I feel her hand on my cheek. She leans in and kisses me. She smiles. “She’s pretty amazing, isn’t she?”
I don’t trust my voice. I nod.
She starts to lightly trace the baby’s nose with a fingertip. Her brows pucker. “Do you feel the same way about Khloe that you did about Molly being born?”
I stare at her, stunned. I can’t believe she remembers. It was so long ago when I told her about Molly. I was a bastard. I didn’t want anyone to see what I truly felt. Not really. Then Chrissie slipped under my guard and I shared with her more about me than I ever have with anyone. Though some of the things I said were wrong—maybe true at the time—but I shouldn’t have said them to her.
I pretend not to understand the question.
Her frown lowers. She takes in a deep breath.
Her eyes lock with mine. “You said that you never wanted Molly. You didn’t want to be bothered having to care about someone. But that she was a cute thing and eventually had you. Is that how you feel about Khloe being here? You don’t want her, but like you have to be OK with it because it’s something I’ve already done?”
Oh fuck, Chrissie.
She anxiously gnaws her lips, and her expression tears me apart inside. I curl an arm around her neck, careful of the baby, until my forehead rests against hers.
“No. No. Never. That isn’t even close to what I feel. Khloe is everything I want that I never thought I would have. I’ve loved you both from the first moment I saw each of you. That’s what I feel.”
She sniffs back a tear and then pulls back. She lets out a ragged breath. I can’t read her expression. Please, baby, believe me. Don’t doubt me on this.
Khloe starts to cry. It’s not surprising. When Chrissie is emotionally messy she pulses with it. Hell, the entire fucking house pulses when she’s upset.
I lift the baby from the pillow. I’m surprised by how effortless it is, how I remember how to handle a newborn out of nowhere. I lie back on the pillows with her on my chest, doing little jiggles of her body while Chrissie sits there staring and alertly watching each change of my expression.
“Go to sleep, Khloe,” I say soothing. “Be a good girl, for me. Your mum is kicking me out in seven hours.”
Chrissie starts to laugh and I smile. I can feel the tension leaving her. Maybe she’ll stop radiating emotion.
I smile and climb from the bed. I jiggle and pace.
“You’re good at that,” Chrissie says.
“I’m good at this if she goes back to sleep. And shush. No talking. She’ll stay awake if she hears you.”
She nods, makes a face, and settles on her side, watching me. She yawns and stretches out, running a hand through her hair. Absolute sexiness in every moment without trying. How long is it going to take me to get this kid asleep?
I touch my lips to Khloe’s hair. Jesus Christ, this is not what I expected when I set out from New York a week ago. But then, nothing is ever what I expect with Chrissie.
I walk the floor for thirty minutes.
I glance down at the baby. “She’s asleep. I’ll be right back.”
I go into the nursery and set Khloe carefully into the crib. I wait. Nothing. Perfect. I still have six hours here.
I go back to the bedroom, softly close the door, climb beneath the blankets and turn into Chrissie.
Fuck.
She’s asleep.
Chapter 13
I wake with a start. My eyes open and slowly focus. It’s too fucking bright in here, but then it’s Chrissie’s bedroom. Of course it’s flooded with sunlight.
I inhale deeply and smell the scent of sex in the air. Memories of the night flash in my head. My body stirs.
I turn in bed, yawning and stretching out. Christ, I feel good this morning. Physically drained in the right way, instead of the way I normally feel.
I check the clock. 7 a.m. I’m awake one hour before our negotiated time of my departure. Oh, I’m definitely ready to start up again.
Things are looking up. Sending Aarsi here was a brilliant move. I’m out of isolated purgatory. I’m back in Chrissie’s bed. It won’t be long until we’re together again. I just need to figure out how to keep us moving in the right direction. It should be easier now we’re fucking again. I’m back in control. I need to keep it that way.
It’s time to wake her.
Get one more good fuck in before she sends me home.
Fuck, I don’t want to go home.
I roll over in bed, my arm moving to reach for her. I freeze and stare. Bed empty. Where the hell did she go?
I climb from the sheets and spot the used condom on the floor. Shit, I hated using that with Chrissie. I love the feel of being inside her bareback. I collect the miserable thing. The condoms are another thing I’ve got to fix quickly.
My cock twitches as I wad it up in a ball with some tissue and toss it into the trash. As much as I hate rubbers it was kind of a turn-on that she bought them. Maybe thought of me while she did. Had them ready in the drawer. Planned last night ahead.
Then I remember her telling me why she had them. No longer a turn-on. And oh, definitely good she planned ahead.
Not on the pill.
Fuck, that’s all we need.
We’ll have to discuss that one real soon.
We don’t need more complications.
Chrissie comes with a full load of complications already.
I still haven’t figured out how to mold us back together. I don’t think we’re going to transition from fucking to being together quite as quickly as we used to. There’s too much to work through.
I go into the bathroom, take a leak, and make a fast stop in the shower to rinse off. I gargle with some mouthwash, and then grab my clothes. I pull on my pants, and shake my head as I zip up my fly. I wish she’d stayed in the bed. It’s maddening being the one to wake up alone. To know that my role is to dress and get out of here quickly before the kids see me.
It’s galling that she expects me to slip quietly away.
I reach for my shirt.
I go into the hallway and make my way past open doors. Empty room. Empty room. At least it’s quiet in the house. Ethan and Khloe must still be asleep. Maybe I can get Chrissie back into bed for a little while longer.
I cut through the kitchen. Vacant. This is ridiculous. My clock is running out. I’m wasting my last minutes here just trying to find her. Why didn’t she stay in bed? Why is nothing ever simple with Chrissie?
I go into the family room and stare out the wall of glass. Ah, there she is. She’s curled in a chair, face tilted to the sun, long, messy, unbrushed blond hair streaming down her back, and she’s got Khloe in her arms latched to her breast.
God, she’s got fantastic breasts.
Fuck, kid got there first.
Chrissie’s not going back to bed with me today.
I slide open the door and step out. I hang back and watch her for a moment. She’s breathtaking in the morning. Even dressed like that. An old Cal sweatshirt, boxer shorts, and heavy, comfy, thick knit footy socks with the toes turned into idiotic designs of a dog’s face. The mommy wardrobe of a woman exiting her youth. I find her sexy dressed even in that.
Her face turns toward me. “I made coffee. It’s there on the patio table. You probably can finish a cup before you have to hit the road.”
Not the good morning I wanted.
She smiles. “I’d make you breakfast before you go only my hands are full.”
“I don’t need breakfast. You should have just brought Khloe back to bed with us. I would have rather woken up with you.”
I pour a cup of coffee and settle on the chair next to her. Chrissie lapses into silence. She doesn’t look at me. I wonder if this feels as strange to her as it does to me, like we’re moving cautiously in every move. Are we off? Or is it this odd ritual of deliberately pulling apart from each other in the morning and her kicking me out before the kids return?