Gypsy King (Tin Gypsy, #1)(93)

She stood there naked and shivering while I stepped back and whipped off my own clothes.

Bryce pressed a hand to my bare chest as I undid my jeans. “You’re cold too.”

Was I? I didn’t feel cold. From the moment that picture had hit my phone, fear had made me numb.

“Slowly.” I took her hand, helping her into the shower and under the spray. She winced when the water hit her skin. It felt room temperature to me, not even warm enough to create steam. “Too hot?”

“It’ll be okay.” She squeezed her eyes shut and the pain on her face nearly broke me.

“I’m sorry.” I wrapped her into my arms, pulling her into my body as the water ran over her shoulders. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” she said into my chest, giving me her weight.

We stood there, holding on to one another until she began to relax. Then I turned up the hot water, making adjustments every few minutes until we were cloaked in a box of steam and it was hard to even see her face.

Only when my fingers and toes began to loosen did I realize how cold I’d been too. The morning air had been cool on the race to the mountain, but adrenaline, my temper and worst-case scenarios had kept me from freezing. Then I’d been running. Literally. The guys and I had parked nearly a mile away from the cabin, hoping we’d be able to hide the sound of our bikes. Then we’d made a sprint for it.

I’d never run a mile faster in my life. And each time I’d checked, Emmett, Leo and Isaiah were right on pace, keeping up as we’d dodged trees and fallen limbs. Even Dad had kept up, showing that his daily workout wasn’t for nothing.

Christ, we’d gotten lucky. We’d gotten a jump on the guy, though as I’d dashed through the forest, my gun drawn, I’d been hunting for Genevieve, not a man cloaked in black.

What the hell had happened? When Bryce was warm, we’d talk. But for now, I was simply glad my heart was climbing down from my throat.

When the hot air filled my lungs, they loosened. The muscles in my arms relaxed. And as the color came back to Bryce’s face, some of my fears washed down the drain.

I kept her in the shower until we’d nearly run the hot water heater through. “Warmer?”

She nodded. “Much.”

“Good.” I tipped her head under the spray, then took some shampoo, massaging it in her hair and rinsing it out.

She’d smell like me today, but soon we’d get her stuff. I’d clear one of the built-in ledges for her. She could have all the space she wanted because she was here now.

Bryce was home.

She was my home.

When she was clean, I quickly scrubbed my hair, washing away the smell of panic and wind from the ride. Then I stepped out first, grabbing a towel to dry off.

“Give me your hand.” I extended my own, helping her onto the bathmat as she turned off the water.

“I can do it,” she said as I kneeled to towel off her legs.

“Let me.” I looked up at her from my knees. “Please.”

She ran a hand through my damp hair. “Okay.”

I closed my eyes, savoring that light touch. A few hours ago, I was sure I wouldn’t feel it ever again. My throat burned; a sting hit my chest. It was too much. Emotion. Fear. Love. How the hell did I process it all?

Clearing my throat, forcing it all down, I focused on my task, making sure every drop of water was gone from her skin. I squeezed the water from her hair until it was as dry as I could get with only a towel.

“Do you have a comb or br—Dash,” she gasped as I scooped her into my arms. “I can walk.”

“I need this, baby.”

“Okay.” She burrowed in close like she had earlier, this time not for the heat but for the touch.

I took her to my bed, ripping back the white down comforter I’d made flat yesterday morning. The morning before I’d known Bryce was pregnant. Before I’d spent the night working in the garage. Before she’d been taken.

That was on me. Forever, this whole thing was on me. And I’d spend forever making it up to her.

Settling Bryce under my sheet, I tucked us both in tight, turning her so I could press my chest against her back.

“Do you know . . . did they find Genevieve?” Her voice was scared and quiet.

“Don’t know yet, babe. Emmett will let me know, but in this case, no news is good news. Okay?”

Bryce clutched my arms as I wrapped them around her. She threaded her legs into mine. And there, when I could kiss the skin on her shoulder, I let one of my hands slide down and splay my fingers over her belly.

“Do you think it’s okay? The baby?”

Her breath hitched. “I hope so.”

“Me too.”

“Do you?” she whispered. “You said—”

“I know. I said I didn’t want to be a father. When you told me last night, I didn’t know what to say. How to react. The truth is . . . I’m fucking scared, babe.”

“So am I.”

I hugged her tighter. “You are?”

“Yeah. This wasn’t something I planned. I thought—hoped—maybe one day, when the timing was right. When I was married and settled. This was unexpected but . . . but I can’t say I don’t want to be a mother.”

Bryce would be a wonderful mother. She’d fight for her child—our child—like a warrior. She’d hold a firm hand. She’d give her love unconditionally. And I wanted her to have that chance.