New Year’s Eve had been brutal for Brock. As hard as he’d tried to pawn off a security gig in Vancouver onto one of his brothers, he couldn’t. Chase was on an assignment, and Stewart needed two guys, one of them needing to be Brock. So he dragged Rex along and left Heath to keep an eye on Krista and another eye on Slade.

But it was an assignment he wasn’t looking forward to. Some local celebrity’s twenty-something daughter was the target. Threats had been made on her life. Everything was supposed to go down on New Year’s Eve at her parents’ annual party at their yacht club, so they’d hired detail and upped the security.

The party had been boring as fuck, in Brock’s party-hating opinion, and he was beginning to think nothing was going to happen until around one forty-five all hell broke loose. A smoke bomb went off, making the entire place a foggy mess of screaming bodies. Shots were fired, and Rex had been knocked to the ground and nearly trampled by the half-drunk mob of Richie Riches clambering over him to get out.

Thankfully, no one was severely injured. The daughter had been a decoy target, and the assailants were actually after her father, who unfortunately sustained a gunshot to the arm, though it wasn’t fatal. They made a weak attempt to kidnap his daughter but were unsuccessful. The whole thing, upon later reflection, seemed incredibly disorganized, so between the security team and Brock, and eventually Rex who was a bit bruised—both his ego and his limbs—they brought down the three kidnappers and had them in custody by two o’clock.

But Brock was exhausted. The paperwork, the cleanup, the reiteration of his account to the police seemed endless. By the time he and Rex checked into their hotel at six in the morning, he had a splitting headache and was dead on his feet. Neither of them moved or made a sound until noon, and even then it was just a series of grunts and grumbles coming from his wounded little brother as his injuries caught up with him.

He and Rex were forced to head straight to Stewart’s for a debriefing once they got off the ferry. Then Stewart’s wife insisted on feeding them dinner, so by the time Brock got home, the lights were out and Krista was in bed. He welcomed the idea of crawling under the covers next to her lithe, warm body and smelling that incredible scent as he drifted off. It’d become so much easier to fall asleep and sleep well since she moved into his bed. Her scent, her warmth, her presence, they all made him feel … complete.

Was that the word? He didn’t know.

But what he did know was that he liked having her in the house, liked having her in his bed and would do everything he could to keep her there.

Desperate not to let the creaky bedroom door wake her up, he took forever and a day to open the damn thing, his eyes zeroing in on her petite frame beneath the covers. She’d started grumbling the other day how it was no longer comfortable to sleep on her front, that it put too much pressure on her belly and she would wake up achy and uncomfortable. It seemed she’d found a solution, and that was his pillow, which she was hugging like a life preserver or some giant teddy bear.

Brock quickly showered off the day, didn’t bother with boxers and slipped into the cool sheets, taking a deep inhale as his head hit his one pillow. He’d been right. It was honeysuckle. She had the body wash, shampoo and lotion in all the same scent, and it drove him wild every time he smelled it.

He was just drifting off to sleep when a fist landed square in the center of his back.

Groaning, he rolled over, coming face-to-face with an angry angel. “What the fuck was that for?”

“You’re taking up over half the fucking bed.” She growled.

He inched over just a bit. “Better?”

She glared at him in the dark, her little button nose wrinkling. “No. You’re enormous. Easily taking up seventy percent of the bed and probably eighty percent of the covers.”

Brock rolled his eyes. He was too tired for this shit. But he also didn’t want her to go. “What do you want from me?”

“To give me space. You’re a furnace, too.”

“Do you want me to go to the other room?”

He didn’t want to, but he would. For her. For sleep.

She grew awfully quiet. “No.”

Grunting, he sat up, scooted over to the edge. Half his ass cheek was hanging off, but hopefully that would appease the mother bear in his bed. “Better?”

She nodded. “You just need to be more considerate while you’re sleeping.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, woman, how can I be more considerate while I’m sleeping? I’m sleeping. I have no idea what I’m doing!” Grumbling and swearing under his breath, he pulled a bunch of covers off his side and draped them over her. “There! Better?”

She grinned. “Yes.”

That sassy little smile. Fuck. It got him every time. Even when she was being an irrational, hormonal back-punching nut job, he wanted her. He always wanted her. Never one to care about having anyone to kiss at midnight, he’d hated the idea of Krista sitting home alone the other night, ringing in the new year alone.

“How’d it go?” she asked, rolling over onto her side and propping her hand under her head.

He grunted. “How’d what go?”

“Your job?”

