Page 39 of Stolen Hearts

She shattered in his arms in a blinding rush that left her trembling and clinging to him. His release followed with a deep, broken sound, his body crashing against hers in a series of final thrusts.

For a long moment, they lay tangled, breathing hard.

Rhae’s head rested over his thundering heart. “I didn’t mean to drag you into my mess.”

“Our mess. What’s yours is mine now.”

They turned their heads at the same time to look at their precious little girl, fast asleep, unaware of the storm hovering over them.

They lay in the quiet, holding each other like survivors washed up on the shore.

And, for the first time in months…she didn’t feel alone.

* * * * *

Denver nearly dropped the wine trying to open the door without a sound. With his arms full of provisions, he backed into Rhae’s rooms. When he turned, she was already standing there.

Wearing his T-shirt.

Not the one he wore there this evening. One of his old shirts.

“I wondered what happened to that shirt.” He kept his voice pitched low so he didn’t wake Navy.

Rhae rushed forward to take the wine from him, and he shifted a box of stolen cupcakes to his empty hand.

“Where in the world did you get all this?”

His gaze landed on her toned legs, and he was rendered immobile as he watched her stride to the coffee table and set down the wine.

“Raided the bunkhouse.”

“The bunkhouse!” Her surprised whisper was just as good as the look on her face.

He grinned and quietly set everything down on the coffee table with the wine. “The guys are gonna think I’m pregnant when they see the array of things I looted from their stash.”

“Don’t even joke about pregnancy. And I wasn’t aware there were ranch hands living in the bunkhouse, let alone ones that drink wine.”

“I think the bottle was a gift.” He dropped to his knees and began pulling items out of the bags—cold leftover chicken from the fridge, a jar of homemade pickles, potato chips and the cupcakes.

Rhae knelt beside him and opened the box to reveal three cupcakes with blue frosting. She tilted her head. “B-K-E.” She read the icing letters on the tops. “What does that mean?”

He shrugged. “Beats me. I think they’re from somebody’s birthday.”

She dropped back to sit on her heels. “We can’t steal someone’s birthday cupcakes, Denver!”

“We can. I did.” He stuck his finger in the blue frosting and brought it to her lips.

Her eyes gleamed with desire as she parted her lips for a taste. The instant her tongue darted out and delicately licked his finger, he groaned.

She leaned over and brushed a kiss over his jaw. “This is a lot of food for a midnight snack.”

He wagged his brows at her. “We need the energy for what I have in mind.”

She giggled in a whisper. Their entire conversation had taken place in whispers, and it left him feeling like a teenager sneaking around their parents—except their “parent” was ninemonths old and drooled on everything. It was ridiculous. And it was perfect.

He waved a hand toward the food. She reached for a cold drumstick, and he got up to open the wine. Her gaze followed his every move.

The way she looked at him sent a hot wave through his stomach.