Be My Hero (Forbidden Men #3)(80)

"Oh, shit." I was breastfeeding Julian.

This had to be wrong. He wasn't mine, and I was only watching him for a couple days.

What Pick would say if he knew?

Julian didn't seem to mind, though. The kid kept drinking while his chubby little fingers rested possessively against the side of my breast.

Instantly, something inside me softened. I stroked his head, letting him have his fill. Wet nursing was no new thing; it should be okay. And Skylar certainly wouldn't go without. The preemie rarely drank much; there was more than enough to go around. And everyone said breast milk was so much better for a child than formula. Plus, if they both ate this way, I wouldn't have to get up so much in the middle of the night, shuffle to the kitchen, warm a bottle, carry it back to bed . . . yada, yada, yada.

When I realized I was rationalizing why I shouldn't stop, I flushed. The God's honest truth was I liked taking care of him this way. I liked the bond, and I loved this baby.

Down the hall, the bathroom door opened. I sucked in a breath. Oh, crappity, crap, crap. Footsteps in the hall urged me to grab a nearby blanket and toss it over my shoulder, completely covering which baby I was feeding. Do, to-do, to-do, went the whistling in my head, nothing going on here.

Pick appeared in the doorway, wearing nothing but a towel. My mouth dried up and I forgot what I was trying to hide from him.

He jerked to a halt when he saw me. "Oh. You're awake."

I was a too busy staring to answer him. Yeah, I was definitely awake now.

He motioned toward his dresser. "I forgot to bring my clothes into the bathroom with me."

When he entered and crossed the room to pull open the top drawer, I waved him on. "Trust me, I don't mind." Really.

"In that case." He tossed me a wink over his shoulder and dropped the towel.

My mouth fell open. Oh, sweet mercy. Naked Pick Ryan looked amazing from the back. His tush was tight and sculpted to perfection, and his spine muscles looked all sleek and shiny, wet from the shower. My gaze swept up and down, then up and down again. He really did only tattoo his arms and neck, didn't he? Oh, and his heart. I remembered seeing a peek of that one at Forbidden during the auction, but I hadn't been close enough to see what had been special enough to place it directly over his heart.

I forgot all about tattoos when he bent to pull on a pair of boxers. I caught the barest glimpse of a shadow from his junk hanging down in the front and had to press my legs together tight. He didn't turn around until he had on a pair of jeans and was zipping up the fly.

"Hey, you got a little drool." He wiped the corner of his own mouth. "Right there."

I begin to lift my fingers to wipe up the mess before I realized he was teasing. Eyes narrowing, I muttered, "Shut up," and I stuck my tongue out at him. Then I laughed at my own silliness. As my gaze caught on the single tattoo over his heart, I couldn't stand the curiosity. "You never did tell me what that one meant," I said, hitching my chin toward it.

He froze, with one of those hand-caught-in-the-cookie-jar expressions. Then he briefly skated his fingers over it as if he wanted to hide it. Shrugging, he yanked on a white undershirt. "Just a list of names," he said and grabbed a fresh work shirt from his closet before buttoning it up.

Holy crap, he was so hiding something. I couldn't let this drop. "I caught a glimpse of it at the club on auction night. But I've never gotten close enough to see the details. Whose names are on it?"

Ha! A direct question. Let's see him evade this answer.

"Just . . . " He focused his attention on straightening non-existent wrinkles on his shirt. "Names."

I wasn't deterred. "Of important people?"

" Mm-hmm."

"Is this in any way related to the reason why my birthday is the passcode to your cell phone? Because, you know, you refused to talk about that too."

He lifted his face to frown at me. But he said absolutely nothing.

"Fine." I flung out a hand. "Go ahead and shut me out. Again." I lifted my chin in an airy, pretentious way. "It's fine. I mean, I thought we were becoming friends and talked about everything. But don't worry. I get it. You know the worst possible thing there is to know about me, but I don't need to know anything about you at all."

His shoulders deflated and his expression turned bleak. "Don't be that way, Tink. I—"

"I'm kidding!" I broke in with a roll of my eyes and forced laugh.

Okay, fine. It did twinge a little that he didn't feel comfortable enough to share something with me, but seriously—

"You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to. I understand. I really do. And I'm sorry for teasing you about it. I didn't mean to make you take me so seriously."

He drew out what I hoped was a relieved breath, but something on his face told me he wasn't quite reassured. I opened my mouth to go on and keep apologizing for making him feel guilty when a rustling from the crib caught our attention.

Pick was quick to check it out. "I'll get him," he offered, only to stop short when he looked down at the baby inside. He hesitantly drew Skylar from the bed and turned to me. When his gaze dropped and fixated on the lump where Julian was still having his breakfast, I knew I'd been caught.

"Eva . . . " he said slowly. "Are you . . . feeding Julian?"