He jerked away and took a step back, running his hand through his hair in agitation. “Goddamn it, Sophie. What you do to me.”
Her lips pursed and she stared at him, hoping he’d shrivel under the force of her glare.
“I didn’t make you kiss me. You wanted me every bit as much as I wanted you. Don’t make excuses. Shut up and take responsibility.”
He lifted one eyebrow and then his gaze smoldered. He took a step forward, and she instinctively backed away.
His hands smoothed up her shoulders, carefully skimming over her bandaged arm, until he cupped her face in his palms.
“You’re absolutely right,” he murmured. “I’ll own up to the fact that right now I want to make love to you more than I want anything else. It’s stupid. Insane, even, but there you have it. For now I’ll take responsibility for the fact that I’m going to kiss you again.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat just as his lips descended again. She melted into his arms, giving herself fully to his embrace.
A low moan rose from her throat, swelling painfully before it rushed into his mouth. She wanted to touch him, to hold him against her, to know that nothing bad would ever happen to her while she was in his arms.
“Tell me we can’t make love, Soph,” he murmured against her lips. The pet name he’d used so many times when he was on top of her, inside her, beside her or wrapped around her, sounded so sweet to her ears. She was starved for him. “There’s too much unresolved between us. We shouldn’t—we can’t—make love.”
She sighed unhappily and stared up at him as his thumbs caressed the corners of her mouth. Her face was still tenderly cupped in his hands, and she didn’t want to break that connection for any reason.
“Why can’t we?” she whispered. “I’ve missed you so much, Sam. I’ve stayed awake so many nights aching for you to hold me again, to kiss me and make love to me like you did before.”
He closed his eyes and leaned in until his forehead rested against hers. “You’re hurt. This is crazy.”
She tilted back just enough that she could brush her lips over his. “I’m okay, Sam. I need you. Please say you’ve thought about me even just once.”
“Shit, Sophie.”
He sounded angry. He pulled away, his expression grim. “I’ve thought about you. I’ve thought about you a hell of a lot more than once. I wish I hadn’t. But goddamn it, you disappeared. I came back for you and you were gone.”
Pain—worse than the knife—sliced through her chest. Would things have been different if she had been there when he came back? Not that it had even been possible. She’d made choices—not difficult choices—but she’d made them, and now she had to live with the consequences.
“I’ve thought about you too,” she whispered. “All the time.”
She turned away and closed her eyes as helplessness fell over her. Regret knotted her throat into a tight channel. She squeezed air painfully past it until pain was all she could assimilate.
A knock sounded at the hotel door. Sam touched her shoulder then leaned down to retrieve her fallen clothes.
“Go into the bathroom and get dressed. I’ll get the food.”
She reached for the clothes without looking at him. Then she retreated into the bathroom and closed the door. She leaned against the old wood, hating herself for the silent tears streaking down her cheeks.
She couldn’t go back. She wouldn’t if she could. What was done was done, and the price she’d paid was high. Maybe too high.
Wiping at her face with the back of her arm, she dropped the towel and sorted through the bundle of stuff Sam had given her. There were panties and a bra in the correct size. This time she snapped the clips on the bra and just pulled it over her head the best she could.
A few minutes later, clean and attired in better fitting clothes, she took a deep breath and went back into the room.
The smell of food wafted through her nostrils and her mouth watered. There was an array of food spread out over the bed. A steaming pizza, two salads, a tray of cold cuts and cartons of Chinese takeout.
She stood at the side of the bed, not knowing where to start first.
“Dig in,” Sam said.
He took a seat on the edge of the bed and picked up a slice of the pepperoni pizza.
“I get half that,” she said in a rush, pointing to the pizza.
He chuckled and picked up a paper plate to hand to her. “Tell you what. You get what you want. I’ll take cleanup duty.”
She took the plate and quickly went down the row piling food onto it. When she had no more room, she hesitated, studying to find what she could put back.
Sam laughed again and handed her another plate. “It’s not going anywhere, Sophie. Sit down and eat.”
Feeling like a moron, she edged onto the bed and shoved aside the tray of minisandwiches.
She attacked the pizza first because it was piping hot, and while lukewarm pizza was good, it was better when the cheese was all melty.
“God, this is good,” she said on a moan.
He looked curiously at her. “How long has it been since you ate decently?”
Her cheeks flamed. “A few days. I didn’t dare stop to eat. I was too busy trying to stay ahead of the people chasing me. But I’d be starving anyway. I’m not one of these dainty, delicate pregnant types. I think I could eat my weight at every meal. I’ll be a walrus by the time I deliver.”
His gaze slipped over her body, and she found herself blushing.
“You could certainly stand to gain a few pounds. Your belly pooches out like a volleyball. There’s nothing else to you.”
“Boobs,” she mumbled around a second slice of pizza. “Boobs are huge now. I hate it. I feel like I’m incubating aliens and they’re ready to hatch.”
He stared at her in astonishment for a moment before throwing his head back to laugh.
“I think the aliens are perfect.”
“You would,” she muttered.
She ate until she feared she was going to bust her gut. Her belly felt so tight that it was all she could do to move. She flopped back on the bed and closed her eyes, letting contentment wash over her.
Then she had to laugh because as contentment went, this wasn’t exactly ideal. She was stuck on the run in a motel, with a man she lusted over with every girly hormone in her pregnant body. A man whose child she was carrying. A man who didn’t trust her and seemed to fight with himself over whether he liked her or didn’t like her.
Then there was the fact that her uncle’s men were breathing down her neck, she’d killed her father, and she’d stolen access to his entire fortune.
When she fucked up, she went whole hog.
“What are we doing, Sam?” she asked softly. “Where are we going?”