Page 29 of Darla's Christmas Knight
He frequently used “love” as a term of affection. But she hadn’t heard “darling” since … well, years ago. Did he mean it?Wasshe his darling? Could shetrusthim with her heart again?
Desire, emotions,fearsgot the better of her.
And she crumbled. Just crumbled.
Her eyes prickled, and her throat thickened. “I don’t want to lose you,” she admitted, bursting into tears.
And for the second night in a row, she found herself in Bobby’s embrace, crying.
Gah.
She was so weak, turning into a veritable waterpot overnight.
And thatBobbycomforted her while shecried over himwas just plain wrong!
“You’re not going to lose me, love,” he murmured.
She managed to pull herself together, utterly spent. Accepting the tissue he held out, she blew her nose and mopped as much of her face with a second tissue.
Bobby maneuvered her closer to the kitchen sink, dampened a dishcloth, and wrung out the excess water. “Let me help,” he murmured and proceeded to wipe her face with infinite care.
Damn it all. Why was he so freaking calm andnice? The cool cotton soothed her puffy skin and ravaged emotions. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, discarding the cloth in the sink.
Expecting him to interrogate her outburst, she looked on in surprise as he reached for the takeout bag and placed one carton of food after the other on the counter. Her stomach rumbled.
Bobby gave her a side-eye. “Hungry?’
She welcomed the distraction. “Starved.”
He pushed a carton her way. “Kung pao chicken.”
And she wasted no time digging in, relieved he wasn’t asking about her outburst.
But halfway through her meal, the relief morphed into pique.
He didn’t care.
And why should he care? He signed up to impregnate me. And then co-parent with me. Not to deal with my insecurities.
She stabbed at a piece of chicken, tipping the carton onto its side, spilling the contents. “Dammit.”
9
Enough was enough. Bobby grabbed her hand. “Tell me what’s eating at you, Darla?” He had an inkling, and wished she would just spit it out.
But she pulled her hand away and glared at him. “Nothing.”
“Don’t lie, Darla.”
The look she gave him? Dagger sharp. At least the misery was gone. He’d take combative Darla over sad Darla any day. He turned his stool, placing one booted foot on the bottom rung of her chair, and gentled his tone. “Talk to me, love.”
She placed her forearms on the table and huffed at her food. “You’re so annoying.”
“Hmm.”
Another huge sigh escaped her. He took hold of her shoulders and turned her to face him, boxing her legs in with his. Darla lowered her eyes and mumbled something about him being a pain in the ass. She tried turning back to the counter.
