Moonlighter (The Company, #1)(74)

“Anytime.” The corners of his beautiful gray eyes crinkle, as if he’s trying not to smile. “I’ll be in the other room, with the world’s worst magazines.”

He leaves, and I go back to work. I drill a new hole for the molly, and then I tap the plastic anchor into the wall with my hammer. But it doesn’t really want to go in. Part of it hangs out even when I’ve hammered at it for quite a while.

Whatever. This part will be hidden, right? I take one of the screws and fit it against the ugly molly, then I screw it in about halfway, until I can’t get it to go in any further.

The last step is to lift the star once again, and then line up the hole in the back with the screw. Clearly the manufacturer expects me to have x-ray vision. I wiggle the star back and forth, trying to hit the hole. But I can’t seem to find it.

Honestly this would be easier with a little help, but I can’t ask now. I’ve already scared off all my help. I wiggle and wiggle until finally the screw engages with the hole. Then I ease the shelf onto the screw before stepping back to admire my work.

It looks amazing. For about two seconds. And then it leaps off the wall and lands with a crash at my feet. I look down and see wreckage. There’s a big scrape on the fresh paint, too, where it nicked the wall on the way down.

And I burst into tears.

Then Eric is back again, pulling me into his arms.

“For fuck’s sake!” I sob into his shoulder. He feels so good, though, and I’m just done with this day. “All I wanted to do was hang a damn shelf for my baby girl! Idiots can do this!”

“You’re not an idiot, though,” he says, patting my back. “That must be the problem.”

“That’s…” I hiccup. “You’re too nice to me.”

“Nah,” he says. And then he bends down and actually picks me up off the floor. Which is amazing, given my size. But there’s a lot of junk on the floor, and he has trouble maneuvering.

“Eric, your knees,” I whisper.

“Yeah.” He sighs and eases me to the floor again. “Can we get out of here, though?”

“Yes.” I take him by the hand and lead him out of the baby’s room and down the hall to my bedroom, where my tissue box is. I sit down on the bed and grab a tissue, wiping my eyes.

Eric sits down beside me. Then he wraps both arms around me and pulls me down onto the bed, holding me tightly. “Everything is going to be okay. You know that, right?”

“Yup.” But it’s a lie. There’s no proof that anything will be okay. My eyes leak a little more, just to prove that they can.

“Oh, honey,” he says, pushing the hair out of my face. “Max will figure it out.”

“Will he? I doubt it was Jared Tatum who had us followed.”

“Shh.” He rubs my cheekbone with his thumb.

“It’s someone else. We don’t know what they want. My poor kid! It’s bad enough that half her DNA comes from an asshole. But now I have to try to keep industrial spies out of her nursery.”

“Mmm hmm,” Eric says sweetly. “But we will.”

I take a deep breath and lean into the sturdiness of his body. I rest my forehead against his, and he blinks at close range, those gorgeous gray eyes looking into mine.

And, wow. I’m horizontal on a bed with Eric. How did this happen?

The kiss happens in slow motion. He lifts a hand to cup my cheek. But it isn’t a casual gesture. His touch is hot, and his eyes challenge me not to ruin the moment.

As if I even could. My whole being just waits for him, anticipating his mouth on mine.

And he doesn’t disappoint. He tips my chin upward and then quietly fits his lips against mine. The slide of his kiss, and his masculine scent are all I need right now. His arms close around me, and I lean into the kiss. His whiskers are scratchy against my face. But his lips are soft.

For a moment, though, I try to hold back my heart. I’ve spent the whole day vibrating between strength and despair. If I let myself go—if I let Eric hold me and take away my fear—I honestly might not find the dignity to pull myself together again afterward.

But his kiss is slow and convincing. It asks all the questions and then answers them at the same time. See how much you need this? Yes.

Don’t we understand each other? Yes.

Are you going to let me taste you one more time?

Yes, I really am. The second I part my lips, we’re making out like teenagers in the middle of my bed, his hands in my hair. No matter that my giant belly keeps bumping up against the hard planes of his abs. I strain to move even closer to the heat of his mouth, and the eager slide of his tongue against mine.

And even though we don’t line up exactly the same way as we did in Hawaii, I can feel his body beckoning to mine. Our legs intertwine. My face is flushed, and my nipples are hard, and my lips are bitten from his kisses.

But this is not Hawaii. “What are we doing, Eric?” I gasp.

“Stress relief,” he grunts as his hand moves temptingly along my ass.

“But we’re not a couple.” The effect of my argument is muted somewhat by the whimper I let out as he kisses me again.

“So you say,” he says between kisses. “And yet you’re stroking my cock.”

Oh hell, I am! My palm goes still. Even through the fabric of his jeans, I can feel how hard he is. And now I’m clenching my thighs against the desire that’s already pooling there.