Page 16

“Hey, look,” he said, turning the phone to my daughter. “They make gel-filled ones now where little animals move around. What do you like more… fish or turtles? Yeah, fish are pretty cool. You want the pink ones or the yellow ones?”

“Ooh,” Lainey hooted up at him.

“Yeah, that caterpillar thing is cool too. And add to cart. What the fuck is this? You want some socks with toys attached? Stick those in your mouth instead of your toes.”

Coast got stuck in a toy-buying frenzy with little gurgles of conversation from my seemingly content daughter.

That was the sound I fell asleep to.

But it was a panicked voice I woke up to.

“Zo? Fuck. You’re fucking hot,” he said, his cold hand touching my face. “And soaked,” he added, whipping the blankets off of me.

“No,” I grumbled, feeling like ice had replaced my blood. I needed more blankets, not less.

“Gotta get this fever down,” Coast said, moving around.

I heard the water in the tub running, then the rattle of pills in a bottle.

“Come on,” he said, lifting me up like a limp rag doll. “You gotta take your meds, alright?” he asked, sticking them between my lips. “Fuck, even your breath feels too hot.”

It was the genuine concern in his voice that had me forcing my heavy lids open to look up at his stupidly handsome face.

“Drink,” he demanded, pressing the bottle to my lips.

Objectively, I knew it was room temperature liquid, but it felt like it was fresh out of the freezer as I sipped.

“No, baby. You gotta drink it all. You’ve sweat through your clothes and blankets. You’ve gotta be dehydrated.”

Coast shifted his body under mine, pulling me up against his chest and putting the bottle to my lips again. “There you go,” he murmured, reaching with his free hand to move some of the sweaty hair off my face.

“How do you feel?”

“Cold. Achy.”

“Stuffy? Sore throat?”

“No. How’s Lainey?”

“Out cold after her last bottle. Still stuffy, but her fever seems to have broken. Can’t say the same for you.”

He capped the sports drink and tossed it toward the other bed.

“Come on.”

“Come where?”

“You’re going in a warm tub.”

I probably should have objected. I wasn’t a baby. I didn’t need someone to bathe me. But a warm bath sounded nice. Almost as nice as the feel of Coast’s arms as he lifted me into them and carried me to the bathroom.

Coast sat me down on the edge of the tub, then reached to pull my pant legs down, leaving me in my panties and dubiously fuzzy legs.

“This is too heavy to keep on,” he said, tugging the hem of my long-sleeve tee. “Want me to go find you something to put on?”

“Why do I need something to put on?”

“Because I can’t leave you in case you nod off.”

“Oh. No, it’s fine,” I said, reaching down with my heavy arms to pull off the top. Knowing full well I had nothing on underneath. And not caring.

I mean, from the stories he told my infant, he was no stranger to boobs. Mine were certainly not going to be the most impressive set he’d ever seen. Because if there was one thing that was true about ballet, it was that it kept your body lean. So did chronic stress. I was just shy of flat.

“Sure?” he asked, reaching for it for me.

I gave him a nod, and that was all he needed to pull the material up and off me.

Then I was in nothing but my beige panties.

Coast sucked in a deep breath and valiantly tried to keep his gaze on my face as he tested the water.

But when he reached down to lift one of my legs over the side of the tub, some of his hair tickled over my chest, making a gasp escape me and a shiver rack my system.

“I know. We’re gonna get you in the warm water,” Coast said, misinterpreting the reaction as he got my other leg into the tub, then encouraged me to sink in.

It really was only lukewarm, but it felt good regardless.

“Know it’s not the third-degree burn temperature you guys typically like—”

“You guys?”

“Women,” he said, giving me a knowing smile. “Like you enjoy bathing on the surface of the sun or some shit.”

“You’re not wrong. Even in the summer, I like a hot shower. I used to run the hot water heater out back home.”

“Where’s that?”

“Maine,” I told him. “I was born and raised there. But I always knew I was meant for somewhere warm. I don’t handle the cold well.”

“Never really been anywhere cold,” Coast admitted. “I was raised down here in the swamp.”

“I can picture that,” I said, shooting him a smile. “Shirtless with a beer and a smoke, riding a gator.”

“Might need to commission Jade to paint that for me,” he said, eyes warm and crinkling.

“I wondered if she was an artist.”

“She is. Good too.”

“What about Sass?”

“Former street racer. Current auto parts store owner.”

“Street racer? Really?”

“Yeah, that’s how she met Che back in the day. Eddie too. And Donovan.”

“How did you find your way to the club?”

