I’m not sure if I move or he does, but I’m in his arms, legs wrapped around his waist, face buried in his neck. Fingers stroking his hair. His heartbeat easing my aches as it thumps against my chest.
“And I’m taking youhomenow.”
“Do you all want the cake?” Mom asks from the door, holding out a tray.
Dad looks slightly sad. His blue eyes glisten as he nods at us.
“We’ll get it to go,” I tell her, and she smiles, then heads to the kitchen.
“Talon could show up. Do you need extra guards, or—” Dad asks Aiden with sincerity.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Donovan. I don’t trust them. And they need to stay more alert.”
My father balks, then quickly closes his mouth. He juts his hand out toward Aiden, who shakes it. “Then, take care of her.”
“I will. She’s my life.” Aiden squeezes me tighter. “My world.”
“And mine, too,” Dad says.
Aiden glances at the blanket puddled behind me. “Great. Then…can I borrow your Escalade? I only have my bike.”
He carries me through the cold to the garage like I weigh nothing, wrapping the blanket tighter around me.
The night smells of pine and incoming snow as he loads me into the SUV, and for the first time, the wordhomefeels real. As if I’m a child, he tucks everything around me tight. Sets the tray of food and my belongings close. Situates my big water cup in the center holder.
He notices my amused stare and smiles. Before he shuts my door, he snaps the seatbelt around me. “There. All comfy?”
I nod and giggle. Suddenly, the cramps ease their grip on my uterus.
Especially when he taps a peck on the end of my nose.
When he gets behind the wheel, he doesn’t hesitate to take my hand in his and scan my body once before heading out towardour place.
I’m half asleep, but the lights flickering on as he pulls into the circular drive wakes me. The house glows through thetall, shadowed trees like something holy. Welcoming us warmly.
“Home,” he says simply. And it settles deep inside me until I feel safe.
Inside, he carries me upstairs without asking, ignoring my half-hearted protests.
“I can walk,” I grumble into his neck.
“Youcould,” he says, setting me gently on the bed. “But I’m taking care of you. You’re not doing anything until I make sure you’re comfortable and warm.”
He disappears for a moment and comes back with a heating pad, water, and a feast. With ardent flourishes, he sets up the tray that my mom sent with us. Grilled cheese in tinfoil. Lava cakes steaming with dark chocolate and cherry ganache. Then there’s pizza, chips, popcorn, Sweet Tarts, sodas, and different flavored salted nuts.
Like Aiden never eats junk food, and now he’s got a reason to unleash himself from the restraints of self-discipline.
“You didn’t have to?—”
“I know. But I’m an overachiever.”
I bite back a laugh. “You’re also bad at portion control. That’s enough for three people.”
“Two,” he counters, flopping down next to me, already eating the chips and snagging one of the sandwiches. “Well,” he adds with a mouth full, “me and a little bit of you.” Like he’s afraid the blanket might fight back, he tucks me in. “Need anything else, my baby?”
“Maybe the remote?”
Without hesitation, he passes it, even though he hates everything I watch. The TV takes up a large portion of the far wall, and when the trashy reality show theme song starts, he groans.