“Couldn’t study?”

“No. Too worried about . . .”

He runs his hand through his hair and just like that, my train of thought vanishes. I imagine for a second running my own fingers it, and grabbing on to it while he reacquaints himself with a part of my anatomy that misses him terribly. Because though his hair is still short, it’s now long enough to make my dream a reality.

He stares down at me. “Passing the test?” His eyes leave my face and roam further down my body. Ummm . . . yeah. I cringe because I look like a slob. My hair’s in a messy bun and my not-so-nice tank top and sleep shorts are pretty worn out. Also, as I was pulling the bucket out of the sink after I filled it, the lip of it caught on the faucet spout, and spilled down my front, instantly making me smell like a forest of pine trees.

I look up in time to see Mav rub his hand over his mouth. I’m not sure I hear him right, but he angrily growls something like, “Christ Almighty, do you have to wear that shit?” and then turns away. He leaves the kitchen like his pants are on fire and the next thing I know he’s flying up the stairs.

Really?

Heat crawls up my neck. I throw the rag I was using into the bucket and decide to follow him. Will isn’t home and it’s as perfect a time as any to figure out what in the freaking hell is going on with him. As I climb the stairs, I do my best to muster up the courage I’ll need. But he’s not in his room or mine. Then I hear the shower turn on. Taking a deep breath, I grab the knob, open the door, and walk in.

“Em?” he calls out.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

He clears his throat and asks, “What’s up, baby? What do ya need?”

I cross my arms, tap my foot nervously, and chew on my lip. Where do I start?

“Is me being here a problem for you?”

He lets out an amused chuckle. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“Do you want me to go?”

“You don’t have to.”

Jesus, how long has he wanted me gone? From the first month, the first week? He said he loved me that night at the hospital, but maybe he’s changed his mind because he hasn’t said it since. Maybe seeing me at my worst made him realize I’m not who he thought I was.

“But you don’t want me to stay?”

There’s a long pause and then he finally says hoarsely, “You can stay. I’m definitely not going to make you leave.”

“God, Mav. Why don’t you just make up your goddamn mind one way or another? How can you still be so hot and cold after everything we’ve . . . You know what, never mind. Just tell me if you want me to go.”

Mav slides the curtain open a bit. He sweeps his hand through his inky wet hair, and then slides his palm down his face, getting rid of the droplets there. It’s all too easy to imagine what the rest of him, tattooed and dripping wet, looks like. It feels like forever, and not months, since I’ve been able to view fully the mouthwatering masterpiece that is his naked body. And I’m sure with all the new muscle, he is truly a thing of beauty.

He cocks an eyebrow and my brain begins to stutter. “Wait, what exactly are we talkin’ about?”

The man has my panties wet, my core throbbing, and at the same time, he’s trying to let me down easy.

When I think about how much he’s been gone, and how many showers he’s been taking lately, it hits me what a fool I’ve been. This whole time I’ve been falling more for him every day. I’m not just head over heels in love with him—I’m practically obsessed. I steal glances at him whenever I can. I daydream about sex with him half the time when I’m supposed to be studying. I can’t watch him cook without staring at his back and butt and licking my lips like a creepo. I find myself constantly replaying in my head every time we touched and kissed. Fantasize about all the times we had sex, and the one and only time—that at least I remember—where he went down on me. I lay awake half the night listening to him breathe, wondering if I should just turn around already and wake him up by trailing kisses down his chest and abdomen because I so badly want to do that thing to him that I’ve always wanted to do.

I feel like an idiot now. Here I was watching him with Will and thinking all kinds of crazy thoughts about one day wearing a white dress, and looking down at my swollen belly, and holding a little boy in my arms with black hair and golden eyes.

I spin around, grab the first thing I can from the counter, then whirl back and hurl it at him. The can hits the curtain and drops to the floor. So I grab another. His shaving cream. “Just come out and say it! You don’t want us here. You’ve changed your mind. You’re fucking whores at the club because you’re not attracted to me anymore.”

“Are you fuckin’ kidding me right now?” he growls harshly and throws the curtain open.

Yep, he looks exactly like I pictured. Sexy enough to ride all day long and way on through tomorrow.”

He grabs his very hard, very red, angry erection. “Does this look like it’s bein’ taken care of? Or that it’s not turned on by you? Fuck, Doll, all you have to do is say one word. One goddamn word and I’m hard. Or give me a look. Or say my name. I’m hard for you so often that jackin’ off, like I was just about to do, doesn’t even help anymore. It’s like this fuckin’ constantly.”

He yanks a towel from the bar on the wall, steps out, and wraps it around his waist. It doesn’t hide his big problem though. Nope. Not at all.

“Is that why you’ve been going to the club? To have one of the clubpieces—”

“Christ! Is that what you’ve been so worried about? I thought you were—” he motions to my shirt—“and that you didn’t want to tell me.”

I look down. “What?”

“Doll, you couldn’t eat the pasta you ordered at the restaurant we went to the other night because you said it smelled funny, and your boobs are . . .” He gestures to me again.

“What?” I examine my boobs. “Bigger?” I’ve put on about ten pounds over the last few months and it seems it’s almost all going to one place.

“Yes.”

“And that’s a problem?” I eye him like he’s been body-snatched by aliens.

“No. Fuck, no.”

“Then what is?”

He steps forward in all his glory and grips both of my elbows. “Doll, are you pregnant or not?”

The question hits me like a freight train that’s packing a million tons of cargo. “What? No. Ahh . . . I don’t know. I . . . my period’s been weird. Funky since I was shot. The doctor said it would be.”

“Yeah, but . . .” I slap at his hands when he lets go of my elbows and cups my breasts, one in each of his hands because holy shit my stomach just went all aflutter, and my thighs tighten to ward of the ache building between my legs. “They’re bigger and they look really nice.”

I move his hands out of the way and test their size myself. “But they do that when I gain weight too.”

“Fuck, Doll. This is exactly what I’m talkin’ about. You do shit like this. Little shit that you don’t think about, and all of it turns me on. Makes me hard, and it’s drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy.”

“Like what?”

“Whisperin’ goodnight. Reachin’ for a glass and your shirt rides up. Bendin’ over right in front of me. And do you realize you chew on your pencil when you study?” He’s glaring at me like I’m doing this all on purpose. “This is why I can’t be home. Because this happens. And I can’t very well walk around the house like this. He unknots his towel and his hand circles his cock. “This is torture.”

I roll my bottom lip under my teeth to fight off the smile I feel bubbling up. “It looks angry.”

“It is angry.” He grips it hard and slides his hand up to the tip. Precum leaks from the head and spills over the side. “I’ve been trying not to put pressure on you, to give you time and space to get over what happened. And I sure as fuck don’t want Will seein’ me like this. But the truth is, yeah . . . it’s killing me. Painfully and slowly.”

He puts his finger over my lips when I open my mouth. “No, I’ve haven’t been with anyone else. I told you. You’re the only woman I want touchin’ me. That hasn’t changed. Won’t ever change.”