Page 33 of Sterling Heat

I clear my throat. “So, dinner?”

“Just pull through a drive-thru. I don’t even care where at this point. I just need to eat something.”

“Shouldn’t you be on some kind of healthy meal plan? For breast feeding purposes?”

Her mouth falls open. “Are you implying I’m fat?”

“Not at all.” I gape in response.

“Because I’m not fat.” She practically breathes fire. “I was pregnant. I just had a baby. It took months to get to this point.” She takes a breath while waving at her lap. “Thirty-four weeks to be exact, and it’s going to take time to get back to my pre-pregnancy weight.”

“Enya,” I groan, gripping the steering wheel harder.

“And just because you hang out with women who are supermodel-worthy doesn’t mean every woman is.”

“What the fuck?” I snap, momentarily gazing at her. “Are you kidding me right now?”

Her mouth falls open, ready to spew more flames but I cut her off.

“You’re fucking perfect, Enya. A total smokeshow with your beautiful curves and those lush breasts. You’re right, you just delivered a baby, and you freakin’ glow from it. Like I’ve literally never seen anything, anyone, so more lit up in my life. And I saw you before you had Adara, so I know firsthand how beautiful you were then and how incredible you look now. You’re like a walking dream and if I was the settling down type, I’d lock you down with a ring so quickly, your head would spin.”

“I—”

“Do not give me more bullshit,” I continue before she can speak. “You don’t need to be pre-pregnancy, pre-anything. You’re stunning exactly as you are.”

Her mouth pops open but then she’s leaning forward and pointing out my window as I gas it past a burger place. She falls back against the seat, crossing her arms, and glaring out the front window.

“I didn’t mean anything personal by mentioning a healthy diet. I read about it online. About mothers and nursing babies.”

The weight of her gaze caresses the side of my face and I risk a glance at her before looking back through the windshield. “I’ll take care of dinner.”

“Sebastian,” she groans, but the sound is a soften growl. More grizzly cub than mama bear. “I haven’t had time to go to the grocery store.”

“I did, so don’t worry about it.” When we pull into the lot behind the bakery, I quickly exit my truck and circle around the hood to help Enya with her door, but she’s already opening it herself. I want to tell her to wait for me the next time. Then I want to grab her hand to lead her up to my place, but I don’t.

Instead, I wave outward for her to lead the way up the back staircase and I fight the pull to look at her ass. Having changed out of my tee earlier, which almost gave me a heart attack to see her wearing, she now wears a loose top and leggings. The soft material outlines her legs and backside, highlighting how firm they are.

Like I told her, she’s a fucking wet dream. What she doesn’t need to know, though, is that I’ll shamelessly be jacking off to visions of her again tonight. Like I’ve been doing nearly every night since she’s stumbled back into my life.

When we reach the landing, she pauses and turns to face me. “Is that how you knew about the blood pressure medication and its side effects? Are you . . . have you been researching about new mothers and babies?”

I don’t answer. Instead, I slot the key into the lock and open my apartment door.

Once inside my place, I cross to the fridge and open the door, feeling her questioning gaze still on me. “I have chicken. Steak. Pork chops. I can make something quick, like spaghetti or fajitas.”

“Sebastian, if you tell me you can cook, as well as you bake, I might fall in love with you.”

With my back to her, my hand clenches around the fridge handle. Cool air hits my face while the rest of my body heats. She’s only teasing. A woman like her would never love a man with a past like mine.

“Baking is a science. Cooking is a crapshoot. Top Chef isn’t going to be calling me anytime soon, but I’m decent in the kitchen.” After years of eating off a tray, I swore I’d never take a homecooked meal for granted again.

Behind me, she clears her throat. “Spaghetti sounds good.”

An alarm rings on her phone.

“What’s that?” I close the fridge door and turn to face her.

“A reminder that it’s time to pump.”