Page 60 of Sizzling Desire

Kane curses, then reaches past me to yank the batteries from the smoke detector, silencing the alarm. The sudden silence is deafening.

He exhales slowly, running a hand over his face before turning back to me. “You scared the shit out of me.”

I swallow hard. “I’m fine.”

“Fine?” His eyes darken. “Grace, you were about to burn the damn house down.”

Shame washes over me. I look away, guilt twisting inside me. But then Kane’s hands are cupping my face, tilting my chin up so I have no choice but to look at him.

“Don’t do that,” he murmurs.

I blink. “Do what?”

“Shut down. Shutmeout.”

I inhale shakily.

His gaze softens, just a fraction. “Talk to me, Gracie. I know something’s going on. I just need you totalkto me.”

My throat tightens. This is it. The moment. The conversation I’ve been dreading. Looking at him now, seeing the concern in his eyes, thefearfrom thinking I could have been hurt—I can’t keep this from him anymore.

I take a deep breath. “Kane,” I whisper. “I need to tell you something.”

His hands tighten around my face, his brows pulling together. “What is it?”

I place a hand over my stomach. My heart is a wild, frantic thing in my chest. His gaze flicks down, following the motion. And just like that… the words are on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t say them yet. Not with the panic still sitting heavy in my chest. Not with reality crashing into me all at once.

Kane watches me closely, his jaw tight, his patience hanging by a thread.

I take another breath. Then another. And finally,finally, I force myself to say it. “I’m pregnant.”

His whole body goes still.

Time stops.

And in that single, endless second, I know—nothing will ever be the same again.

Chapter 17

Kane

Grace's words slam into me like a wrecking ball, obliterating every thought in my head.

I’m pregnant.

For a long second, the world blurs out. The only thing I can see is her—standing in my kitchen, chest rising and falling rapidly, fingers curling around the hem of her shirt like she’s bracing for me to explode. But I don’t explode. I can’t.

Because my mind is still playing catch-up.

I stare at her, my pulse thundering in my ears. “Say that again.”

Her throat works as she swallows. “I’m pregnant.” Her voice is steadier this time, but I can see it—she’s bracing herself for my reaction. “From the first time we had sex. Not from this morning…obviously.”

My hands flex at my sides. My first instinct? To haul her against me, press my hand over her stomach, to claim this—her, the baby—asmine.

Instead, I say, “You’re sure?”

She doesn’t hesitate. She reaches into her back pocket and pulls out a small, folded piece of paper, then thrusts it toward me. I take it, unfolding it with careful hands.

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