Page 24 of Rescued by the Alien Bull Rider (Cowboy Colony Mail-Order Brides #6)

JOLENE

N o one ever told me how painful it would be to start falling into pathetically unrequited love with my own damn husband.

But there seemed to be no way to stop it.

I loved his grumpy, I-will-fight-the-world method of doing his chores.

I loved the way he spent hours reading medical books about pregnancy and childbirth on my comms tablet every night, his eyes calm, pink, but laser-focused.

I loved when his eyes went white, too, giving me a little glimpse into the totality of whatever that man was feeling, even if he never seemed inclined to put those feelings into words.

I loved the way that, even though my hands and back were all healed up, he still insisted on putting the salve on me twice a day, every day.

I loved the way he supervised shuttle deliveries of medical equipment to the property, watching the Zabrian pilot unload with his imperious gaze. It was a collection of equipment he had curated himself, ordered by the warden.

For me. And for other people one day, too.

But, for now…

Just for me.

I loved that.

And I loved the fact that, after more than a week living with a literal convicted murderer, I felt safer than I ever had in my life.

But the more the love for all these facets of Zohro and my life here grew, so too did the pain. And boy oh fucking boy, did that shit hurt.

Or maybe that was just the fact that I was extremely fucking pregnant right now. And everything else hurt, too. My hips. My back. My butt. All of it.

One relief – at least for the physical pain – was bathing in the tub in Zohro’s operating theatre, which I had now dubbed the Surgery Shed.

Every night before bed I drew myself a bath, using the heated water spray meant for hosing down the animals and floor to fill the tub.

And every night, Zohro tested the water temperature with an honest-to-goodness thermometer to make sure it wasn’t too hot.

“We’ve been doing this every night for the past ten nights,” I told him when he yet again checked the water temperature of the tub. “I think I know how to fill it up without cooking Baby Girl by now.”

“I know,” he said distractedly, reading the thermometer and then flicking his tail in approval. “But I’m going to keep checking anyway.”

“So the temperature is good? Just like I knew it would be?” I asked.

“It is within an acceptable range. Proceed.”

“Thank you very much,” I said half sweet, half sarcastic. He really was being an annoyingly over-the-top dope with this stuff.

But at the same time…

It showed he cared. At least in whatever way he was capable of. He’d promised to take care of Baby Girl and me, and he was doing it.

As always when I had a bath, Zohro disappeared into an adjacent storage room, taking my comms tablet with him so he could keep up his studies on human pregnancy.

It gave him some quiet time and me some privacy, but he always kept the door ajar.

Sometimes, I heard video playing, usually with someone narrating some kind of surgical technique.

I’d heard him play the videos about C-sections and administering epidurals dozens of times by now.

The closer I got to the actual birthing process, the harder they became to listen to.

Even now, the C-section video was starting up in that other room, the narrator droning on about cutting through human skin and the tough uterine wall.

Growing up on a ranch, I’d never been too squeamish.

But tonight, I found myself unable to stomach listening to the narration.

When the narrator got onto the topic of controlling the bleeding, I took a deep breath and allowed my head to dip under the surface.

The warm water rushed in over my scalp. I listened to the sound of that submerging wave, and then the dully urgent rhythm of my own heartbeat. It was nice. Cozy. Quiet, and-

I gasped and then coughed as huge hands hauled me out of the water by my upper arms.

“What the hell? Zohro?” Waterlogged and confused, then indignant, I scraped soggy hair away from my face and blinked water from my eyes. “What are you doing?”

“You went beneath the surface!” A face with a thunderous expression and lightning-white eyes filled my vision. Zohro was bent over the bath, still holding me, his hands so huge they completely wrapped around my arms near the shoulder.

“So?” I squawked.

“So?” Some of the storm ebbed from his face. “So… So I heard you stop breathing!”

“Yes, Zohro. I typically have to hold my breath if I put my head under the water!”

“But you do not usually do that!”

“How the heck would you know? You’re always in the other room!”

“Because I listen!”

We stared at each other, both breathing hard. Me from holding my breath and the shock of being grabbed. Him from… I wasn’t sure, actually. Maybe worry. Maybe how fast he’d run here.

