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“Some clothes that will fit you properly are on their way.”
“That’s not necessary. I—” Nope. Apparently my need to be honest stops at telling him I wash my panties in his sink. “I can put on my clothes later. This robe is enough now.”
“I like seeing you in it.” He reaches for me, tugging me close.
Oh.
It’shisrobe.
My insides flutter unexpectedly, in a very different way than they have for Mack every other time. This feels…softer. And somehow more dangerous.
“It’s very nice.” I laugh at myself. “Everything you have is very nice. Of course it is. But I hope you know I appreciate your kindness.”
“Jesus, Isabelle. It’s not kindness. Okay? I’m not a nice man. It’s… You are special. Nobody else gets to wear my robe. Nobody else would look right in it.” He picks me up unexpectedly and twists, depositing me in the middle of the bed. “Nobody else gets to take a nap in my bed, either.”
“I don’t need a nap,” I protest, but his pillow does feel very good. “Also, my hair is damp. I’m probably wrecking your pillow right now.”
“I don’t care.” He stretches out beside me and slides a curl off my cheek. “You look good like this.”
“Freshly showered?” I crack, my eyes fluttering shut.
“Pregnant with my baby,” he murmurs. “And resting in my bed.”
And then my eyes need to stay shut because tears threaten.
It’s been a morning to end all mornings. Mack’s return, the way we both lost control in the limo, the bookstore—thebookstore—and now this. Tension ripples through my body, and I hold my breath for a few beats before finally, carefully exhaling.
His hand smoothes over my head, heavy and warm. “Sleep, Isabelle. You can be mad at me again when you wake up. I’m not going anywhere, ever again.”
Chapter 16
Mack
I strokeIsabelle’s hair until she falls asleep. It doesn’t take long for her breathing to slow down, get steady.
It takes a hell of a lot longer for me to settle.
I curve my body around hers, feeling too big, too hard, too fierce to hold her when she’s this soft.
Dealing with Isabelle’s very physical needs when she’s desperate, or wrestling her to submission when she’s kicking and screaming…both of those things were startlingly new to me, but came naturally.
This?
Being a gentle protector? A provider who makes sure she takes a nap?
This isn’t the Mack Emerson I’ve spent forty years perfecting.
I feel like a stranger in my own skin.
But at the same time, I can’t let go of this woman. My woman.
Mine.
Gingerly, not wanting to wake her up, I curve my hand around her, wanting to hold her belly. Even through my heavy robe, it’s a firm, slight swell, unmistakably not her normal waistline to the touch.
I did this.
Three months ago, on my desk, because I couldn’t resist the wet, tight squeeze of her cunt around the tip of my cock.