He lifted one shoulder. “Everyone’s safe.”

Her lips twisted, and she drew circles on the bottom sheet of the bed with her finger. Her eyes followed her finger. “Maybe next time you could call me when you go out on a job.” She lifted her head just a touch, her eyes pinning on him. “Let me know you’re safe. I worry about you too, you know.”

Brock’s chest tightened, and his throat felt raw. Here he’d been giving her shit for not behaving responsibly enough, meanwhile he could be doing more, too. He nodded stiffly. “Okay.”

Her smile was small but triumphant.

He gave her the side-eye. He needed a distraction, and the way her breasts squished together when she was on her side like that was doing a hell of a job. “Well, now that we’re awake, you want to bang?”

Her eyes brightened, and her smile grew. She scooted across the bed, tossing his pillow to the floor, and looped her leg over his hip. “What did you have in mind?”

Several of Krista’s orgasms later, and with a mildly numb tongue, Brock tossed the covers back again and crawled his way up the bed, his body hovering just over Krista’s. Her eyes were shut and her breathing ragged as she came down from the last climax, a sexy flush rushed across her cheeks, and that wild mane of fire fanned out over her pillow in a curly, honeysuckle-scented arc.

Without even bothering to open her eyes, she spread her legs for him and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down to her softness, a soft hum buzzing from the back of her throat, making his dick harder than granite. Fuck, she was a sexy little thing without even trying.

Brock was just about to slip his dick inside when he stopped and glanced down between them. The bump was visible, and it gave him pause.

Krista’s eyes slowly blinked open. “What’s wrong?” she asked sleepily.

He grunted. “Your, uh … your belly is kind of in the way.”

Her eyes widened, and she followed his gaze. Then she rolled those baby blues. An act he’d love to take her over his knee for. “Barely,” she said with lack of interest. “I’m fine. Now are we going to fuck? Or can I close my eyes and legs and go back to sleep?”

Brock grunted again. “I don’t want to hurt the baby.”

Another eye roll. Oh, she was on thin ice now. “You won’t.” A little hip shimmy beneath him caused her center to swipe wet heat against the head of his cock. A groan built at the back of his throat.

But he wasn’t having any of it. Doctor’s assurance or not, he wasn’t crushing his kid. Brock rolled to the side. “You were on top earlier. You want to go on top again?”

She shook her head. “No, I’m too exhausted to do the work.”

He snorted, followed by a chuckle.

“Let’s spoon,” he said with a grunt of approval before he tucked himself behind her and helped her roll onto her side.

He was inside her in seconds, his hand snaking over her torso to caress her breasts, pulling and tweaking the nipples until she arched her back, squeezing her internal muscles around him as he pumped. It wouldn’t take him long. And from what he could tell, despite her numerous orgasms moments ago, it wouldn’t take her long, either.

“Come for me,” she panted, pushing her backside into him and squeezing tighter. “Feel that?” Oh yeah, he felt it. She had him in a vice grip. Even if he wanted to pull out, he wasn’t sure he could. “I want you to feel as good as you make me feel,” she said, her voice a ragged whisper. “Feel as full and complete. Take what you need from me. Take everything.”

If he wasn’t seconds away from coming, Brock would have halted and pondered her words a bit more. But he couldn’t. At the moment, her words just spurred him on, drew him closer to the edge. That sweet, luscious heat surrounded him, the wild and sweet scent of her hair, her rocking body. He was a goner. He inhaled deeply, burying his face in her hair, found her earlobe, nipped it and let loose. Not a second later, Krista cried out in front of him, her body going rigid and her pussy pulsing around him as she leapt off the cliff. Brock grabbed her hand and intertwined their fingers at the peak of his release. She gripped him tight, her knuckles going white as she rode out her climax.

When they both returned from the bathroom, she snuggled up under the covers, having made sure the distribution of the duvet was closer to fifty-fifty, and then pressed her butt into the crook of his body and reached for his hand.

“What are you doing?” he asked. Sexy time was over. It was sleepy time now. What was her angle?

She yawned. “Cuddling.”

“Oh.”

“Have you never cuddled before?” Her fingers laced with his, just like he’d initiated earlier. Only before they were in the throes of passion, mid-orgasm and mush-brained. The only thing he’d been thinking of was how could he get more of himself inside and on the woman whose scent and touch had gotten so deep down under his skin he found it difficult to breathe when she wasn’t around.

Yeah, no, he wasn’t a goner at all …

She placed his palm against her chest, and her entire body relaxed into him.

