Damn. She absolutely slayed me.
“Baby.”
“Shh,” she said.
“I—”
“Just drive.” Her hand dropped to my thigh. “I want to get to the hotel as soon as possible.”
I didn’t need the heat in her gaze to tell me what she wanted to do when we were there. Not when her desire burned through her tone.
Shit. I wanted that, but also, we needed to discuss my suspicions. “There’s also something we should talk about—”
She leaned over the console and nipped my jaw. “Talk later. Fuck as soon as possible.”
I should have told her the night before.
I should have told her the week before.
“I—”
“Later,” she said firmly. “For now, just drive and tell me about your day.”
I did what she asked. I drove. I told her about the day. I swallowed my guilt by telling myself that my suspicions about the state of her uterus were probably better served by a conversation that didn’t take place in a moving vehicle.
But, in truth, it was avoidance, plain and simple.
We’d made such strides, and now I worried this potential unplanned pregnancy might cause the past to come flooding back into the present, might be the final straw.
That all the progress she’d made, that we’d made, would be undone.
Not for me.
I loved this woman, would take any hiccups in stride.
But Eden?
I worried she wouldn’t be able to handle it.
And I was absolutely terrified that I was going to lose her.
“Mmm,” she said, setting the bowl of soup to the side and picking up a piece of surprisingly good sushi.
I wouldn’t have guessed a hotel’s offerings would be so tasty, but this one’s was.
She scarfed it down, doing a great job of out-eating me.
I was unsettled.
With a sigh, she dropped her hands to her stomach and rubbed it lightly. The action made my heart pulse, and I knew it made my face change because suddenly she bolted upright and exclaimed, “Oh no! Are you going to be sick?” She ran for the trash can and snagged it out from beneath the desk then rushed over and stuck it under my nose. “Do it in there. Was the fish bad?” She picked up the plate with the remaining sushi and sniffed. “It smells fine—”
“Eden.”
She froze, head slowly rising so her eyes met mine. “That’s a snap,” she murmured. “On the first time.”
I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I set down the trash can and grasped her hand, tugging her so she sat on the bed next to me.
“Ooh, I like this,” she murmured, crawling into my lap.
I’d managed to distract her from sex with food because her stomach had begun growling midway through the drive and hadn’t stopped. Then I’d claimed I needed a shower and had hidden in the bathroom until the food had arrived.
Cowardly.
Ridiculous.
Which brought me to this moment.
“No, baby,” I said. “I’ve been putting off bringing this up because I kept thinking there wasn’t a right moment, that it might upset you, and—”
She leaned away from me, face going pale.
“It’s not—”
I reached for her. She backed away.
I stood, hand out. “Please, come sit down,” I said. “I need to tell you this. I can’t go on without at least mentioning it.”
Eden looked absolutely sick, but she nodded then sat back onto the edge of the bed. “Is what you’re keeping from me why you’ve been so weird?”
Fuck. So much for sly.
“Yeah.”
Her chin came up, her shoulders stiffened. “Fine. Just say it.”
But, how to say this gently? How to break the news—
“I think you’re pregnant,” I blurted and forced my eyes to meet hers, saw that her face was ashen, her eyes closed off, and I kept talking, the words coming faster and faster. “That time in the kitchen, I didn’t use anything. I mean, I’m clean, but I have working sperm, at least I think I do. I’ve never tested it.” I winced. Shit. Move on, asshole. “And . . . um . . . anyway you’ve been sick and nauseous, your clothes are tight, your boobs—” I flopped a hand in the direction of her chest. “They’re—They’ve you mentioned they’d . . . grown. And I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think about protection at the time and that was irresponsible.” Another wince. “The possibility you might be pregnant didn’t even occur to me until a week ago, and I’ve been thinking myself into circles, assuming one moment I’m wrong, because you’d know if you were and you wouldn’t wait a week to tell me.” I thrust a hand through my hair. “And then the next, I remember I didn’t use a condom and the nausea and puking and boobs, and I think how could I have been so stupid? I—”
She put a hand up.
I shut my mouth.
“What the fuck, Damon?” She glanced down at herself. “I’ve only gained five pounds, and you think I’m pregnant. Do I look that horrible?”
Oh shit.
Oh. Shit.
“I’ve been indulging in pizza and set food and haven’t been working out because of the hours I’ve been filming, but shit, it’s only five pounds. Do I really look pregnant?”
Fuck.
I took a step toward her, hating the hurt on her face. “No, baby—”
“I have a narrow frame. A couple of pounds seems like a lot—” She sniffed.
“Eden. I wouldn’t have even noticed if I hadn’t realized about the condom—”
Her hand came up again, stopping me, and then the other came up, too, both of them cupping her breasts—which normally I would highly approve of. However, in this case, my cock was decidedly quiet.
Mostly because my stomach was churning from realizing I’d hurt her feelings.
“You think I’m fat,” she whispered.
“No. Not at all. You’re beautiful, baby,” I said. “I just—the nausea, me being stupid enough to not use a condom— This is my fault.”
“My boobs are bigger because I’ve gained weight over the last month.” She touched her hips. “I’ve also gained here.” She sighed. “My boobs are extra big this week because I just finished being on my period, and I always get swollen and a little extra busty during my time of the month. The puking is because I ate a catered lunch. I wasn’t alone—half the crew got sick. The nausea . . . I think is a combo, the food, stress from dealing with Grant, my tight clothes, PMS.”
“Oh.”
She shook her head. “Yeah. Oh.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, daring to take another step toward her. She didn’t stop me, so I relaxed. Marginally. “I’m a total idiot.”
“Not a total idiot,” she muttered, her lips curving just the slightest bit. “I can see the signs you saw and why you thought that. I guess . . .” Another sigh. “My bigger concern is, why didn’t you talk to me?”
“What?”
“You said you’ve known for a week. Why didn’t you say something sooner?”
I hung my head. “You’d had that rough day with Grant before the Pizza Night in your trailer in L.A. and had to be back on set with him for that really important scene that night.”