Songbird (16 page)

“I think about you all the time. I’ve done nothing but think about you since Simon’s wedding. I can’t even look at another woman without thinking about you, so I finally stopped trying.”

“You don’t seem like the kind of guy who likes to be alone.”

“The only woman I want hasn’t been answering my calls. Or my texts. Or my—”

“Okay, okay.”

We smile at each other.

“And that last card? Is it true?”

“It’s true. I dream about you every night.”

“Every single night?”

“Every night since the wedding,” he says, then he grins. “Well, there was that one night I didn’t dream at all, but I’d run ten miles that afternoon. I was too exhausted to do anything except collapse on my couch. But otherwise, yes, I dream about you every night.”

He gazes at me, and I have to look away just so I can process everything he’s said. Suddenly, his finger is on my chin, tilting it so that I’m forced to look at him. During our conversation, our bodies have somehow drifted closer, and his face is just inches from mine.

“Good dreams?” I whisper.

“The best.”

He trails his finger across my bottom lip. My entire body shudders.

“I shouldn’t kiss you,” he murmurs roughly.

“You shouldn’t kiss me.”

There isn’t an ounce of conviction in either of our voices

“Callie,” he whispers, and like a moth to a flame, I close my eyes.

M
y mind screams at me, telling me it’s stupid to let ourselves get carried away. But that doesn’t stop me from sliding my hand along the nape of her neck and pulling her face to mine.

Just as our lips touch, her eyes suddenly fly open.

“Callie?”

In an instant, she’s out of my arms and rushing toward the back of her apartment. I jump up and follow her down the hallway and into the bathroom where she’s kneeling over the toilet.

“Go away,” she says with a groan.

“Not a chance.”

I hold back her hair while she loses her dinner. After a few minutes, her body finally stills, and she sags against me.

“I thought it was over,” she whispers, reaching for a nearby towel. “I guess the baby doesn’t like mayo anymore.”

“I thought morning sickness was just . . . in the mornings?”

Callie walks over to the sink and quickly washes out her mouth. “Not mine. But I’m okay. Please go back to the living room.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah. I just need a minute.”

I nod and slowly head back to the living room.
Does that happen a lot? Has she been sick this entire time?

A few minutes later, Callie returns to the living room. She’s pulled her hair into a ponytail and changed into a T-shirt and sweats. I watch closely as she walks straight to the fridge and pulls out a banana freezer pop.

“Do those help?” I ask as she makes her way to the couch. I’d love to hold her, but I don’t know how she’d react to that after vomiting in front of me.

She nods. “They do. Sorry about that. I haven’t thrown up in days, so I was really hoping that fantastic phase of pregnancy was over. The baby bible says it can last up to three months. Some lucky women are sick the entire time they’re pregnant. I will
die
if I’m one of them.”

“The baby bible?”

“In my bag.”

“May I?”

She shrugs, which I assume is permission. I sprint off the couch.

“It’s supposed to be the best book for expectant parents.”

I sit back down and immediately start flipping through the pages. Food. Furniture. Childbirth.
So not ready for this.

“How are you feeling now?” I ask, handing the book to her.

“I’m okay.” She smiles softly—an honest to God smile that thrills me. She’s beautiful, even after vomiting. “Thanks for holding my hair.”

“Thanks for letting me.”

“You didn’t really give me a choice.”

I take her hand in mine. “I told you I’m not going anywhere. Vomiting. Cravings. Mood swings. Nothing’s keeping me away from you.”

Her eyes shimmer with tears.
Hormones?

“You really want this?” she whispers.

“I really do. And I want to be at your next appointment.”

“Okay.” Callie stifles a yawn and giggles. “Sorry, this is my life most days. Eat. Puke. Sleep. Work. Rinse. Repeat.”

I grin.

“Come on.” I pull her by the hand and lead her down the hallway. Her bedroom is easy enough to find, and I pull the blanket back as she crawls under it. She pulls down her hair before lying down against the pillow.

“Don’t send anymore flowers,” she says softly.

Unable to resist, I reach over and play with a strand of her hair.

“Okay, I won’t.”

“And don’t sleep outside tonight. You can stay here.”

“Really?”

She shrugs. “What’s the worst that can happen? It’s not like you can get me pregnant.”

I chuckle. “That’s true. Are you sure?”

“Come to bed, Devin.”

Her words are music to my ears.

We’ve made so much progress tonight, so the last thing I want to do is give her the impression there’s an ulterior motive in my accepting her invitation to spend the night. For the first time in my life, I’m climbing into bed with a beautiful woman for completely innocent reasons.

I’m exhausted.

Her bed looks awesome.

And I really, really don’t want to leave her.

I slip off my shoes and climb into bed, resisting the urge to pull her against me. I can remember with startling clarity how she felt in my arms while she slept that last night at the hotel, and I find myself absolutely aching to touch her.

But I have to be patient.

With a heavy sigh, I lie on my back, close my eyes, and beg my body to ignore the beautiful woman lying next to me.

“Devin?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry I interrupted our kiss.”

“That’s okay. Maybe you’ll give me another chance someday.”

She giggles. “Maybe.”

“A man can dream.”

“Speaking of . . . do you think you’ll still dream of me, even though you’re sleeping right next to me?”

I can’t help but smile.

“I don’t know, Songbird. I’ll tell you in the morning.”

Suddenly, I feel her soft hand gently brush against mine. We lace our fingers together, and I listen to the steady rhythm of her breathing until we both fall into a peaceful sleep.

T
he next morning, I wake up with a pair of strong arms wrapped around me. Warm and comfortable, I nuzzle my nose against his shirt and lay my head against his chest, letting the strong, rhythmic beating of his heart lull me in and out of consciousness. Finally, my mind alerts me to the fact that Devin’s in my bed. I remember asking him to stay, and I vaguely recall each of us lying on our sides of the bed as we fell asleep. What I don’t remember is how or when I ended up in his arms.

Not that I’m complaining.

It’s ironic. I’m pregnant with the man’s child, but this is the first morning I’ve actually awakened in his arms.

And to think, this time yesterday, I was still furious with him.

There’s no denying it. After nearly a week of doing and saying all the right things, the man finally wore me down. Little by little, I felt the wall I’d built between us starting to crumble. Holding my hair back while I puked—while highly embarrassing—is just another in the long list of sweet gestures that makes me wonder if I’d misjudged him. The man holding me in his arms right now is an entirely different creature from the man I met in the hotel piano bar.