Chapter 70: Uncharted Territory
Trishelle’s POV
A groan escaped my lips as I turned over, blinking sleep from my eyes. I yawned, a deep, satisfying stretch working through my limbs, and discovered I was alone in bed. The sheets beside me felt cool to the touch, the indentation where Bradley had lain already fading. I glanced at the little clock on the nightstand - almost 11 pm. My stomach growled, a deep, insistent rumble, and I rubbed my restless belly. The pup was clearly upset that I’d missed dinner.
I shuffled to the bathroom, a smile playing on my lips as I remembered the delicious "dessert" I’d shared with Bradley just hours before. The memory of his hands on my skin, of his surrender to my possessiveness, sent a warm flush through me. After a quick shower to wash away the lingering scent of our lovemaking, I slipped into a simple satin nightgown and wrapped a matching robe around myself. My bare feet made no sound on the cool wooden floors as I made my way downstairs, heading straight to the kitchen.
Opening the fridge, I spotted the evening’s leftovers and began pulling out containers, ready to heat up a generous portion for myself and the ravenous pup. The sound of someone clearing their throat behind me made me squeak, and I spun around.
James stood there, leaning against the island with a casual grace that belied the intensity in his eyes. He’d been admiring the way my hips curved beneath the satin cloth as I’d leaned into the fridge, though he knew I wouldn’t appreciate that observation. He did his best to keep the desire from his expression as he offered to prepare my dinner.
"Let me," he said, his voice deeper than usual, rougher around the edges. "You shouldn’t be on your feet more than necessary."
He waved me toward one of the stools, and I settled onto it, watching as he began dishing out the meal - baked potatoes, rack of lamb glazed in a pineapple barbecue sauce, and sautéed vegetables. The new cook was proving to be a godsend, and the food smelled divine. He loaded a plate generously and popped it in the microwave, stepping back as it heated.
He retrieved a glass from the cupboard and poured me some milk. My shy smile of thanks served as his reward, and something in his chest tightened at the sight of it. He leaned against the sink, watching me sip, pleased that I no longer stared daggers at him. The silence between us had shifted - no longer charged with hostility, but with something else, something tentative and uncertain. Something neither of us quite knew how to name.
His mind drifted back to the baby store, and he couldn’t help but ask, "What was that about today?"
I nearly choked on the milk in my mouth. I swallowed quickly, looking everywhere but at James. Yikes. Even I wasn’t sure what today had been about. I could understand my possessiveness and jealousy for Bradley - he was my mate, after all. But why had I felt the same way when that woman was eyeing James? If anything, I should have introduced them, happy to have his attention directed elsewhere. So why didn’t I? Why, even now, did the thought of that woman putting her hands on James make my grip tighten on my glass, a low growl rumbling at the back of my throat?
The microwave’s beeping pulled me from my musings, and I shook my head. These thoughts had to be due to low blood sugar. That was the only logical explanation.
James removed the plate and set it before me. I breathed in deeply, savoring the aroma. "This smells amazing," I said, digging in with enthusiasm. I moaned as the flavors exploded on my tongue, and James’ eyes darkened. He looked away quickly, aroused and embarrassed in equal measure. He shifted as his pants grew uncomfortable. He felt like a teenager again, unable to control his body’s reaction to the simplest sounds from me. It was both thrilling and mortifying.
He turned and reached for a beer from the fridge, needing something to cool himself down. "Can I join you?" he asked, gesturing with the bottle toward a chair two seats away from me.
I swallowed my current bite and nodded. "Umm... where’s Bradley?" I asked, trying to fill the awkward, yet somehow not entirely awkward silence.
James took a long swig. "He’s out on patrol," came his simple answer.
Unsure what to say, I simply nodded and returned to my meal, my pup enjoying it more than I was. When I’d nearly finished, and James was on his second beer, he asked again, "So, about that thing with... Stacy? Earlier?"
My hand gripped the fork so tightly that I felt the metal begin to bend beneath my fingers. "You mean Shelly?" I asked through clenched teeth. What the hell? Did he want her?
