Kelly Jamieson - Lost and Found

He swallowed past the baseball in his throat. “That’s where our whole crazy plan went wrong. I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with you.”

“No. That wasn’t supposed to happen.” Her voice was a sigh. “But I fell in love with you too, Nate.”

He opened his eyes, uncertain of what he’d heard.

“I knew I loved you, but I was so confused. I was married and I loved my husband. I thought I loved both of you. But now I know my feelings for Derek had changed.” She blinked at him, mouth quivering. “I can’t tell you how much I resented him for how he judged me all those years, how he blamed me for things that weren’t even my fault, how he blamed me for his stupid mistakes. Being apart from you all these months, thinking about you all the time…I missed you so much. I thought I’d get over you, eventually. Or maybe not.” She smiled crookedly.

“It was a helluva mess.”

“Yes.”

“It’s just you and me now.”

“Yes.”

His eyes dropped to her stomach. “And junior.”

She laughed. “Yes.”

“I want to see you, Krissa.”

She bit her lip, gave a short nod, let him tug apart the sides of the robe, exposing the inner curves of her breasts. He undid the belt and drew it to each side, then parted the robe and pushed it away. He gazed down at her body.

She looked up at him with anxious eyes. He trailed a finger over the curve of a breast that was fuller, but still perfect. He stroked the gentle swell of her stomach, his eyes devouring the sight of her lush femininity. Everywhere else she looked the same—smooth golden skin, tiny freckles here and there, the patch of dark curls between her legs.

He lowered his head and pressed his lips to her rounded belly, laid his cheek there and closed his eyes. When he lifted his face, his eyes were damp.

“I love you, Krissa.”

“I love you too, Nate.” She put her arms out to him and drew her against him, her frame still slender, even in the bulky robe. Only inches separated their faces. Nate dragged his gaze away from her eyes and looked at her mouth. The plump bottom lip parted slightly from the top just so he could see the edge of her white teeth.

He heard her indrawn breath, felt the tremors of her soft body in his arms. Her scent intoxicated him, surrounded him. So close he could see each tiny, pale freckle, each eyelash as her lids drifted shut and her mouth moved closer to him.

He moved too, felt her breath whisper on his lips, felt her heart knocking against him. He saw the pulse, just as quick, beneath the fine skin of her throat.

Then their mouths met, in an agonizing, excruciatingly beautiful kiss. Her mouth was heaven, sweet and soft. He stroked inside with his tongue, and she opened for him, met his tongue with hers. He kissed her again and again, long, slow, clinging kisses, their tongues brushing as they drew apart in slow, lush licks. She moaned deep in her throat, slid her hands around his neck, pulled him closer.

He lifted her onto his lap, turned her, tipped her back against the arm rest of the couch, leaned into her. He needed to taste more of her, more of her sweet mouth. He went to touch her hair but it was all stuck up in some kind of clip thing. He felt around, figured out how to open it and released her hair. It tumbled damp and wavy around her shoulders and he threaded his hand into it, twisted it around his fingers and gave a little tug, eliciting a whimper from her that had his blood sizzling through his veins.

It thrilled him that he remembered what she liked, that she liked what he did. He drew back, just a little, to look at her face. Heat sparked, ignited and grew between them as their kisses deepened, as he cupped one breast in his hand, rubbed his thumb over the nipple. His throat ached, and his heart lurched with overwhelming emotion. He couldn’t get close enough to her, could never get enough of her.

Her tummy was definitely there. It made him cautious. He drew back, fighting for breath. “Krissa. The baby.”

She gave him a slow, sexy smile. “The baby doesn’t know what we’re doing.”

“I mean, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t hurt me.”

He kissed her again, deep, open-mouthed kisses, eating her up, trailed his fingers down the side of her neck into the opening of the robe, over her collarbone. He rubbed the top curve of her breast.

He drew back to look down at her and gazed into her eyes. The love shining there punched him like a fist in the gut, spreading warmth and relief and gratitude through him.

Without words, he helped her up from the couch, and she led him into her bedroom. His eyes took in the pretty crib in the corner. The big bed, crib and a white painted dresser occupied almost all the space in the small room. He pictured Krissa living here with the baby, the two of them sleeping in this small room so close, and his heart squeezed.

He pushed the robe off her shoulders and let it crumple on the floor at her feet. He couldn’t stop himself from touching her stomach again, fascinated with its swelling. He stroked over it, down her waist. His fingers trailed over her hips, up and around. Then while his hand rested there he felt movement—like a small spasm beneath the skin. “Oh.” He looked up at Krissa.

“Did you feel that?”

“Yeah. Holy hell.”

She smiled, put her hand over his and held it there until they felt another small bump. His heart full of wonder and awe, he struggled to breathe.

“Oh, wow. Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?”

She shook her head. “I’ve been calling it Peanut.”

He laughed. “We’ll think of something better when he or she is born.”

“Yeah.”

He kissed her mouth, softly, reverently. “It’s amazing, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” The word whispered against his mouth. She wound her arms around his neck and pressed against him. They stood like that, his hands on the sides of her tummy, their foreheads together, noses side by side, just breathing in each other. Then Krissa shifted her mouth closer to his and he took it in a long, hungry kiss.

They moved to the bed, and he laid her gently down on the simple white duvet. It puffed up around her, and she laid there, dark hair spread beneath her head, all smooth glowing skin, shiny eyes and captivating smile. He studied her as he undid the buttons of his shirt, pulling it out of his jeans as he did. His eyes wandered over the slender curve of her arms, the shadows between her legs, the way her small toes curled into the duvet, tugging something inside him as always. Then he stepped out of jeans, socks and underwear, shed his shirt. He lay down beside her, hand on her belly, elbow bent, his head propped on his hand.

Luminous green eyes turned to him.

“How should we do this?” he asked, uncertain if being on top of her was okay.

“I don’t know.” She bit her lip. “I haven’t had sex since this baby was conceived, so…I’m not sure how it works.”

He sucked in a breath. “It was that night in Los Angeles, wasn’t it?”

She nodded, watching him.

“I’m glad,” he whispered. “I’m glad it was just the two of us.”

“Me, too.”

He pressed his face between her breasts, breathed in her peachy scent, then kissed the inside curve of each full breast. When he kissed a nipple, she drew in a sharp breath. “Oh.”

He lifted his head. “Okay?”

“Mmm. My nipples are sensitive. And…”

“What?”

“They’ve been…um…leaking a little bit.”

He swallowed. He stared down at the puckered nipples, bigger, darker pink, beautiful. “Can I…”

“Yes.” Her hands went to his head. “I want you to.”

He took a nipple in his mouth and sucked, rubbed his tongue over it. She tasted so sweet and her whimpers told him she loved what he did to her. He moved to the other nipple, tasted it too, played with it with his mouth while his fingers plucked at the other, tested the weight of her breast, squeezed it gently.