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But the longer we stay wrapped up in each other, the mostly innocent celebration melts away, and the physical reality of his body pressed against mine takes over.

His thumbs slowly stroke the skin just above my waistband where there’s a gap underneath my shirt. His smile fades, his eyes dropping to my mouth. The tips of his slides bump against my flip-flops. The gravity between us is so heavy it makes my head spin.

My thighs press together as I remember exactly how hard his cock was against my hip in the bathroom an hour ago. I want him to shove me up against the side of my car right now. I want his mouth on mine so badly my entire body burns.

If I stay here for one more second, I'm going to kiss him.

And if I kiss him, I'm going to let him all the way in. I absolutely cannot afford to do that. With my terrible track record with men, if this blows up, it’s going to be a disaster. I'm tied to this man for the next eighteen years. I can't risk ruining our co-parenting dynamic before it even starts just because I'm horny and he smells like clean laundry and expensive soap and warm skin.

I force myself to step back, severing the pull before it completely overtakes me.

"I gotta go," I say, my voice coming out breathless.

Sumner’s hands drop to his sides. His chest rises and falls with a sharp inhale, his jaw locking tight. "Yeah. Go sleep."

I open my car door and slide into the driver's seat. "I'll text you when I figure out the doctor stuff."

"I'll be here," he says, his voice a low gravel. He watches me with dark, burning eyes that look like he wants to drag me right back upstairs and remind me how well he knows every inch of my body. "Text me when you get home."

I nod, then shut the door, crank the AC as high as it will go to cool my flushed skin, and pull out of the parking garage without letting myself look in the rearview mirror. Because if I look back and see him watching me with those dark, possessive eyes, I know I’ll cave.

I finally got the baby I always wanted. Now I just have to figure out how to survive the man who gave it to me without climbing him like a damn jungle gym.

CHAPTER 14

SUMNER

I stand in the parking garage and watch her car disappear around the corner, locking down every muscle in my body so I don't go after her.

My pulse hammers a hard, frantic rhythm against my ribs. I look down at my hands, flexing my fingers as they tingle with the memory of the soft heat of her bare skin, burning a hole straight through my goddamn self-control.

My instincts are screaming at me to get in my truck, drive straight to St. Pete, pack up all her shit, and move her into my space.

Except I don’t have my own space yet, something I need to fix and soon.

I was already struggling with the whole "co-parents only" line she drew in that hotel room—the one I forced myself to agree to—but now? Now that I know my baby is growing inside of her? The thought of letting her walk around out of my sight feels damn near impossible. Assessing a chaotic situation, taking the yoke, and executing a plan is what I do best.

But Goldie isn't a storm I can navigate, and she sure as hell isn't a co-pilot I can give orders to. She’s an unapologetic force of nature who plays by her own rules and just kicked her cheating ex out of her house. If I push too hard right now, if I try to take over and manage her life, she’s going to build a brick wall between us and lock me out.

I turn around and head back to the elevator to go up to Colston's condo.

I have to play the long game. I'm going to Trojan-horse my way into her life so smoothly she won't even realize what's happening until I'm woven so deep into her world she'll never be able to untangle me.

Colston’s waiting in the kitchen when I walk back in, licking frosting off his thumb. He takes one look at my face and smirks. "You look like a guy who’s about two seconds away from buying a minivan."

I flip him off as I walk past him, grabbing a shaker bottle from the cabinet. I dump two scoops of protein powder into it and top it off with almond milk, then grab a second bottle and do the same for him.

"Drink this," I tell him, sliding the second bottle over to him. "You need some protein to balance out the five pounds of fried sugar you just put in your body. Grab your gym bag. We’re lifting on base before the brief."

Colston catches the bottle, bouncing on his heels and practically vibrating in place from the massive sugar rush. He starts to aggressively shake the bottle, mixing it up. "Oh, I am so ready. I could bench press a goddamn Gulfstream right now. Let's go."

He downs the shake, and we head to the base. We hit the weights hard, but even maxing out on the bench doesn't burn off the restless energy itching at my insides.

An hour later, we’re showered, zipped into our blue Nomex flight suits, and walking into the Aircraft Operations Center. The familiar hum of the AOC usually settles my brain immediately. Maintenance crews move around the hangar floor beyond the briefing area, weather readouts cycle across the wall monitors, and somewhere nearby somebody’s already burned a pot of coffee.

I walk into the briefing room and find Brian already at the table, squinting at a maintenance log. He’s our flight engineer, a former Marine who’s been at the AOC longer than I’ve been flying. We all know he needs reading glasses, and he knows he needs them, but he refuses to admit it.

Across the table, Des, our flight meteorologist, is swiping through a tablet with his usual quiet, steady focus.