“Hmm?” she hummed. “Never cuddled before there, Hart?”

Brock grunted as he shifted behind her, trying to figure out where to put his bottom arm. “Yeah … I guess. We spooned that first night and then when the furnace broke.”

“Exactly.” She snuggled deeper into his warmth. “Tell me about your other relationships. What were they?”

He shifted again, but instead of rolling away, he pulled her tighter. “A girlfriend in high school. A girlfriend while I was in the navy. That didn’t last long. She thought I was cheating when I would go away.”

“Were you?”

“No.”

“So what? You just pick up half-drunk girls in a bar who smell of cheap tequila and french fries? Buy them dinner and then fuck them silly?”

Brock grew quiet. How could he get out of this one unscathed? Yes, that was his MO. Though just because Krista was picked up and fucked just like any other woman he’d been with in the past eight or so years didn’t mean she wasn’t special. He hadn’t realized it, but his grip on her hand had tightened. He loosened it but didn’t let go.

“I don’t care, you know,” she said, breaking through the deafening silence that had fallen upon the room. His fault, of course. She’d asked him a question, and he’d yet to respond. She continued on, “I could have said no. And for the record, you’re not the first guy I’ve picked up in a bar either.”

“You were … are more than that. I told you I haven’t been with a lot of women, and although some have been picked up in a bar, you’re the only one I bought dinner or asked to move in with me.”

Her chuckle was raspy and dead fucking sexy.

He hoped that was the end of the third degree. He was tired and getting uncomfortable with her curiosity. Brock hated talking about himself, about his feelings and about his life in general.

“Tell me about your time in the navy,” she said with another yawn.

Oh fuck.

He let out a pained breath against her neck, allowing the scent of her hair to calm him.

It worked.

Kind of.

“I didn’t want to make a career of it, but I wanted to be a part of something. My dad had done a stint in the navy before deciding he wanted to be a cop instead, so I followed in his footsteps.”

“But you didn’t want to be a cop?”

“No. A retired naval officer buddy of mine recruited me to join his security and surveillance company instead. It’s more my thing, less politics.”

A snort rumbled her body. “That’s for sure. Politics up the wazoo. Mickey said you did some black ops stuff, too … ”

Brock grunted. Fucking Mickey. A pretty lady bats her lashes at him, and suddenly it’s as if he’s been vaccinated with a gramophone needle. Normally the guy was almost as tight-lipped as Brock. “He did, did he? That man has always been a sucker for a pretty face. Did he tell you his bank PIN, too?”

Krista giggled. “Mickey certainly is a talker.”

“Not normally,” Brock said blandly.

She hummed in response. “So, black ops?”

Damn it. He’d hoped she wouldn’t continue to pursue this vein of curiosity. Brock hated talking about his time with the Phoenix Fire Special Ops. Sure, he’d done a lot of good, took out a shit-ton of monsters, but those memories were not ones he wanted to relive—ever.

She squeezed his fingers, urging him on.

Fuck. He had to give her something. The woman was like a dog with a bone. “Yeah, all four of us have done special ops, or black ops.”

“What exactly do you do now with your security firm?”

Jesus, she was worse than Stewart’s granddaughter, Lily, with the constant questions. At least Lily had the attention span of a gnat and eventually got bored with him and moved on to someone more interesting. But no, not this woman. This woman was relentless.

He let out an exasperated sigh. “Anything and everything.” He’d almost been asleep, and happily so, then deep inside her, which had been great, but he was ready for that sleep thing again.

“Which is … ?”

“Surveillance, security. I’ve been a bodyguard or an escort for people who feel they are being threatened or in danger. I’ve installed and monitored security systems. We do a bit of PI work now and again as well, though that’s more Stewart’s gig, not mine.”

“And your brothers are in on this too?”

He grunted, hoping she’d get the hint he was done talking.

“So getting them to run intel on me was just another day at the office then, eh?”

“Mhmm.”

Come on, woman, take a hint.

She nodded, her hair tickling his nose and causing him to fight back a sneeze. “And what did you do … you know, besides surveillance and security. Did you go to school for anything?”

He rubbed his hand over his whiskers. “I also have a biology degree. Thought about medicine, but … well, I don’t have the people skills.” Her giggle stirred heat in his belly. “I like what I do, and I’m good at it.”

“Have you ever thought of starting your own company? The Harty Boys, and getting your brothers to come and work with you?”

He snorted, his eyelids incredibly heavy and fighting to stay open. “Maybe one day. Stewart’s a great boss. Wants to retire. So maybe.”

