made a face. “Stop trying to steamroll me, though.”
“I make no promises.” He almost reached out, almost drew her into his arms and promised that whatever came, they would face it down together...
That wasn’t how this story went. The sex might have been outstanding, but the ultimate truth was that Aaron didn’t know shit about Becka Baudin. He didn’t know her likes and dislikes, her favorite things, her history, what kind of mother she’d be.
Six months didn’t seem nearly long enough to figure it out.
One day at a time. First get the information you need, then formulate a plan of attack.
If he wanted to be in Becka’s life—in the baby’s life—then he needed to convince her that she wanted him there. Right now, his chances didn’t look particularly promising, but Aaron had faced down impossible odds before. He would again.
After he regrouped.
But tomorrow was a new day, and he wasn’t about to give her enough space to keep building the already impressive wall she had in place between them.
5
BECKA’S ATTITUDE LASTED until she walked into the bathroom. She turned a slow circle, taking in the broody gray walls, the silvery tiles blocking out a walk-in shower, and a jetted tub big enough to fit three people. Or a pregnant woman who’s twice her normal size.
Worry about that later.
The list of things she would worry about later continued to grow, but she’d add that to the list, too. Right now, her entire body hurt, as if she’d done three spin classes in a single day, and she just wanted a hot soak and to not think about anything at all. At least Aaron had backed off and given her space. Despite the nine-foot ceilings and massive square footage, the walls of this penthouse threatened to close in on her.
She wasn’t trapped.
She could leave whenever she wanted.
Knowing that was the only thing that kept her from running screaming into the night. She was here by choice. It might be a manipulated choice, but it was still her choice.
Becka got the water going at the right temperature and then went snooping around the room. The cabinet under the sink had the expected cleaning tools, all damn near shining from being so clean themselves. Next were the artfully displayed soaps situated on the little corner table next to the bath. There were essential oils and bath bombs and lady-looking shower gels. Becka picked up a bath bomb and gave a sniff. It was something flowery and feminine and had no place in this supermasculine home.
She shot to her feet and marched out of the bathroom. Following the clacking of keyboard keys, she stalked into the living room and waved the bath bomb at Aaron. “When did you buy this?”
“What?”
“This.” She shoved it nearly under his nose. “Were you so damn sure of yourself that you went and bought me bath products? What the hell is even wrong with you?”
His lips quirked. “I didn’t buy those.”