Maybe because of the embarrassment of leaning over my bath while I was completely naked.

Ugh.

“So you’re telling me, that all that time you spend in that other room, reading documents and listening to medical lectures, you’re also listening to me, what? Breathe?”

Of course he wasn’t. That would be ridiculous, not to mention impossible.

“Of course!” he snapped. “How else am I to know that you’re alright?”

“Well, I am! I was just going under for a second! It was on purpose, and I promise I was going to come right back up.”

“You’re not faint? Dizzy? Nauseous? Weak?” he asked in rapid-fire fashion.

“No! Though the speed of your questions might make me dizzy at this point,” I said. “You can let go of my arms now. Everything’s fine.”

He looked down, as if not realizing that he was still holding on to me.

And once he looked down…

He didn’t fucking stop. His eyes got bigger, and whiter, as they moved to my breasts, my belly, the junction of my thighs below. Heat – and not heat from the water – pulsed between my legs.

Oh. Now this just isn’t fair , I moaned internally. How was I supposed to accept being a stand-in for his pregnant sister when I was all naked and horny and he was staring at me?

I blew out a breath between tight lips, fidgeting under his stark and silent gaze. He is a doctor. And if he’s going to help me give birth, he’s going to probably see all of this, anyway…

Maybe that was why his eyes were fucking glued to the place between my legs.

I’d never been modest about getting naked in front of guys before. But maybe that was because I wasn’t a million months pregnant back then.

Or maybe it was because I’d never really cared about any of those guys.

“Do you, uh, need to see down there?” I asked.

I parted my legs in the water a little bit, and his nostrils flared.

“You can let me know if anything looks off, in your medical opinion. I haven’t been able to see my own pussy in weeks.

I usually, er, keep things a bit more trimmed.

Just so you know. But the idea of bringing a razor anywhere near there right now while I can’t see and can barely reach just feels like a recipe for a lot of pain. And bleeding.”

Jesus. Why was I rambling about my lack of pubic hair grooming right now? The only reason he was looking down there was due to a doctor’s curiosity. I was the perv getting all wiggly and needy. Meanwhile, he was studying me, all stoic and… And scholarly.

And hot.

God help me, he was hot. He’d gotten wet dragging me out of the water, little sparkly drips and drops running in rivulets between the hard planes of his pectorals and abs.

I wanted to lick him. Like he was a big, pink ice cream cone.

And I also kind of wanted to cry. Because if this was what the rest of my life was going to look like – relentlessly pining over the man who lived with me, took care of me, slept in the same fucking bed as me – then I was going to be on the struggle bus. Big time.

Ah, pregnancy. How blessed I was by it. To be so colossally horny and weepy all at the same time.

At least I’ll have Baby Girl soon, I told myself miserably. Taking care of a kid would definitely give me something to throw myself into. A most excellent distraction.

Someone to give all my love to.

“You do not have to show me if you don’t want to,” Zohro rasped, even as he was bending lower to get a better look at me through the rippling water.

“It’s fine. You’re a doctor. And you’re going to see a whole freaking baby come out of there soon enough. So… Go ahead.”

Zohro slowly released my arms, moving to grip the sides of the tub instead. Something cracked in his grip – either the plastic or his knuckles.

“Careful, cowboy,” I murmured. “Don’t wreck my tub!”

For someone whose hearing was apparently so good he could keep track of my breathing from another room, he didn’t seem to hear me.

His grip on the sides of the tub didn’t ease as his eyes burned a powerful line, straight between my legs.

My pussy throbbed, his attention there as arousing as a physical touch.

I wanted to touch myself.

I wanted him to touch me even more.

But he wouldn’t. I knew he wouldn’t.

And that was alright. Wasn’t it?

It had to be.

“If you have any questions,” I said, casting my gaze up at the ceiling. “You can just ask.”

I’d meant questions about my anatomy. About the genitals he was staring at right now with such fervent intensity.

But apparently, he didn’t really get that. Because the next moment, he wrenched his eyes up to mine and asked, “Why have we not yet kissed?”