She spun around in his arms to face him. She cupped his cheek, brushing his lips with hers. “Thank you for sharing with me. I know that talking about yourself … well, talking in general doesn’t come easy for you. I really appreciate it. I like this side of you.”

More heat, and this time just a tad too much, ignited inside him. His face was warm, his body even more so, and an itch at the back of his neck told him to get the fuck out of there.

He was a lone wolf, a bachelor, and he liked it that way. Now here he’d gone and invited this woman into his home, who also just happened to be pregnant with his child, and she was sharing his bed. That was all fine. But now she was asking him to share. Share parts of himself, his history, his feelings and emotions that nobody knew about.

It was too much sharing.

Way too much sharing.

Even his family was kept on a need-to-know basis. It was just easier that way. He was the fixer. He was the one everyone went to for help, not the other way around. And if no one knew his business, then they never knew when he needed help or fixing—which was never.

Fear, and some other unsettling feeling he couldn’t quite pin down, clawed at the back of his head like a hangover headache that just wouldn’t go away. He wasn’t ready for this. Not fatherhood, not a roommate and definitely not telling a complete stranger all his secrets.

Swallowing past a hard lump in his throat that felt more like a piece of jagged glass and half a dozen razor blades, he ground his molars together and rolled away from her, staring up at the ceiling. “It’s late. Thanks for the fuck. Goodnight.” Then he rolled away from her completely and stared at the wall for what felt like hours.

Brock was down in the home gym when Krista woke up that morning. She could hear the subtle pounding of the punching bag and manly grunts coming up through the vents. It was probably for the better she didn’t see him. She needed time to pack.

After he’d shut down and turned away from her last night, she spent the better portion of what should have been sleep time mulling over their conversation. She mulled over their entire whirlwind, unconventional, accidental relationship.

But even after all that mulling, she came up with bupkis. What had caused him to do such a complete one-eighty all of sudden? What had she said? What had she done? One minute they were having a nice post-fuck cuddle, complete with pillow talk, and the next minute he was giving her the coldest shoulder in the history of cold shoulders, thanking her for the fuck and wishing her a goodnight, as if she were some hooker and not his roommate, bedmate and carrying his child.

All she could do was wonder what the heck she had gotten herself into. Who was the man she was about to have a baby with? Who was the man in her (his) bed?

He was sweet and kind and sensitive one minute, catering to her every need, including needs she didn’t even know she had. He’d painted and built a nursery, for crying out loud, and yet when she tried to find out who he was or thanked him for opening up, he put up mile-high fences around himself, shut down completely, and they were back to being strangers—sometimes for days.

She was tired of it. Tired of not knowing who she was living with or who she was going to “get” when she asked a simple question. Was she going to get sweet Brock, the Brock who called her his girlfriend and painted a nursery for their happy little accident, or the Brock who clammed up for no good reason and made her feel like she should pack up her clothes and head back to her pimp?

Hell, she didn’t even know when his birthday was. Was he a Gemini? Was she dealing with a split personality? She was done trying to figure it out. If he wasn’t going to open up, she was going to send him a big fat message to either open up or move on. She could do the single parent thing if she had to. She didn’t want to, especially not after discovering how nice it was living with someone again, but she could do it. Because if she was going to live with someone, she wanted to know that person. If she was going to raise a child with someone, she wanted to know his goddamn birthday and a few other things, too.

She’d had enough. She’d asked him time and time again to open up. To let her in and help her get to know the father of her child, and when he’d give an inch, seconds later he’d pull away and back up an entire mile. She hauled her big suitcase from the closet up onto her bed and opened her drawers.

This thing between them obviously wasn’t going to work. They were just too different.

Sure, they were both stubborn, strong-willed control freaks, but it wasn’t enough. She was bending for him. Relinquishing control. For him. For them. But Brock wasn’t bending at all. At least not enough.

Her bed was scattered with clothes, personal paraphernalia and a snoozing Penelope on a pile of summer skirts when his voice behind her made her jump.

“What are you doing?”

She ignored him. She could put up walls too.

“What are you doing?” he asked again.

She didn’t bother to turn around, but she felt him take a couple of steps forward. Heat from his big body radiated off him in waves, causing her to practically sway where she stood. He smelled faintly of sweat, but it wasn’t off-putting. She knew he was going to look goddamn irresistible all jacked up with ripped muscles and glistening sweat, so she resisted the urge to look at him.

