Page 79 of Tempting Kat
After a few more heaves, Kat's body finally stills, her breathing ragged but steadying. I keep holding her hair back, my other hand never stopping its soothing circles on her lower back.
“It's over,” she whispers, her voice raw.
Without a word, I slide my arms under her, one behind her knees and the other supporting her back, and lift her like she weighs nothing. She doesn't protest, just lets her head fall against my shoulder as I carry her to the bathroom counter and set her down gently.
“Stay,” I command softly, turning to wet a washcloth with cool water.
I press the cloth to her face, wiping away the remnants of her sickness, then the tears that followed. Her skin is clammy; her eyes glassy. Still so fucking beautiful.
“That was disgusting,” she mutters, avoiding my gaze. “Why did you stay?”
I set the washcloth aside and cup her face in my hands, forcing her to look at me. I press my forehead against hers, our breath mingling.
“That was something that happens,” I say firmly. “And I stayed and was here for you because I fucking love you. What kind of man would I be if I left you to throw up by yourself, when I can be here even if only to hold your hair?”
Her eyes widen slightly at my words, that vulnerability she tries so hard to hide peeking through.
She sighs, some of the tension leaving her body. “I'm mad your stupid sauce is bad, and I'm the only one that got sick. Why don't you ever get sick?”
I pause, studying her face. This is it. The moment of truth.
“I don't think this is the kind of sick I can get, baby.”
Her brow furrows in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
I take a deep breath, bracing myself for the explosion I know is coming. “Before you bite my head off—which you no doubt will do, and then I'll need to spank you for it—I think you should take a test.”
“What the fuck are you even talking about?” She tries to push me away, but I hold firm.
“A pregnancy test, Katarina.”
The color drains from her face, then rushes back in a hot flush. “You're out of your fucking mind.”
“Am I?” I challenge, my hands sliding to her waist. “The nausea, the fatigue, your tits getting fuller?—”
“Stop looking at my tits!” she snaps, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Never going to happen,” I reply, my lips quirking up. “But seriously, Katarina. Think about it. When was your last period?”
She opens her mouth to answer, then stops, her eyes widening as she mentally counts back.
“That's—that's impossible,” she stammers.
“Your body's telling you something, Katarina,” I say, my voice firm.
She shakes her head violently. “No. It's your sauce. Something in it made me sick.”
“There is nothing wrong with my sauce,” I say for what feels like the tenth time.
“It's the sauce,” she insists, her voice rising. “Not a fucking baby!”
I look at her flushed face, the way her hands are trembling slightly, and make a decision.
“Wait here,” I tell her, pressing a kiss to her forehead before she can dodge it.
“Where are you going?” she calls after me, but I'm already striding down the hallway.
In my office, I unlock the bottom drawer of my desk and pull out the small paper bag I stashed there weeks ago. I knew this moment would come eventually. I've been prepared for it since the day I switched her pills.
