Page 42 of I'll Keep Her Safe

Jeez, okay.

“You’re right. Sorry. That’s not the deal.”

“No—” He chuffs a laugh, stepping closer. “I mean, no way are you paying. Takeout is fine with me. What do you feel like?”

A relieved laugh slips from me. “Um…” What do I feel like? Honestly, I’m craving carbs and cheese, but I hesitate to say this. Kurt always used to make me feel shitty for treating myself. Then I realize he’s not here. And if Wyatt has an issue with me eating comfort food, then too damn bad.

“Pizza,” I say at last, flopping back onto the sofa and stretching out my legs. “Extra cheese.”

“Sounds good.” He grins, pulling his phone from his pocket. My uterus gives an almighty spasm of pain and I grip my stomach, wincing. Wyatt notices and crosses the room, his face lined with concern. “What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing,” I mutter, my cheeks hot.

“It’s not nothing.” He lowers himself onto the coffee table in front of me, and I get a flashback to when he came home with his sore back and refused to admit it to me. How frustrating that was. I decide to be straight with him.

“I have cramps,” I mumble, watching Sugar sharpen her claws on her scratching post in the corner.

“Oh. Right.” He rises from the coffee table, does something on his phone, then disappears upstairs.

I frown. Well, it didn’t take much to scare him off, did it?

But a moment later he reappears, holding out the heating pad. “Here.”

I hesitate. “What about your back?”

“It’s fine now. I should have given this back to you days ago.”

I take it gratefully and groan with relief as I slide it under my shirt and onto my sore belly. “I’ll go to my room and get out of your hair. I’m useless when I’m like this.”

“No, stay.” There’s a softness to his expression that’s completely at odds with his looks; the dark cut of his beard across his cheek, the strain of his shirt across his biceps, the map of tattoos down his arms. That’s Wyatt. He looks hard on the outside, but he’s soft in the center. “Let me take care of you.”

Oof. I could get used to hearing those words from him.

Best I don’t.

I smile faintly, waving him away. “You don’t have to—”

“Remember last weekend? I wouldn’t have survived without you.” He shakes his head, as if mentally debating something with himself, before adding, “It’s the least I can do, Poppy.”

Oh, God. He’s being way too sweet. I don’t know if I can handle more of this side of him.

“Are you sure this is how you want to spend your Friday night?”

“I’m sure,” he says firmly, as if telling me not to argue any further.

It’s the fatherly side to him, I realize. Now that I know the truth about him and Bailey, what he gave up for her, I can see all the ways he would have been a good dad. And that’s what he’s doing with me now—what he’d do if Bailey was here, in pain. He probably misses her, and helping me is the next closest thing.

It’s perfectly innocent, I tell myself.

“Here, let me…” I try to wriggle out of the way so he can sit on the sofa, but he stops me.

“Don’t move.” He lifts my legs and settles in at the end of the sofa, pulling my feet onto his lap. And even though I just got through telling myself he probably thinks of me as a substitute daughter, all I can think about is how my feet are mere inches from his dick.

Jesus Christ. I need to get my head checked.

A sharp spasm in my abdomen makes any inappropriate thoughts vanish. It’s amazing, I’ve wanted nothing more than for him to touch me for weeks, but I swear if he tries anything right now, I’m in so much agony I’d probably punch him.

Not that he would, of course. I’m the one reading way too much into this moment.

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