He was beside her now, and his big hand fell to hers, halting her efforts of packing up a pair of jeans. “What. Are. You. Doing?”

She pulled her hand from his and resumed her task. “I’m packing.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m going home.”

He grabbed her hands again and tugged, forcing her to pull her gaze from her suitcase and finally take in his face. Confusion streaked across it. “This is your home.”

She shook her head. “I can’t live with someone I don’t know.”

“You know me.”

She shook her head again. Her throat burned and ached from how hard she was trying not to cry. Fucking hormones. “I don’t know you. I ask you about yourself all the time, but you only give me the bare minimum. I’m living with a closed book with glued pages. I can’t do it anymore.”

She pulled her hands from him and turned back to her suitcase. She folded up a shirt and placed it inside. He pulled it out and put it on the bed. She put in a sweater. He pulled it out, along with a pair of jeans, a tunic and three pairs of socks.

She let out an exasperated huff and turned to face him. “This isn’t funny.”

His face was stern. “I agree.”

“Then let me pack in peace, please.”

“You’re not leaving.”

Anger raced through her. She’d also had enough of the bossy fucker telling her what do to. She could bloody well leave if she wanted to. Her mouth pinched into a scowl, and she glowered at him. “Don’t you dare tell me what to do.”

He grabbed the suitcase and dumped everything onto the bed. “You’re not fucking leaving.”

Resisting the urge to haul off and deck him, she planted her hands on her hips. “I can’t figure you out! One minute you’re chatty and funny and sweet, and then the next minute, you’re throwing up walls and putting on a mask. I can’t do it. I can’t live and raise a baby with Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hides-his-Emotions.”

He swallowed.

“You need to talk to me.”

His eyes fell to his feet. “I’m trying.”

She shook her head. “Not hard enough, Hart. Because when I see that you’re trying and thank you for opening up, it’s like one step forward and ten steps back. The moment I acknowledge your efforts, you shut down and pull away. What the fuck?”

The muscle along his jaw jiggled as he ground his molars together. “You were right, you know.”

She let out a huff of impatience. “Not very often that I’m not, but go on.”

His lips twitched, but he didn’t smile. “What you said to me in the truck, on the way to your Christmas party. About me wanting people to think I’m big and scary. You were right.”

“Of course I was right. But you don’t scare me, you just irritate the crap out of me.”

A snort rumbled through his nose, and a smile threatened again but ultimately failed. “I’m a different person when I’m with you,” he started. “I don’t recognize myself.” He scratched the back of his neck, and his eyes finally met hers. “I’m happy when I’m around you.”

“And is that a bad thing?”

“It … it’s a strange thing. A foreign thing.”

She nodded slowly.

“But I’m also really confused.”

She shook her head, her own confusion beginning to build. “About what?”

His lips pursed in thought for a moment before he continued. “When you thank me for opening up or ask me who I am, it makes me question who I am. Because I don’t know which one is the real me. The man who can’t stop thinking about you or smiling at the thought of you, or the man who keeps the world at arm’s length because it’s just easier that way. You scare the hell out of me. I don’t know who I am anymore.”

Her heart lurched inside her chest. Well, if that wasn’t opening up, she didn’t know what was. Gently, she took a step forward, wanting desperately to touch him. “Which man do you like?”

“I like who I am when I’m with you.”

Holy crap.

“I like who I am when I’m with you, too.”

He took a hesitant step toward her. “But I don’t recognize myself or these emotions. I’m happy when I’m with you, but I’m also terrified. Terrified of something happening to you or the baby. Afraid of being a dad and that the kid is going to be as angry as I am. Afraid that something might happen to me and he or she will grow up without a dad like I had to. I’m used to living alone. Nobody knows or solves my problems but me. It’s worked for me all these years. I don’t know how to function any other way.”

She ate up the rest of the distance until nothing but the baby they’d made, on a cold and windy night, sat between them.

“Then be the you you like when you’re with me. And be the other guy with everyone else. Be who you want to be.”

His throat undulated. “I’m just worried that one day you’ll realize I’m just the angry guy and want nothing to do with me. Or one day, that’s who I’ll become all the time.”

She shook her head and rested her hand on his chest. “Tell me.”

He gripped her hand like a lifeline. “Tell you what?”

“Tell me why you’re so angry.”

