Page 45 of Anti-Hero (Kensingtons: The Next Generation #2)

A sudden thud, followed by, “The fuck?” has me sitting straight up in bed.

I’m paranoid and pregnant and alone in a mansion that belongs to strangers—okay, technically , that belongs to my baby’s grandparents—but is, or was, full of strangers.

So, when I discovered my bedroom door didn’t lock, I did what any reasonably cautious woman would do—I pushed the armchair in the corner in front of the door so I’d hear if it opened.

And the only reason I’m not screaming right now is I recognized that muttered swear.

“What are you doing, Kit?” I ask wearily, lying back down in bed. Maybe if I pretend he woke me up, he’ll feel bad and leave faster.

“Navigating an obstacle course, apparently.”

His voice is louder now. He’s moving closer, not farther away.

“I was worried about someone breaking into my room. Clearly, that fear was warranted.”

The sound of rustling fabric has my heart rate skyrocketing. I can’t see much because Kit closed the door behind him. A sign he’s not departing imminently, I belatedly realize.

I sit up in bed again, this time clicking on the lamp sitting next to the bed.

“What are you …”

My voice trails as I realize exactly what Kit is doing.

He’s getting undressed. He is undressed actually, aside from a pair of black boxer briefs that cling like they’re getting paid to show off how generously endowed he is. He looks like a goddamn underwear ad, and what is that blatant attractiveness doing in here ?

Before I can voice that question aloud—in less complimentary phrasing—he’s lifting the covers and climbing in bed beside me.

“Did you have fun at the party?”

“It was nice,” I say stiffly.

My voice might be tense, but the rest of me isn’t. His body heat is bleeding over to my side of the bed, an immediate gust of comfort. Like I’ve been bundled by a cozy blanket or stepped under the warm spray of a shower.

“ Nice ,” Kit muses. “What was lackluster? The fireworks? The champagne tower? The?—”

“Did you forget where your room was?”

Or that we fought earlier? I add silently.

He should be mad at me. I’m mad at me. Yet he’s acting … normal.

“My room’s occupied.”

“By …”

“By people not sleeping.”

“Doesn’t this place have, like, twenty bedrooms?”

“Twenty-four, yeah. I wanted to check on you.”

“Well, you didn’t have to climb into bed with me to do it.”

I hear the rustle as his head turns on the pillow. Feel the weight of his eyes tracing my profile as I stare at the ceiling.

“Do you want me to go?”

“Do you snore?”

“You tell me. You’re the only person I’ve slept with before.”

I blink rapidly at the ceiling, trying to clear the tears before he notices. “I’m sorry about earlier.”

Kit lets out a long exhale, tucking an arm behind his head. “I don’t want you to be sorry.”

“I’m pregnant.”

“Still?”

That coaxes a small smile out of me. “I’m pregnant, Kit.

I’m hormonal, and I’m tired, and I’m stressed, and I’m getting fat, and I really did not need to see you out on the patio with another woman.

It’s not that I don’t trust you. I don’t trust me.

I’m waiting for you to realize I trapped you with this kid, and I …

I … I do want to date you. I’m just not sure why you want to date me . You could have anyone.”

I wasn’t enough for Isaac, and he was inferior to Kit in every way.

I can’t hold the tears back anymore. The salty water slips down my face silently, dampening the pillow and dripping into my ears.

“ Collins .” His tone is tender. “C’mere.” Kit untucks his arm, holding it out to me.

I roll so my face is resting on his chest. His arm curls around my waist, tucking me securely against his body. His other hand swipes across my cheeks, clearing the wet tracks.

“I trust you,” I tell him.

“You should. I’m not your ex.”

I blow out a long breath. “Isaac isn’t the only reason I have trust issues.”

Kit’s silent, waiting for me to continue.

“The spring of my senior year of college, I was headed to the library to study one weekend. I decided to stop by my dad’s office to say hi. He wasn’t there, but he was in one of the labs across the hallway. Kissing some woman who was not my mother.”

Kit’s chest lifts with a sudden inhale, but he says nothing.

“I don’t know who she was. I’d never seen her before, and I haven’t seen her since.”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing. I just … left.”

