“I can’t believe you have such a good fucking eye for design,” I tease Zane as I lay on the couch in his living room, wearing nothing but an oversized shirt that says ‘NYU’ on it.

“Just don’t fucking tell anyone,” he winks at me and places a finger to his lips.

I remove his finger and kiss his juicy lips.

“It’ll be our little secret.”

Zane scoops me up and tickles me, making me squirm, wiggle and scream with delight.

“Stop it,” I order playfully and hit him with one of the navy-blue throw pillows that accents his grey couch to a perfect tee.

“Are you sure you’re in the right profession?” I ask, teasing him further about his ability to blend colors for a perfect room design.

“I’m pretty fucking sure,” he says and hugs me close to him. I breathe in his masculine scent and his spicy cologne that makes my pussy quiver.

My body reacts to the slightest thought of him. But it’s not just for the pleasure. We’re fucking like bunnies, trying to get me pregnant.

“I have a good feeling about this one,” I say and lay down on the couch with my legs propped over his lap.

Of course, I’m referring to the amazing sex session we just had. He’s so fucking hot and I can’t wait to be pregnant with his baby.

“Oh yeah?” He props an arm over his head and leans back into the couch, sagging his body with relaxation. “You really think so?”

He seems curious, eager, and scared all at once. I’m not used to seeing Zane with his walls exposed, but here he is, permitting me into his emotions piece by piece.

“Well I hope so,” I giggle and play with a fraying edge of the white throw blanket next to me on the couch.

“I hope so too,” he says softly.

I lean my head up. In my experience, men don’t get too serious about talks like this, and definitely not at this stage of the relationship.

Whoa, hello, hold the fuck train. I totally didn’t just refer to this as a relationship. That’s not what this is, right babe? No way. Yeah. Totally not. I just have to remember that. Fuck.

Okay out of my head and back to reality. Let’s forget that shit real quick.

“Do you really? Or are you just saying that because you want me to be happy?”

Zane scoffs but I see right through him. I pretend not to let on, though.

“Please, Zane Tanner bows down to no one.”

“Unless he’s going down on someone,” I joke and he roars with laughter.

He scratches the back of his head.

“Well yes, in that situation I most definitely have no problem being on my knees.”

We exchange a private look again and I tremble between my legs.

Fuck!

He has the most astounding magnetic pull when it comes to getting me hot that I’ve ever experienced in my fucking life.

“I’m so glad you’re on board with all this,” I admit.

“Yeah,” he looks up at the ceiling. “Me too.”

Something is different about him, something tender and gentle. Maybe his need to be an asshole in public is just for show. I’m not sure yet, but I’m ready to dig a little deeper until I find out the truth. And it has nothing to do with that random-ass thought from a minute ago. Nope.

I just want to know the guy that’s knocking me up a little more.

He looks over at me and grins lazily.

“Do you want something to drink?”

“Only if it doesn’t have alcohol in it,” I retort.

“I can do that.” He sighs and gets up to stretch.

“Bring me back something good,” I call out to him as he waves from behind.

I glance around his living room. He has a flat screen TV on the wall and windows that go all the way across the room to the open kitchen area, overlooking downtown Manhattan.

His style is a perfect blend of modern and traditional. It’s fucking weird, and I don’t know how he pulls off such different styles, but for whatever reason he’s able to get the job done because it’s charming, cozy and refreshing all at once.

“Hey do you want to come to my house? I’ll pay you to be my interior designer,” I tease, yelling to him from the kitchen where I hear him mixing up a drink for me.

“Fuck off,” he says in a joking tone.

“What? Can’t a girl give you a compliment?” I cackle. “I’m fucking impressed.”

“Then just move right in,” he calls back.

“Um, I’m not sure we’re there yet,” I counter and laugh.

I notice that there’s a photo album underneath his coffee table. I lean over and scoop it up, thumbing through the first several pages.

He comes back into the room holding some sort of orange drink with a cherry in it. I take a sip, and there’s a flavor explosion of juicy sweetness happening in my mouth.

“Wow, this is fucking good,” I say and smack my lips.

“Thanks,” he says. “What do you have there?” He points down to the photo album I’m holding.

I giggle when I turn the page and see a picture of him as a baby in the bathtub.

“Aww, look at your ‘wittle cock,’” I point to it, doing some baby talk.

Zane rolls his eyes and sips his drink.

“Grow the fuck up.”

“You were a cutie!” I exclaim and point to another picture of him in a little league uniform.

“Aren’t I still?” he asks with an edge of arrogance.

“I don’t know, why don’t you tell me again how pretty you are? I know you just love to talk about yourself.” I wink at him, teasing.

Looking through the photos, I notice right away that most of the pictures have either him and his mother or just him.

“Where’s your dad in these?” I glance up at him.

His face grows white and he furrows his brow. He fidgets and takes a large gulp of his drink.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to pry…” I trail off as heat from embarrassment flushes through me.

Why the fuck do I think it’s a good idea to make people feel uncomfortable by bringing up their past?

On the other hand, though, he’s going to father my child. I think I deserve to know what I’m getting into. Having crazy in the genetic line isn’t exactly something I’m going for.

“No it’s okay.” He squares his jaw but his tone is yielding. “It was just me and my mom when I was growing up.”

“Oh,” I say and look down at the pictures. I don’t know what else to say or if I should ask him anything else so I just remain quiet.

“My dad left when I was five,” he says, and I can hear the pain in his voice, still fresh even after all these years.

No wonder he tries to put on a front that he’s such a macho hard-ass. He’s probably suffering inside and doesn’t know how to digest the struggle from his past.

“My mom has fibromyalgia,” he goes on.

“I know that can get bad,” I say.

Zane nods.

“Yeah, she’s hanging in there now, but she’s had some nasty flare-ups. I had to step up and take care of her after my dad left.”

My heart is ripping to shreds inside my chest. I haven’t seen this side of Zane, and I’m looking at him now with a new pair of eyes. He suddenly becomes a real person to me, not just this arrogant ass, overcoming a tragedy to take care of his mom when she needed him the most.

“I’m sure she feels lucky to have a son like you.” I smile and squeeze his hand.

“I do my best.” He shrugs humbly.

“Where’s the Zane I know?” I force him to make eye contact. “I like this version much better.”

He laughs, and I see the twinkle come back to him.

“Just don’t get used to it. I’m a real prick, remember?”

“Not to me.” I shake my head. And I realize it’s true. He treats me really fucking well.

I run my hands through his hair and he all but purrs over the attention. No wonder he needs so many people doting on him all the fucking time. I can’t imagine carrying such a burden around from a young age, and he never even had a strong male role model or father figure to step up to the plate and teach him the basics.

I feel empathy for him, but I don’t want him to know that. It wouldn’t be good for his already oversized ego.

“I think it’s great that you took care of your mom at such a young age.”

“She gave me life,” he says and we make eye contact again. “I owe her everything.”

If my ovaries weren’t jumping for joy before he said that, they certainly are now.

Ovaries. Yeah. That’s it. Not my heart. No fucking way.