Brock’s pupils dilated, but then he let out a heavy sigh and sat down on the bed, bringing her with him. “It started after my dad died. I was angry at the world. Angry that he was taken from me. From us. The drunk driver who hit us did a bit of time in prison, but not nearly enough. One night, when I was in my late teens, this was shortly after he’d been released from prison, I went to his house. I stood out front with a baseball bat in my hand and watched through his picture window as he played with his kids in his living room. I hated him. Still do. He took my father, and yet he still got to have a family, got to watch his kids grow up.” He looked up at her. “How is that fair?”

She squeezed his hand and inched closer to him on the bed. “It’s not.”

His mouth dipped down into a tight frown. “I wanted to kill him. Smash his head in with the bat. Take his life, just like he’d taken my dad’s.”

Krista’s breath hitched. “But you didn’t.”

He shook his head. “No, I didn’t. I couldn’t. Just like my brothers and me, his kids were innocent and didn’t deserve to grow up without their dad.”

Krista let out a ragged breath. She didn’t think he’d killed the guy, but the way Brock was holding on to her hand, turning her fingers blue, made her suspect he’d at least taken a swing at the guy.

“It wasn’t fair what happened to your dad,” she started. “Wasn’t fair at all. Not fair to your dad, to you, your mother or your brothers.”

“But life isn’t fair,” he said softly.

“It’s not.” She shook her head. Her heart hurt for him. He’d witnessed something so utterly horrific and been forced to grow up way too quickly because of it.

“I joined the Navy Reserves just like my dad, hoping to do some good in the world. And I did. But I also saw a lot of evil. Kids dying. Mothers and babies being ripped apart.

“It all just made me so mad. Mad that I couldn’t do more. Couldn’t prevent more people from getting hurt. More people from dying. I felt even more helpless than I did that night my dad died.”

She put her other hand on his thigh. “You were doing so much good. You can’t save everyone.”

He glanced up at her. “I know. But I saw too much. Didn’t save enough people. Too many people I’d grown close to, friends and civilians, died. So I retired and went to work for Stewart. Now I’m protecting people but on a smaller scale. I know sometimes those people are spoiled little rich girls, but when they’re with me, they’re safe. I can protect them. I can save them.”

“You’re doing a pretty great job of protecting me and this baby, too,” she said. “You can’t stack so much responsibility on your shoulders. You have me now. Stack some of that on my shoulders. I can take it.”

“Don’t move out … please.” That last word was barely a whisper.

“Then let me get to know you. I think I deserve that, considering you’ve uncovered all my secrets, either by asking me outright or snooping via your hacking brother.”

The smile finally beat up the eternal frown, and his face softened. “I don’t know everything about you.”

She lifted one lone eyebrow in protest. “No?”

He shook his head. “But I’d like to.”

Her fingers bunched in the fabric of his shirt. “I’d like to know everything about you, too. The good, the bad, the beautiful and the ugly. You don’t scare me, Hart, so stop pushing me away. Take down the walls, unglue the pages and let me in.”

His head bobbed. “I’ll try … harder.”

“Okay.” She brought his fingers to her lips. “Thank you for sharing with me. About your dad and your time in the navy. I know it wasn’t easy. Please, don’t keep me at arm’s length like everyone else. I want to be wrapped up in your arms instead, right next to your heart.”

His fingers untwined from hers, and he tucked a knuckle beneath her chin. “I’ll do whatever I can to keep you here.”

Her lips twisted playfully, and her heart beat wildly inside her chest. “Even unglue the pages?”

He tilted his head down and brushed his lips over hers. “Even unglue the pages.”

“The sooner we get all your stuff back to my—our—house, the sooner we can bang,” Brock said with a laugh as he plunked one final box of God only knows what into the trunk of Krista’s car.

Krista grinned at him. “Thank you for coming with me.”

“You going to go give your landlords notice?”

She shook her head. “Not yet. You say you’re going to try and open up, but I need to see it first.”

He glared at her over the hood of her car. She’d insisted they take her car, much to his chagrin. A power thing of course. But his truck was also getting the clutch replaced, so he was without a vehicle until the morning.

“Stare me down all you want, Hart. I’m not giving my notice until I know this is the real deal. And I don’t know that yet. I need to know who I’m having a baby with. Who I’m living with.”

He growled and muttered “stubborn woman” under his breath before opening the car door. He was driving. There was no argument there. “Get in, woman,” he barked before slamming his door.

She opened the door and swung herself into the seat. “Besides, Mr. and Mrs. Geller are like surrogate grandparents to me. I’d like to take some time next month to come by and properly clean the suite, maybe help them paint it, spruce it up a bit and then help them find a new, suitable tenant. The guy before me was a knob. Played loud music, smoked pot, had an ugly little dog that wasn’t properly house-trained and ate up part of the carpet. They were so happy when I applied, gave it to me on the spot. I can’t leave them high and dry with no money coming in without at least helping them find someone new.”