That haunts almost as much as the moment itself.

“Did you tell anyone?”

“Not until now. It’s this awful secret I’m stuck with.

I don’t want to be the one to tell my mom …

if she doesn’t know. Same with Jane. And my dad?

” I rest a palm on Kit’s chest, right above his heart.

The steady beat is reassuring. “I … I want to pretend it never happened. That I never saw anything. But it’s been almost three years, and I haven’t been able to forget.

” I sigh. “I wasn’t totally honest when you asked me about moving to Chicago.

I did want to live somewhere different after staying in Connecticut for college.

But it was also a way to distance myself from my dad. I needed space. ”

“I figured something had happened,” Kit says, playing with a strand of my hair. “The way you acted around him when we visited … I remembered you guys being closer than that.”

He’s referring to the day I moved into Montgomery Hall. My dad was so proud. Both of my parents were.

“We were closer,” I say. “And I wish we still were, especially now, with the baby coming. But I … it’s a new chapter in some ways, but I don’t know how to just get over that part of the past.”

“I’m sorry about your dad, baby.”

I sniffle. “Stop being so understanding. You’re supposed to be mad at me.”

“I am?”

“Yes.”

“You want me to be unreasonable and angry?” I can hear the smile in the question.

“I guess.”

“Okay, I’ll work on it.” The hand on my hip moves, splaying across my stomach. “You’re not fat, Monty.”

“I’m going to be.”

“Well, I hope so. I don’t want an abnormally small kid.”

“You’re six-two, so statistically speaking, I’m going to get a lot bigger.”

“Six-three.”

“Huh?”

“You said I’m six-two. I’m six- three .”

I laugh, but he doesn’t.

“Did you feel that?” he asks suddenly. Excitedly.

“Feel what—oh. Yeah. You can feel it too?”

“Yeah.” He nods, glancing down at my stomach as there’ s another soft tap. “Yeah,” he repeats more quietly. “Holy crap.”

“He—or she—seems to like kicking at night,” I say. “Or … when you’re here.”

The look on Kit’s face makes it hard to breathe. It feels like my heart is expanding, crushing my lungs. His expression is overflowing with tenderness. A focus that’s bright but also inviting, like a sunbeam.

“Wow,” he whispers when there’s another kick against his palm. “Mango is really strong.”

I giggle, melting at the wonder and admiration in his tone. “You know we’re going to have to call the baby something other than fruit at some point, right?”

“It’d be easier to pick a name if we knew what we were having …”

“I want it to be a surprise,” I say.

“Okay.” He capitulates, same as he did at Dr. Bailey’s office.

They could have told us the gender at the twenty-week scan, but I didn’t want to know. I still don’t. I probably should, considering this pregnancy was surprise enough. But something feels special about finding out at the same time we get to meet him or her.

We lie like that, Kit flat on his back and me using him like a pillow. My bump cradled between us, Kit’s hand partially covering it.

He shifts so he can turn off the lamp. “Okay, fine . I’ll stay since you begged.”

“That was not me begging.”

“Oh, I know. I remember what you begging sounds like.”

His lips brush my hair. I relax against him, more tension seeping out of me. He’s warm and solid and steady and … hard.

A flash of heat suffuses my system.

“Ignore it,” he tells me. “It’s just … been a while.”

“A while? Like, a whole week?” I tease. My voice is light, but my heart is heavy.

I believe him—that nothing happened with the woman outside. I’d even guess he hasn’t been with anyone since we talked on my steps, which was a lot longer than a week ago. But even hearing it’s been a couple of months would bother me. I don’t want to think about him with anyone else—ever.

“Sure,” Kit agrees easily. “A whole week, plus the twenty-four you’ve been knocked up.”

I’m … stunned by the revelation. He’s been celibate since we hooked up? Forget our talk on the stairs. That means he hasn’t been with anyone else since August, weeks before he even knew I was pregnant.

“Really?”

“I don’t want anyone . I want you . If you think that’s new or temporary, it’s not.” He shifts under the sheets, his sincerity settling over me like another blanket. “Happy New Year, Collins.”

“Happy New Year, Kit,” I whisper.