“This isn’t exactly what I had in mind,” I said an hour later.

Jordan had conned not only my cell number but my new address out of me before we’d left the parking lot.

“You said you were craving Chinese.”

“That’s not what I’m taking issue with,” I said, pulling takeout containers from the brown bag Jordan had brought in.

“Then what is it?” he asked before starting to go through the cupboards. “Plates?” he asked.

“They’re not unpacked yet,” I admitted. “I couldn’t lift the box. I’ve been using paper ones.”

“Hmm.” He pulled out his phone and pressed a button. “Hey, it’s me. Yeah, yeah. Can you arrange the movers to come out and unpack the boxes Abigail has left?” He glanced up at me, brows raised. “What time?”

“I’m fine,” I said, plunking my hands on my hips. “I’ll get to it—”

“Why should you have to?”

“Because I—”

He turned his back on me, probably because he knew his next statement would piss me off. “Six tomorrow night. She’ll tell them where she wants everything. They do all the heavy lifting.” A pause. “Good.”

Jordan tucked his phone away in his pocket and gave me a look that should have belonged to a little boy. It was guilty, full to the brim with remorse. The only thing missing was a toe making a hole as it dug into the ground.

I sighed, all the annoyance I’d felt in the previous moment slipping away. “You’re lucky you’re cute, you know that?”

His expression turned obstinate. “Well you shouldn’t have to—”

“I’m perfectly capable—”

“I didn’t say you weren’t. But, sweetheart, I have the money and you’re carrying our baby.” He took a step closer. “Now can’t you let me just take care of you? Just a little bit?”

Taking care of me was fine. It was the becoming used to it—relying on it—that I was afraid of.

But I’d decided to try this thing with Jordan and that meant pushing old fears away.

Even when it really, really scared me to do so.

I forced a smile. “You can.” A pause. “Just a little bit.”

He studied my expression, and I had the feeling that he understood exactly how much that acquiescence had cost me.

“Thank you.” A brush of his lips against mine. “So tell me, where are the paper plates?”

“Second cupboard on the left. Forks are in the drawer next to the dishwasher.”

He followed my directions and pulled out the plates and silverware, bringing both to the kitchen island, where I’d set up shop and was plucking fried wontons from a container I’d already opened.

“Oh, my God,” I moaned. “This is the best thing I’ve ever had in my mouth.”

“Setting yourself up there,” he said.

“I’m surprised you resisted the innuendo,” I teased.

“Me too.”

I broke out into giggles, filling my plate with fried rice, chow mein, sweet and sour pork, and lots of wontons. “I almost commented on their salty deliciousness.”

He smirked. “Now I wouldn’t have been able to resist that one.”

“Me neither.”

We both laughed and sat down at the barstools, eating our fill.

“Dare I ask what you were taking issue with earlier?” Jordan ate a mouthful of rice. “Or should I let that sleeping dog lie?”

“You’re brave,” I said, having almost completely forgotten about the bags that were cluttering my counters. “But I’m fed now. I was protesting the fact that my kitchen looks like a drug store exploded inside of it.”

“I need deodorant.”

“Yes.” I popped a wanton in my mouth. “That’s a certainty.”

“Smartass.” He dropped his hand on my thigh.

“You know it.”

A squeeze. “I do. But I’d like to not smell like a caveman while still being able to interact closely with you.”

“You want me not to puke every time you’re nearby.”

“Well, yes, there’s that.”

“So”—I waved a hand at the bags littering my beautiful white marble—“drug store explosion?”

“No. Sniff test.”

I groaned, dropping my forehead to the cold stone, before sitting up and glaring at him. “We should have conducted the sniff test before I had a full stomach.”

Jordan set his fork down next to his plate and wiped his mouth with a napkin. I didn’t have any of those unpacked either and figured it must have come alongside the food. “Damn. You’re right. Sniff test will have to wait till tomorrow.”

“Well, it’ll have to at least wait until later,” I told him. “Don’t ruin Chinese food for me, okay?”

“I’ll do my best.”

“That’s all I ask.” I sat back in my barstool and patted my belly. “How did we eat so much food? I swear, I always have leftovers when I order in.”

Jordan lifted one leg, placing it between both of mine. The action made my breath hitch and desire sweep through me, so much and so rapidly that I nearly missed the horrible joke that went along with the action. “Hollow leg.”

“Oh my God,” I said when I could speak without sounding like a breathless buffoon. “The dad jokes start already.”

He huffed. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“Oh, but it was.” I started giggling and Jordan joined in, his rumbling laughter making the leg between mine vibrate.

Now wasn’t that nice?

“So no sniff test for the present,” he said once I’d managed to pull myself together. “What should we do to pass the time?”

He waggled his brows mockingly, but the heat in his eyes belied the joking exterior. Jordan wanted me and I knew it.

“I’ve got a few ideas,” I said, sliding from the stool then taking his hand in mine.

“This isn’t what I had in mind,” Jordan grumbled, sitting cross-legged next to me at my coffee table.

The coffee table.

Which looked ridiculously tiny with him sitting next to me. Solid little thing. I couldn’t believe we hadn’t broken it that night.

And I wasn’t supposed to be thinking about sex. Nope, that was the road that led to ruin and failing IUDs.

You can’t get any more pregnant at the moment. The thought popped into my mind and I pushed it away.

Not the point.

This was our chance to take things slow.

“No complaining,” I told him, picking up my crochet hook. “Crocheting helps my brain relax.”

“If anyone ever saw me doing this—”

“You going to invite Heather over for a crochet party?” I asked.

“Fuck no.”

“So, shh,” I said. “And concentrate. Loop.” I looped, showing him, trying not to laugh as he fumbled with the yarn. After a moment, he got it. “Pull the outside loop under the inside.” I demonstrated. “And repeat.”

He started to do it then mishandled the hook and the yarn slid off. A curse slipped from his lips.

“We can do something else,” I offered. “Or you can just relax while—”

Blue eyes met mine and they were determined. “Show me again.”

I did.

He followed my actions, tongue pressed into the corner of his lips as he concentrated fiercely. The yarn slipped off again. Another curse.

“Really—” I began.

A growl. “Again.” His mouth softened. “Please.”

I put down my hook and slipped between him and the table, forcing him to slide backward as I settled myself into his lap.

“This,” he murmured, snaking his hands around my waist, “I like.”

I shook my head, leaned back against his chest. “You need to relax,” I told him, even as my actions made me do the opposite of my words.

Jordan’s scent wrapped around me and that spicy maleness made me want to cuddle closer. That coupled with the heat of his body and the solidity of his muscles, and I was aroused beyond belief. I wanted to rub all over him, like he was catnip, curl up close and forget about the crocheting.

I wanted him. Maybe more than he wanted me.

But if I was doing this—making a go of the dating thing with Jordan—then I wasn’t going to jump into bed with him again. That had been the crux of our problems, and I was determined to avoid that stumbling block this go around.

And dammit, the man was going to learn to crochet. It wasn’t that hard.

I put the hook in his hand and placed mine over his. Then I did the same with the yarn.

“Loop. Tuck. Pull,” I said and guided his hands through the actions. “Loop. Tuck. Pull.”

He got it. Of course, the man got it. Two times through and perfect stitches, perfect tension. He repeated the action one more time. Two. Then he dropped the hook and yarn.

“That’s good enough,” he said, mouth coming close to my ear, his husky words making me shiver.

“There are other stitches—”

“I don’t give a damn about the other stitches.”

“Then what—?”

I didn’t finish the sentence as Jordan spun me in his lap.

His mouth slammed down on mine.

And suddenly I didn’t give a damn about the other stitches either.