Sound of Silence(7)

Before I can take a step, Caden jerks his head and grimaces. It's painful to watch as his breathing falters and his eyes snap open. Disoriented at first, he tracks over every part of the cabin in a split second. And then he spots me and his shoulders relax. A smile spreads across his stubbled jaw. "Morning, sunshine," he says, unwrapping himself to stand, a tower of maleness and hard muscle.

"Hi," I mumble and cinch my robe tighter, hoping he won't notice my breasts. They're suddenly achy, not so unusual for nine months pregnant, but the pang is enough to force heat to burst on my cheeks.

"You're up early." He looks out the window at the darkness that has yet to see the markings of a new day.

"So are you. A byproduct of your trade?" I ask, heading to the counter and coffee.

"Something like that. Sit." My head jerks up as Caden barks the order, but it's softened by a tender look at my stomach.

"I'm not your dog," I mutter but refrain from further argument when he smirks and points. If he wants to wait on me, I'll accept. I shuffle over to the same place he ate dinner last night at the kitchen island.

With his back to me, Caden pulls out two cups and pours what he already brewed. I train my vision on Gus by his feet; he's much more G-rated than the SEAL covered in black ink ending above a very tight ass. We're going to have to establish a dress code if he plans on staying.

Whoa. Where did that come from? This is a one-and-done sleepover. He's off to Cara's tonight for a bed, not a couch, for family, not a forced commitment to a friend's fiancée.

"How do you like it?" He holds up the mug, and I get stuck on his voice. It's thick molasses, and now that I'm not pissed off and reeling from seeing him in my house, I recognize how it sinks in and tingles all the way to my toes. He's definitely got to go.

"Black, thanks." I wrap my fingers around the cup he sets in front of me, enjoying the heat as it combats the constant chill in the cabin.

"What's your excuse for a five o'clock wakeup call?" he asks.

"I have to get to the bakery." I point to the mounds of muffins and cookies and sweets that remain boxed post my Caden attack.

"I wondered about all the sugar, but then I thought women eat a lot when they're making a baby. A bakery makes more sense, though."

He smiles, and I sip the stiff brew. It's stronger than I normally make, but better too. I like it. "It was Cara's idea. She thought Lilyfalls needed some early morning love in the form of pastries, so Dax funded the endeavor. Cara uses the kitchen in the shop. I make the special orders in the evenings and carry them over in the morning. It's a good arrangement. I'll be able to stay at home with the baby and the days I'll work the counter, your mom offered to watch him."

Mentioning Caden's family brings his brow down-not the response I'd expected. I had thought they were close, or as close as they could be when he spent most of his time in California or overseas.

"That where you got this?" he asks, turning to the state-of-the-art range to heat a pan.



       
         
       
        

I glance at his rounded ass, totally missing the shiny new oven as he moves to slide two slices of bread in the toaster.

"It's on loan from Dax. I took a pie to Christmas dinner last year, and we cooked up the shop design and layout over dessert." Their generosity still astounds me, along with their willingness to embrace a newbie into the neighborhood and love me just because Justin did. "Dax bought the old penny candy store in January and converted the space before spring hit. We opened three weeks ago."

Caden nods, leaning against the counter, and once again my gaze is stuck on him. "Good to hear he finally found a use for his dot-com money and something to keep my sister out of his hair."

"I hope it becomes a good investment for him. We've done well so far."

It's rude to stare, so I focus on Gus and his sniffing hunt for fallen food. But Caden turns to the stove to make eggs, allowing me a reprieve from ogling, or just the opportunity not to get caught doing it. His back is smooth but for cut bunches of muscle that roll and dip in all the right places. I'm not so stuck on those, but the tattoos that cover one side of him from hip through to sleeve, leaving the other side as unmarked as it was the day he was born. Two sides of a coin, perfectly delineated by his spine. Angel wings and words, tribal markings and Celtic knots, all woven together in a masterpiece painted on his skin. It's beautiful. He's beautiful.

I swallow and tuck my chin to my chest, shocked by the increased speed of my pulse, my breath, and the stirrings of other long-forgotten human needs.