The Road to Rose Bend, Naima Simone [jenna bush book club .TXT] 📗

bothered to analyze the emotion twisting his gut. Yes, he’d married her to provide protection, but it hadn’t been those arguments he’d presented a week ago at the forefront of his mind. No, he’d wanted her there. With him. Filling his space. Making him feel...normal.

But as he’d turned toward the bedroom door, the aroma of brewing coffee drifted toward him, alerting him that she hadn’t abandoned him as he’d done to her. Selfish relief had flowed through him then, as it did now.

“More active this morning, aren’t you?” she murmured.

Cole frowned, pausing just behind the wall that separated the living room from the kitchen. Was she on the phone? He didn’t want to interrupt, but no calls this early in the morning were good ones. Maybe she needed him...

He resumed moving forward, but then halted as she started talking again.

“You were probably feeling my emotions, and I’ve disturbed your sleep. In about four months, you’ll pay me back, won’t you?” She chuckled, and it hit Cole that she wasn’t on the phone; Sydney was having a one-sided conversation with her baby.

On silent feet, he carefully eased around the wall, pausing at the edge of the breakfast bar. Clad in another sleep set, this time an emerald green tank and ass-hugging shorts, she stood at the counter next to the coffee machine, her back to him.

The soft joy as well as the thread of sadness in her voice held him transfixed. If he possessed the barest of manners, he would announce himself with a cough or retrace his steps and let his heavy footsteps declare his presence. But he did neither. He remained there, eavesdropping. And drinking her in.

“I’m sorry, jellybean. But I promise you this. Every time you wake up, I’ll be there. Every time you cry, I’ll hold you, do everything in my power to fix what’s wrong.” She shifted to the side, and he caught her hand gently rubbing the small bump. She bowed her head, speaking directly to her stomach, and in spite of the heartbreak in her words, he smiled. “You’ll never be alone in this world. Not as long as I have breath in my body. I promise to tell you every day how much I love you. You’ll never doubt it. And not just because of what you can do for me or if you make me proud. No, I’ll always be proud because you’re you. There aren’t any conditions attached to my love. If there’s one thing you will always be able to count on, it’s that.”

Cole closed his eyes, his fingers curling into a fist at his side. To avoid punching the nearest wall? Or to prevent himself from reaching out for her? He didn’t know. It was a toss-up.

It didn’t require Sherlock Holmes–level skills to deduce what she referred to. Her parents. Her ex-husband. Didn’t matter if it was true or not, Sydney believed their love for her was conditional.

How could she not see the selfless, brave heart that rendered her priceless? The beauty that tied tongues? The kindness that a blind man could see? And last night he had trampled all over that heart, humbled that strength and probably dented that pride.

Forgive me, wavered on his tongue. But he didn’t utter it. Placing the onus of his bad behavior on her wasn’t worthy of either of them.

“Morning,” he murmured, making his presence known. She spun around on a gasp, coffee spilling over the rim of the cup, splashing on the hand that hadn’t been cradling her belly. “Shit,” he hissed, rushing forward and nabbing the cup from her, placing it behind them on the counter. Cradling her hand and circling her wrist, he tugged her over to the sink and twisted the cold-water faucet. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” he muttered, easing her hand under the rushing water. She flinched at the first contact, but didn’t pull away from him. He swept a thumb over the reddened area. “I’m sorry.”

She stiffened against him and, using her uninjured hand, switched off the water.

“I’m fine. It barely stings.” Sydney moved as if to ease away, but he shifted forward, his continued hold on her hand and his chest against her back trapping her in place.

Closing his eyes, he lowered his head, pressed his cheek to her mass of curls. Inhaled the chocolate and citrus scent that had become an obsession for him. If possible, she went even more rigid, her spine ramrod straight and unyielding.

Lips grazing the slightly pointed top of her ear, he whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“I heard you,” she said, tone as cold as the water that had just doused her hand. “Can you let me loose now? I need to dry my hand.”

For a second, he remained standing behind her, crowding her. But then, he did as she requested, and leaned a hip against the counter’s edge as she crossed the kitchen. She grabbed a dish towel and dabbed her skin, not glancing at him once.

“I’m going to head back to my cottage to make sure I didn’t leave anything. And I’ll probably stay over there to work on the grant for a while.”

“You’re leaving.” Though he’d calmly uttered the statement, inside he felt anything but. Panic, not unlike what had chased him out of the house the night before, raced through him. The primal, instinctive core of him roared not to let her walk out the door. Not to let her walk away from him.

God, he was such a hypocrite.

“No,” she said, setting down the towel but still not looking at him. “I think we just need some space.”

“And if I say I don’t want or need space?”

That brought her spinning around, hands clutching the counter at her hips. He forced himself to keep his gaze on her beautiful but furious face and not dip to the breasts he’d bared and kissed just a week ago. But, goddamn, it was a battle. Her body called to him like the loveliest but deadliest siren’s song. Even as he wanted