“Word got around that they were looking for prospects. It sounded like a good time. Gave it a shot.”

“Were you a biker beforehand?”

“I mean, I had a bike. Bike, ATV, dirt bikes… you name it. If it was fun and reckless, I was there.”

“Why?”

“Why what?” he asked, reaching for a washcloth, wetting it, then using it to wipe my sweaty face.

“Why were you called to reckless things?”

To that, he sucked in a deep breath. His gaze slid away from me, though, as he answered.

“Guess I didn’t get a chance to be crazy as a kid, so I have been making up for lost time.

” Before I could comment on that, he quickly changed the topic.

“Feeling a little more even yet? The meds should have started to kick in.”

He ran the washcloth down my chin, my neck, across my shoulder.

Desire—ridiculous given the situation—pooled in my core, making me press my thighs together to ease the growing ache.

Coast’s gaze flicked to my face, looking for anything akin to objection. But despite knowing I needed to put it to an end, I couldn’t seem to do anything but watch him with heavy-lidded eyes for a moment before letting my own gaze move down, watching his hand as he moved across the top of my chest.

I sucked in a deep breath, making my breasts rise up over the water.

A strange, rumbling sound moved through Coast. Then not a second later, his hand was sliding the cloth down, teasing over my breast.

A little sigh escaped me as he circled around my nipple, working it into a point before moving across my chest to continue the teasing.

My breath grew fast and shallow as the cloth slid under one of the swells, then slipped between and glided downward over my stomach, across my hips.

He paused at the triangle above my sex as my pulse pounded in my temples, throat, chest. As the need grew to something overwhelming, undeniable.

His fingers slipped down just slightly, dragging a choked moan out of me.

My hand shot out, grabbing his wrist.

His gaze shot up to my face, watching me as his hand slipped fully between my thighs, his hand pressing against my panties.

This time, my moan was louder, more frantic, as my thighs clenched around his hand.

His eyes went molten as his fingers found my clit through my panties and started to work me in circles, dragging little mewling sounds out of me.

His fingers were so practiced, so perfect. I’d never been driven up so quickly.

Coast’s hand shifted up, sliding down under my panties, touching me without the barrier.

I damn near came apart right then. But some part of me wanted to drag it out, to get more of what he could offer me.

Coast’s free arm snaked around my back, holding onto me as his thumb started to circle my clit and two of his fingers slipped down, then slowly slid inside me.

My fingernails were digging into his forearm as he drove me relentlessly—but slowly—upward.

My little whimpers and sighs grew to moans as the climax built, surged, then crashed through me, leaving me crying out, my forehead pressed to his shoulder as the waves pulled me under over and over again.

Coast’s hand slid up my back to grab the back of my neck, giving it a squeeze that had no right to be as comforting as it was.

Then he went ahead and started to massage my neck, working out knots that had been there so long I no longer realized how tight the area was.

His hand slid out of me, reaching out to grab my inner thigh instead, making no move to pull away, happy to just be in the moment with me.

Until we both heard Lainey working herself up to a good cry.

“I got her,” Coast said, giving my thigh and neck a squeeze before releasing me. And I could have sworn that I maybe felt his lips on the top of my head.

Or maybe that was just the fever—and wishful thinking—at play.

Coast moved away, washed his hands, placed a towel on the edge of the tub, then made his way out, leaving the door mostly open.

“Hey, Lil’ Bit. What’s going on?” he asked. I could picture him scooping her up, could hear the way her cry started to vibrate as he bopped her until her crying stopped. “Wanna see Mama?” he asked, walking closer. “See? There she is.”

“Oh, she’s got big tears and everything,” I said, frowning at her face.

“Seems like she scratched herself in her sleep,” he said, turning her so I could see a nasty scratch down her cheek. “Gonna go dig around for the nail clippers. You good, or you need a hand?”

“I’m okay,” I said, even if a bigger part of me selfishly wanted him to help me, to dry me off, to carry me back into the room.

“Okay. Gonna order you some soup.”

“That’s not—”

“Baby, you’re getting soup. So the only thing left I need to know is: are you an oyster cracker kind of girl or a saltine one?”

“I’m a big hunk of bread with my soup girl,” I told him, getting a smile out of him.

“Even better. Get out. That water is getting too cool now.”

Could he be occasionally kind of bossy?

Absolutely.

But, God, it was kind of hot to be bossed around by him.

Especially when he was not only taking care of me but my little girl as well.

If only it could last.

But I knew that sooner rather than later, he was going to be gone.

And we were going to be alone.

Again.