Page 61 of Sizzling Desire

The black-and-white image stares back at me.

I don’t know a damn thing about ultrasounds, but I know what I’m looking at. A tiny form, barely distinguishable, but there. Real.Ours.

Something deep inside me shifts. Not fear, not hesitation, but somethingcertain.

Grace crosses her arms, watching me, and for the first time since she spoke, I notice how pale she is. How exhausted. The stubborn line of her jaw, the way her shoulders hunch in on themselves.

I should say something. Do something.

She exhales, rubbing her temples. “I have to take a shower,” she mutters. “I’ve got vomit in my hair.”

I blink, lifting my gaze from the picture.Thatwas not what I expected her to say next.

She turns, already moving toward the stairs, but I catch her wrist. “Grace.”

She tenses but doesn’t pull away.

I take a breath, the scent of her filling my lungs—smoke from the almost-fire, a hint of something floral beneath it, andher.Always her.

“We’re not done talking about this,” I say, voice rough.

A wry chuckle leaves her lips. “Yeah, I figured.”

Her hand slips from mine, and she walks away, leaving me standing there, gripping an ultrasound picture with white-knuckled fingers, trying to process how my entire life just changed in an instant.

I don't know how long I stand in the kitchen, staring at the tiny, grainy image in my hand.

Long enough to hear the shower turn on upstairs.

Long enough to realize thatnothingI had planned for my life matters anymore.

Becausethis—this little shape on the ultrasound—is the only thing that matters now.

I let out a slow breath and press my fingers against my eyes.Shit.

I’ve fought fires that burned so hot they turned steel into molten liquid. I’ve walked through buildings where the smoke was so thick, the only way out was by memory alone. I’ve seen people take their last breaths in my arms; felt the way life can justslipaway in an instant.

None of that compares to this. To what I feel looking at this damn picture.

I drag my hand down my face and force myself to move.

Because the woman upstairs—the one who just turned my world inside out—she's waiting for me to figure out where we go from here.

And I’ll be damned if I let her walk through this alone.

I take the stairs two at a time, moving with purpose, my blood humming with an unfamiliar mix of shock, excitement, and something deeper. Something permanent.

The door to the guest suite bathroom is slightly ajar, steam curling out into the hall, thick and heavy with the scent of vanilla and something distinctlyher.

I step inside without knocking, without thinking, because she’s mine, and if she’s in pain, if she needs me—I need to fix it.

Through the glass of the shower, I see her, her back to me, her hands pressed against the tile as water cascades down her body. Her shoulders shake, and it takes me all of half a second to realize—she’s crying.

My chest clenches tight, my gut twisting.

I don’t hesitate.

I strip out of my clothes, kick them aside, and step into the shower, the hot water hitting me like a punch to the back.

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