Undone by Her Tender Touch (Pregnancy & Passion #4)(45)

He loved her, damn it.

He’d lied to himself and to her. He’d spouted all kinds of crap about not wanting to love her. Yeah, he hadn’t wanted to but he did and that wasn’t going to change.

And now he had to crawl on hands and knees and beg her to give him yet another chance.

He hurried out of his office and through the kitchen to the garage. He yanked the keys from the hook, and not giving any consideration to how he looked or how he was dressed, he climbed into the Escalade.

He was driving back to the damn city and he was going to her apartment and he didn’t care if it was four in the morning. This couldn’t wait. He couldn’t wait.

Some things needed to be done immediately, and this was one of them. He’d made her wait all this time. He wasn’t waiting another damn moment.

It had taken immeasurable courage for her to come to his house and face him down, tell him she loved him and wait with her heart on her sleeve.

How could he not do the same for her?

It would be the hardest thing and yet the easiest thing he’d ever do. Because when faced with the alternative of living his life without her and their son? Crawling didn’t seem so bad.

* * *

Pippa trudged into her apartment, weariness overtaking her. Her head ached from trying to hold off the tears. Her eyes were swollen and scratchy. She was heartsick and numb from head to toe.

She felt…lost. Like she wasn’t sure what came next. There was such finality to her confrontation with Cam. What was she supposed to do?

She sank onto the couch, tossed her purse onto the coffee table and closed her eyes. Her head throbbed. She needed sleep. At least there, she could escape for a while and not feel so horrible.

She arranged one of the cushions against the arm of the couch and pulled her feet up, curling up on her side. Exhaustion beat at her, making her remember that between her grand opening, Ashley giving birth and all the angst over Cam, she hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in longer than she could remember.

She pulled out her phone, looked at the time and winced. She’d need to be up in just a couple of hours. She set the alarm on her phone so she’d be sure to wake and then she reached over to set it on top of the coffee table next to her purse.

Then she closed her eyes and let the comforting blanket of sleep slide over her.

* * *

The smell of smoke woke Pippa from a dead sleep. She opened her eyes, confused by the darkness and the acrid smell of something burning. She blinked away the cloud of disorientation and then shoved herself up from the couch in horror.

Flames surrounded her and the scorching heat singed her skin. Everywhere there was a wall of orange fire and smoke billowing heavily. It was so dense she had no idea where she was or which way was out or if there even was a way out.

She breathed in and then coughed as her lungs burned. Panic slammed into her as she realized the horrific danger she was in.

Clutching her belly, she lunged from the couch, trying to see through the flames and smoke to know if she could make it to the door.

Then she remembered that in a fire, the safest place to be was as close to the floor as possible. She dropped down, as low as she could with her burgeoning belly, and pulled her shirt up to cover her nose and mouth.

Her phone. Where was her phone?

She turned back but lost sight of the couch in the haze of smoke. She was fast becoming so disoriented that if she didn’t do something now she was going to die.

She closed her eyes and pictured the layout of the room and forced her panic down so she could focus. She knew every inch of her apartment and she wasn’t going to let her hysteria make her do something stupid.

She had to save her baby. She had to save herself.

Still holding her shirt over her face, she began to crawl in the direction of the front door. Above her, flames licked over the ceiling and smoke billowed from every corner. It was becoming harder and harder to breathe and she was sick with worry of what this was doing to her baby.

Thoughts of her child renewed her determination to get out no matter what. She scrambled over hot, smoldering rubble and made it to the foyer. Just a little farther. There didn’t appear to be as much smoke close to the door and she put on a burst of speed, ignoring the cuts and burns to her palms and knees.

She was a few feet away when the door splintered and cracked and caved in. Smoke began drawing through the opening, pulling around her and enveloping her. She heard a shout and then strong hands gripped her, pulling her upward.

The fireman cradled her in his arms and barged out the front door into the cool night air. Around her, the world was a sea of flashing lights, smoke and flames shooting toward the star-filled sky.

“Is there anyone else in your apartment?” the fireman yelled to her.

She shook her head. “No,” she replied, dismayed by the fact the denial came out in a barely audible croak.

He carried her to a waiting ambulance where she was handed over to another man who promptly put her on a stretcher.

“The baby,” she rasped out. “I’m pregnant.”

An oxygen mask covered her face, blocking out anything further she’d say. The next thing she knew, she was laid flat, pushed into the back of the ambulance and two paramedics hovered anxiously over.

There was a prick in her arm. They shouted down questions to her. She tried to tell them she was okay, but she couldn’t say anything through the mask and her throat hurt too badly, anyway.