Page 91 of Nothing to Fear

“My hero.”

“I will be.”

“How do we always end up here?” Her fingers combed through his hair. Wrapped in each other, admiring, basking, dreaming. “Our duties aren’t done yet, we still have to take the bed apart.”

“I know an excellent way to do that.”

“Mr. Breckenridge…”

“Less of the formalities with the father of your future children.”

Their mouths found each other, tilting to taste deeper. Both wanted to explore this, whatever it was between them. Was it smart? No. After spending the day with him, dealing with one apartment and another, they were a team. He didn’t take over, his consideration bolstered rather than stifled.

Turning her head, she broke the kiss. “We have furniture to dismantle.”

“I’ll do it in the morning.”

“You can’t do it alone.”

“Brothers, baby.” He kissed her cheekbone, the corner of her mouth. “Let me worry about the heavy lifting.”

“So I should just lay back and let it happen?”

“Couldn’t have said it better.”

As her muscles relaxed, her eyes closed. He really had the technique down, a gentle kiss, a caress, the brush of his tongue.

“Mmm, Darroch.” Her hips rose and his body pushed back, accepting the challenge. A fingertip tucked into her neckline, drawing it down, exposing sensitive flesh that he teased with his tongue. “Mm, you’re good at that.”

And that encouragement took the indulgent weight of his body from hers just long enough for him to rid her of the top completely. Her own fingers wandered beneath his tee-shirt as he cupped her jaw to join their mouths again.

Now it wasn’t enough. “Darroch,” she whispered again as his lips descended to her throat.

Gathering his tee-shirt at the back of his neck, she wanted rid of the fabric keeping their skin apart. They’d waited long enough. Hadn’t they? Couldn’t they—shit, she didn’t have Alice’s strength, any strength.

“Cherry…”

“Yes,” she said, yanking at his tee-shirt to get it over his head. “Did we pack the condoms?”

He kissed her quick. “Do we need one?”

Her phone rang, startling the moment. Clearing her throat, there was a good chance her voice might fail her.

“Don’t—”

“Hello?”

She didn’t know who she expected. Not reading the screen was probably a mistake, definitely a mistake, when his voice broke through.

“Sav?”

Coughing again, the hoarse quake in her throat scratched with lingering desire.

“Jeremy?” she asked, pushing Darroch aside to stand up. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I miss you.”

“No, you don’t,” she said, closing her eyes and covering them with a hand, blocking out the interruption, and his voice, at least she tried to. “Why are you calling?”

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