“Bloody bleeding heart,” he grumbled.

She grinned at him. “You like that about me.”

“I don’t know about that.” He pressed down on the brake and turned on the ignition. “Hmm … ”

“Hmm?”

“Brakes are a little mushy.”

She lifted an eyebrow at him, her face half confused and half scared. “Mushy?”

He threw the vehicle into gear and then abruptly tossed on the brakes again. It lurched but still stopped. They still felt off, but not nonexistent.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

“Have to get this looked at once my truck is back. Need new tires.”

She scoffed.

“You’re carrying my baby. If I had my way, you’d be driving a goddamn tank.”

They rode in silence for a while. Every so often Brock would glance over at her, sitting there quietly watching the snow fall out the window. It had grown dark as they were packing up inside her place, and by the time everything was loaded, night had fallen completely. Driving down the narrow back road that had been turned into one lane by the piled-up snow from the plow made Brock glad Krista was going to be done with this place. There were no streetlights anywhere, no curb, nothing. Nothing besides a rock bluff wall on one side and a big ravine into a dense wooded area on the other. To know his woman wasn’t going to be driving this death trap anymore eased his mind. He’d push her to wait until the spring to come back and clean. Maybe by that time she might be too pregnant and grumpy to want to.

“Fuck, I hate this hill,” Krista muttered, one hand falling to her belly and the other gripping the handle on the door.

Brock hated it too. It was steep as fuck and had a hairpin turn at the worst part of the slope. It’d frozen hard yesterday and was now a sheet of ice where the plow had missed.

He pressed his foot to the brake, but nothing happened.

They weren’t slowing down.

They weren’t stopping.

Holy fuck! They had no brakes.

The car began to rattle on the front right side.

Shit. The tire.

They hit a bump and suddenly the car dipped on Krista’s side, only slowing down slightly.

“W-what’s wrong?” Krista asked, her eyes going wide and her knuckles turning white on the door handle.

Brock slammed his foot down. “Brakes. We don’t have any brakes.”

“Don’t kid!”

“I’m not fucking kidding, Krista. We have no fucking brakes, and the tire is fucking loose.”

They were gaining speed now. The tread on her tires was shit, and they were slipping down the ice and at an alarming speed.

“What are we going to do?” Both hands fell to her stomach now.

Brock pulled the emergency brake, and the car hitched and made a disturbing clunk and grind sound but didn’t slow down much.

He gripped the steering wheel to keep them on the road. “Fuck!”

Panic flooded Krista’s face in the dark cab of the car. “What now?”

“Now? Now we crash.”

Brock knew that if they didn’t stop before the hairpin turn, the car might not make the turn at the speed they were going, and they’d go over the embankment. They needed to turn into the rock bluff and hope to God it slowed them down and stopped them without crushing them.

He geared down, steered into the wall and prayed.

The sound of metal on stone filled the silent winter night, only competing with the thunderous pounding of Brock’s heart as the car ripped down the hill, grating against the bluff. But it was slowing down.

Sparks and green paint chips flew from the front of Krista’s Tercel as it continued on down the hill, scraping against the bluff. There was a pile of snow bigger than her car coming up, and if they kept going, they were going to hit it. Brock only hoped the snowbank would be strong enough to sustain the impact of her vehicle and would stop them rather than just breaking apart and letting them keep going down the hill.

It was coming up. Forty feet, then thirty, then twenty. Brock held his breath. Ten feet …

Crunch.

Crash.

Smash.

Followed by what could only be described as a vehicle going oof, the airbags going whoosh, a hard punch to the chest. And then everything was still. Everything was quiet.

Brock felt the airbag slowly begin to deflate. “Krista?” He took inventory of his body. Nothing hurt too badly, his limbs all seemed to work and his neck didn’t ache … that much.

A groan next to him had him turning his head and unbuckling his seatbelt. “Brock?”

His driver’s side door had taken the majority of the impact—thankfully—but now he wasn’t sure he’d be able to open it.

“Brock?” she said again.

Fuck! The baby. Was the baby okay?

“I’m here. I’m here.”

Krista’s airbag slowly started to deflate, and she shifted in her seat to face him. “You okay?”

He let out a relieved sigh. “I’m fine. You? The baby?”

Her whole body began to shake. “I don’t know.”

Fuck.

