Page 15 of Finding Alexei
When his eyes meet mine, I scold him. “I told you not to look!” Ella does little to shield my body from him. Traitor.
He smirks, looking even more handsome, if that’s possible. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.”
Damn, why’d he have to bring that up when I’m already mortified? I tried to purposefully block that from my memory. I was just so mad he’d showed up at my place of work, barging in and acting like a possessive boyfriend when he doesn’t really know me at all. If he did, he’d know how much I value my independence, how important it is for me to take care of myself. Ever since my parents passed, it’s like I have a huge chip on my shoulder, and I need to prove to everyone how much I’ve got it together . . . even when I’m falling apart.
Alexei grabs a fluffy white towel from the cabinet and reaches for Ella as I hold her up. He wraps her securely so only her tiny face is peeking out, like he’s done this exact thing a million times before.
My God, I don’t know what’s more adorable . . . Ella all bundled up in that warm towel with only her eyes showing, or the huge masculine man who’s holding her and saying silly things to her as he tries to get her dried off. And I thought that smirk was sexy. A gorgeous man holding and caring for a baby is about the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
“I didn’t think about the fact that I couldn’t wash myself while I was holding her,” I say, shifting beneath the water.
He nods, still grinning at me. God, that grin is lethal. It makes my belly tighten and flip, and my insides feel like mush.
“I figured. And she probably peed on you as soon as she hit the bathwater, maybe even a time or two.”
“Ew. Gross. Okay, I’m definitely showering.” I pull the drain on the tub with my big toe as Alexei turns his back, finally giving me some privacy.
“Take your time. I’ve got her.”
I think those are the best six words I’ve ever heard. I also think if he were to say them to me again, I would melt in a puddle and flow right down the drain, along with the bathwater.
He leaves me alone to take a shower, and I find myself repeating those words in my head over and over.
When I emerge from the shower and trudge to the room I slept in last night, I find an array of shopping bags on the bed. I close the door and then peek inside each one.
There are three pairs of basic white cotton panties, a matching bra, warm fuzzy socks, T-shirts, a couple of pairs of boxers like the ones I like to sleep in, plus leggings and sweatshirts. Miraculously, everything is in my size. The man is nothing if not observant.
Still cold from standing out in the rain, I select the leggings and a soft gray sweatshirt, and get dressed, adding the socks at the end. I look down and wiggle my toes. Suddenly, I feel a bit like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman.
It feels so strange to be standing here in his guest room, to be cared for in this way by a man I hardly know. I know this is him being a generous person, but why do I feel like this could easily transform from the friend zone to something more sinful?
I brush my hair with the comb from my purse, and then head out to the living room to find Alexei and Ella on the couch. He’s already diapered her, and is cutting the tags off a pink-yellow-and-white-striped pajama onesie with little ducks on the feet.
Oh my God, he’s combed her hair. I almost orgasm on the spot. It’s parted on the side and combed neatly into place. My ovaries could compete on one of those dancing-competition shows with how active they’ve been today.
“This is all way too much, Alexei,” I say, joining him in the living room.
“It’s nothing, Ryleigh. I promise. Besides, she’s a girl and needs to be worshipped like all girls do.”
My throat feels tight when I swallow. Why am I reading between the lines with what he just told me? A couple hundred dollars in clothes and diapers and formula is nothing to him. But to us? It’s everything.
Suddenly, I want to show him my gratitude, want to kiss him senseless and thank him in every single way I know how. Maybe even invent a few new ones. Instead, I rise to my feet and head into the kitchen. I need to put some distance between us before I do something I’ll regret.
“I know how to cook more than breakfast food,” I tell him. “Should I find something to make us for dinner?”
