Liam

I have never in my life put angry hands on a woman. I vowed I would never be driven to the point of violence after watching my father beat my mother. If there ever were a person who could make me break that promise, it is Amira. I came close yesterday and I never want to feel that kind of anger again.

I keep racking my brain trying to figure out if that baby could be mine. I said it couldn’t, but after thinking about it, I was home early this year and we did ‘run into each other’ once. I wish I knew exactly how pregnant she is so I could do the math, but I threw her out so fast that I didn’t get a chance to ask.

How in the hell is this going to play out if they’re both having my baby? This is a fucking publicity horror flick, and I’m the stupid bimbo walking through the house asking, ‘is anybody home?’ in the dark. I should have never slept with Amira without protection. I should have never slept with Amira at all. I’m never getting her to sign the divorce papers now. I’m so fucked. Two babies. I could potentially be fathering three kids in a matter of a few months. Amira has to be in her third trimester. She’s huge. Lourdes is in her second, and we have Toby, who I already love like a son.

After I slipped out of bed earlier, I called Lourdes’s mom, Tara, and asked her to keep Toby overnight. It’s three a.m. and she’s still fast asleep when I bring her something to eat.

“Hey there, LK,” I say, pulling the comforter away from her face. “Do you want some soup?”

She mumbles and her eyes flutter open.

“Hi.”

“Hi, did you say soup?” she asks.

“Yeah, and I brought peanut butter too.”

Now her eyes are open. She’s even sitting up. Peanut butter has been the magic bullet since day one. I think she could live on it the entire pregnancy.

I sit down next to her and place a tray over her lap. When she sits up, the comforter inadvertently pools around her waist, exposing her breasts to the cool air of the bedroom. I’ve never known Lourdes to be self-conscious about her body, but she quickly pulls the comforter up, covering herself.

She notices me watching her, so I ask, “Why did you cover up?”

Her eyes dart away from me. I reach out and take her chin between my finger and my thumb to turn her back. I tilt my head to the side and narrow my eyes.

“Babe, what’s going on?” I ask.

She shakes her head back and forth minutely. “I don’t know. It’s just that everything that’s happening is making me a little self-conscious.”

“Self-conscious about what? You’re more beautiful than the day I met you.”

She tightens her grip on the comforter with one hand and fiddles with her necklace with the other. “Did you see Amira? She’s the poster woman for a healthy pregnancy, Liam. And I’m . . . well, I’m the poster woman for pregnant women with cancer.”

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

“You can’t even compare the two of you. It’s not fair. You’re so honest and kind and approachable, and your body is banging, babe. Hate to tell ya, but she doesn’t have a thing on you. I love your soft curves and your sweet candy apple ass, your smooth, toffee skin and your perky, perfect breasts,” I say, reaching under the comforter to caress her breast and roll her nipple between my fingers.

Her eyes darken with desire, and I almost feel guilty for turning her on when she’s not supposed to have sex for a few days after her chemo . . . almost.

“And did I ever tell you that you have the most intoxicating scent? Even when you’ve just bathed and there is nothing on your skin, you smell like cinnamon and the faintest hint of coffee.”

“I do? I never noticed that.”

“There are a lot of things you don’t notice. That’s why you have me, to appreciate all the finest details of your body and mind. Now here, eat,” I say, placing the tray of homemade chicken noodle soup and single-serve containers of peanut butter in front of her.

“Okay, but we have a lot to talk about when I’m done.” She waves her spoon in a circle at me.

“I agree. Let’s wait until morning though.”

“It is morning.”

“Let’s wait until the sun comes up then.”

“You’re procrastinating,” she says, looking at me over her spoon while she sucks the noodles from it. Why is everything she does so fucking erotic? She’s eating soup, for fuck’s sake, and I’m as hard as a rock watching her do it.

“I’m not procrastinating. I’m distracted.”

“By me?” She lays her hand over her chest, which is unfortunately still covered by the heavy comforter, and bats her eyelashes innocently.

I look down to where my cock is straining against my gym shorts and back to her. “Yes, as a matter of fact, by you.”

“I think you have a problem, Mr. Wild.”

“I’d like to make it your problem.”

“Liam!”

“I’m kidding. Eat your soup and peanut butter. I need a shower.”

“Think of me,” she says as I walk away.

“Always, LK. Always.”