Page 91 of Where the Roses Bloom

My heart stopped.

Then kicked back to life like lightning in my chest.

“Rhett,” I whispered.

He stood, the tension clear in every line of his muscled form. “Yeah?”

I looked him in the eye, heart in my throat. “It’s positive.”

His eyes locked on mine, and for a heartbeat, he didn’t move.

Then he surged forward.

The test clattered gently back to the counter as he swept me into his arms, holding me so tight I could barely breathe—but I didn’t want to. I just wanted tofeelhim. His chest pressed to mine, his hand sliding up into my hair, his mouth crashing down on mine in a kiss that was all heat and reverence and joy.

“You’re pregnant,” he said, like he couldn’t quite believe it.

“I’m pregnant,” I whispered back, tears welling in my eyes even as I laughed, overwhelmed.

He laughed too—just once, that breathless, stunned kind of laugh that came from deep in his chest—and then his hands were on me, everywhere, like he needed to worship the body that was now growing something we shared.

“You’re incredible, Willow,” he murmured into my neck. “Jesus…you’re incredible.”

I barely had time to respond before he kissed me again, rougher now, needy. His hands slid down to my hips, lifting me onto the counter like I weighed nothing. I was about to moan, but I caught myself, remembering that our house was still full of guests.

Because yeah…while this was fantastic, and I was so excited, we still had an exorcism to deal with—and the exorcist was staying in the guest room down the hall, while Silas slept downstairs on the couch.

I didn’t get the impression either of them wanted to be woken up to the sound of us making love.

“Rhett,” I whispered, threading my fingers through his hair. “We…we should try to be quiet.”

“I know,” he said, kissing my collarbone like it hurt him to stop. “I know. But goddamn, baby…you’re pregnant, and I need to fuckin’ touch you.”

I took his face in my hands, meeting his eyes. “Then you should probably take me to bed, huh?”

He didn’t answer with words.

He just reached for me—strong arms sliding under my thighs and back like I weighed nothing, like carrying me was the only thing his body was made for. He lifted me off the counter and cradled me to his chest, eyes locked on mine the whole way. My arms wrapped around his shoulders, breath catching as he started down the hallway.

It felt ceremonial, almost. Sacred.

Like he was walking me across some invisible threshold.

The house was still. Muffled sounds from the guest room told me June had gone to bed. Silas was probably already passed out on the couch downstairs, bless him. I held tighter to Rhett as he carried me through the doorway to our room, nudging the door shut behind him with his foot.

He set me down on the bed like I was something precious—like he was still stunned that I was real. Thatthiswas real.

Then he stood over me, quiet for a beat.

“You’re really gonna be the mother of my baby,” he whispered.

I nodded, tears pricking again—but this time they didn’t sting. They shimmered.

“And you’re gonna be the best damn father,” I whispered back.

Rhett made a sound—something between a laugh and a groan—and reached for the hem of my shirt.

“Then let me love you like it.”