Brock reached into his coat pocket for his phone, pulled it out and dialed Rex.

“Well, that was fucking scary,” Rex said, tipping his beer back as he sat on the couch in Brock’s living room later that night. Brock was right behind him and took up roost in his La-Z-Boy, followed by Chase who sat on the opposite end of Rex’s couch. Heath was out on a mission. They didn’t know where.

“Yeah,” Brock said with a nod, leaning back in his chair. His body ached, and he failed at keeping his groan of discomfort silent.

“You think someone cut her brakes?” Chase asked, sitting down on the opposite end of the couch from Rex, his green eyes, the same as Brock’s, looking far more serious than Brock would like.

Brock tipped his beer back and grunted. “I do,” he replied, wiping his mouth with the back of his wrist. “It’d been running perfectly fine just days ago. I meant to get her some better winter tires; the tread on them wasn’t great. But the thing had no brake fluid left, the lug nuts on the right front wheel were loosened and someone had punctured the tire.”

“Slade?” Rex asked.

Brock grunted. Who else would want Krista silenced? Only they had no way to prove it.

“I’ll see if I can pull up any traffic cam surveillance, see if he’s been out this way,” Chase offered.

Brock grunted again and nodded. He was just thankful that Krista was tucked safely in bed. They’d rushed her to the hospital, where both she and the baby had been thoroughly checked out. The impact of the airbag deploying had scared Brock shitless that something might have happened to the baby, but thankfully—sort of—poor Krista’s face had taken the majority of the impact and was bruised and banged up pretty good. So was his. But her belly and the little monkey inside were A-Okay.

“I’ll continue to keep an eye on Krista,” Rex added. “At least when she’s at work, we know she’s somewhat safe. There are too many other cops around, and now that she’s on light duty, she doesn’t have to be alone with him. We just have to watch her when she goes to work and when she leaves. And she can drive Heath’s truck until he gets back from his assignment.” Rex didn’t appear to be bothered that he was now the only one talking.

Chase nodded in acceptance and tipped up his beer.

Brock did the same but drained his. His mind wasn’t in the living room. It was in the bedroom, under the covers with his child and his or her mother. He belonged with them right now. It’s where he needed to be.

Pushing himself up to standing and not even bothering to look at either of his brothers, he walked into the kitchen, rinsed his beer bottle and placed it in the recycling. “I’m heading to bed.” And with that, he left Rex and Chase in his living room and headed down the hallway to his bedroom.

She was asleep.

Peacefully.

The hospital had given Krista Tylenol and Gravol to help with the pain and help her sleep. Her lashes fanned out across her purple mottled cheek, and her wild hair of fire looked as though someone had spread out copper threads on her pillowcase. She was stunning. Even battered and bruised, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on. And he’d nearly lost her tonight.

Emotion clung hard and thick in the back of his throat, like a glob of stubborn peanut butter that just wouldn’t go away.

He’d almost lost them.

Swallowing that lump, he quickly did what he needed to do in the bathroom before silently slipping into bed next to her. His side of the bed was cool, but he needed warmth. He needed Krista’s warmth. Inching slowly, carefully behind her, he turned onto his side and tucked in behind her, protecting her and their child the way he should have done earlier that night. He let his top arm fall over her body, and his hand fell to the soft swell of her belly, where their child slept soundly.

“You’re cuddling,” she murmured, still half asleep.

“Hmmm,” was all he managed. The words just weren’t there. Only fear and anger resided inside, and they were too big, too fierce to say out loud.

“We’re okay, you know.” Her fingers intertwined with his over her stomach. He held on tight.

Still he couldn’t say anything.

Krista craned her neck around to look at him. “We’re okay. Me, you, the baby. We’re fine.”

Brock gnashed his molars together until a dull ache ran up the side of his jaw. He liked the pain. The pain was good.

She cupped his cheek. “Do you hear me? We’re okay.”

In the darkness of the bedroom, staring down into the eyes of the mother of his child, he realized he wanted it all with her. Forever. But first he had a few things to take care of. There was a threat out there, and that threat needed to be neutralized.

“Brock?” Her face grew serious. “We’re okay.”

He swallowed down the razor blades and went nose to nose with the woman in his arms. “Not yet, but we will be.” Then he buried his face in her hair, pulled her more tightly into his body and willed them both to sleep. Tomorrow he’d figure out a way to take down the bad guy, but tonight he just wanted to hold his woman, yes, his woman, his child, and forget everything but how good it felt to have something, someone to hold on to.