No Place to Run (KGI #2)(31)

The towel split just at her belly, and he was afforded a tiny glimpse of the gentle mound that shielded his child. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen it a couple of times already. It was the way just a hint showed from the protective confines of the towel.

Careful so as not to spook her, he slowly dipped his hands into that little part and pushed the towel aside so that more of her belly was bared.

“Sam?”

His name came out breathless. A little hesitant. A little nervous. But there was no fear in her voice.

“Let me see her, Soph. I want to see my daughter. One moment where it’s just us. No distractions. No danger. Just you and me and our child.”

Her hand loosened its grip on the corner of the towel, and finally she dropped it altogether. The material fell away, baring her br**sts and her belly. Even the delicate, feminine V of her legs, with the soft, silvery blond wisps of hair, was visible.

It was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen. Here on this counter, Sophie bruised and battered, her hair wet and fatigue pulling at her eyes. Was there a more beautiful sight than a lushly pregnant woman?

He couldn’t resist touching her. The tips of his fingers brushed along the tops of her thighs, around to her hips and finally up and over the tautness of her abdomen. As they gathered at her center, her belly dipped and jerked.

He drew away, stunned. “That was her!”

Sophie’s face lit up like a million candles. “Yes. That’s her.” Her own hand came to cradle her belly, and she rocked back and forth as though she was sitting in a chair soothing her baby.

Drawn by a power he didn’t understand, Sam lowered his head, inch by inch until his lips were just a breath away from that tiny little pitter-patter. He pressed his mouth in the gentlest of kisses even as he palmed both sides of Sophie’s belly to hold her in place.

The tiny kick against his lips had him smiling in sheer delight.

“She’s saying hello,” he said hoarsely.

When he looked up at Sophie, he was taken aback by the sheer sadness in her eyes. He could swear there were tears, but she blinked and they were gone. What could possibly have upset her?

He crinkled his brow and touched a hand to her cheek. “Is everything okay, Soph?”

She smiled, though it looked shaky to him. “I’m fine. The bath did wonders. I feel like a new woman.”

It was almost easy to forget that she was sitting naked in front of him—if he didn’t keep getting distracted by the br**sts he and his brothers had discussed in depth out in the hall.

Her ni**les—one of his favorite things—were darker now instead of the delectable shade of pink they’d been. They looked browner, ruby almost. He’d give anything to taste her one more time. To run his tongue along the puckered peak and feel her come apart in his arms.

His body tightened painfully, and he nearly unmanned himself by bumping into the counter edge. Son of a bitch that hurt!

“I um got you a bra. It’s right here. Donovan brought you some pants and a T-shirt. We’ll get you shoes when you’re dressed. Let me help you get into everything, and then we’ll see what we have to work with.”

She wrinkled her nose at the bra. “God, it’s one of those torture devices. One of those thirty-six-hour jobs or whatever they’re called.”

Sam laughed. Even he’d heard enough television commercials to know there were eighteen-hour bras. But who the hell would want to stay in such a barbaric contraption for eighteen hours? Those things weren’t for sissies.

“You’re going to have to help me get it on. I can’t put it on backward and twist it around. It’ll kill my arm. I’ll put the cups on and you fasten the back.”

“Well hell,” he grumbled. “I’ve had plenty of practice getting women out of bras, but I can’t say I’ve ever helped a woman into one.”

She flashed a grin. “Then you’ll learn something new and useful.”

She positioned the bra, looped the straps over her shoulders, and he stared down at the dangling clasp. How hard could it be?

He fastened the clips and tried very hard not to remember where he’d gotten this or who had worn it last, because there was only so much his brain could take.

“Just hold the underwear. I’ll step in,” she directed.

He bent and held what looked to be grannie panties out and open while she grabbed on to his wrists for support and cautiously threaded one leg at a time into the holes. A few seconds later, she had underwear all the way over her belly and she burst into laughter.

“I look like a goober,” she said, still laughing.

“The clothes will cover it.” Thank God. Even as unattractive as his mom’s girly things were, Sophie still managed to look sensational in them. He could tie a garbage sack around her and she’d still light up a room.

The pants weren’t hard, but the shirt was more awkward. He merely stretched out the armholes until he could fit her arms through without making her do contortionist tricks.

“Want me to dry your hair?”

She blinked in surprise. “Would you? It would be so hard to do it one-handed.”

He reached for the blow-dryer. “Can you stand for this long or would you prefer to sit on the toilet seat?”

She put her hand on his chest and eased her way onto the closed toilet.

He started the dryer and threaded his hand through the strands as he motioned the blower up and down. After a few minutes, he took a brush from the counter and delicately drew it through her tresses.