James shrugged, seemingly oblivious to my reaction. "Whatever her name was, I don’t care. I’m talking about the lady in the baby store. What was that all about?"
I loosened my death grip on the fork - wishing for a fleeting moment it was James’ neck instead - and calmly picked up my napkin to wipe my mouth. What the hell, why wouldn’t he just drop it? Maybe he was interested in that bimbo, and I’d gotten in his way. That thought caused an unexpected pang in my chest, but I rubbed it away, telling myself it was merely heartburn from eating so late.
"I’m sorry if I messed things up for you," I said, my voice strained despite my best efforts. "Maybe I should call the store tomorrow and apologize?"
James looked genuinely confused. "Why?" he asked, his brow furrowing.
I shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. "I thought you were interested, and I got in your way."
James’s eyes widened. "What? No. The only thing I’m interested in is understanding why you reacted like that." He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture I was beginning to recognize as his tell when he felt frustrated or uncertain.
For a brief, foolish moment, he’d hoped that perhaps I’d been jealous because of him. He’d wondered if Shelly had grabbed his arm instead of Bradley’s, would I have been upset? Would we have grown intimate the way Bradley and I had? Lucky bastard, he thought bitterly.
But clearly, he was fishing in a pond that held no fish. He should just be grateful that I was allowing him to be part of my life and his pup’s life at all. He ran his hand through his hair again, a frustrated sigh escaping his lips.
"I’m sorry, Trish," he said, his voice soft, almost defeated. "I guess I’m just tired. I shouldn’t be stressing you out right now. If your mate knew, he’d kick my ass, and rightfully so."
A bitter laugh escaped him. He’d screwed things up so thoroughly that he should be thanking every god known to man - and a few more he’d made up - that he could even speak to me like this. Standing, he moved past me, fully intending to leave things as they were and make his way to bed. However, my hand snaked out suddenly, catching one of his.
James paused, looking down at me seated below him. A powerful desire to kiss the crown of my brown curls made his jaw clench in resistance. He started to pull his hand away, but I tightened my grip, refusing to let go.
He knelt on the floor beside me, gently raising my head, which had been buried against my chest. What he saw on my face made his heart thump wildly - an expression that suggested maybe, just maybe, there was some hope on the horizon after all.
Trishelle knew she needed to say something, but the words eluded her. She wasn’t even certain why she had stopped him, yet the look of hopelessness in his eyes tugged at her heart, refusing to let her watch him walk away. This man was the father of her child. Despite their violent and forced beginning, that fact would never change. Beyond that undeniable truth, James had transformed himself in countless ways for her sake. She owed him honesty, at the very least.
When he placed his finger beneath her chin and lifted her face to meet his gaze, she understood that deception was impossible.
"Honestly, James, I’m not entirely sure what happened today," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Why I said what I said."
At his conflicted expression, she cleared her throat, searching for the right words. "I mean, I understand why I felt that way when that woman looked at Bradley like that - he’s my mate, after all."
James winced, the pain flickering across his features. Trishelle tightened her grip on the hand she still held, anchoring them both. "But what I can’t explain is why I felt almost the same way when she looked at you, too."
James’s heart began to pound, his mind racing through a maze of possibilities. Each one seemed more impossible than the last, yet hope bloomed stubbornly in his chest. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he asked, "Could it be because you’re carrying my pup?"
Trishelle shrugged, frustration evident in the set of her shoulders. "I’m not sure. Maybe, maybe not." She huffed out a breath, her hands gesturing helplessly. "I can’t seem to make sense of my own feelings."
James, on the other hand, felt his heart rate accelerate like never before. The idea swirling in his head begged to be shared. He tried desperately to find all the reasons why voicing it was a terrible idea, cataloging each potential disaster. But the tiny flicker of something - curiosity? longing? - in Trishelle’s eyes made the words slip out before he could stop them.
"Can I kiss you?" The question emerged as barely more than a breath, laden with both fear and hope. If she slapped him, it would confirm once and for all that no chance existed between them for something more. Yet if - just if - for one precious moment she said yes, then perhaps it would help them both gain some clarity about these confusing emotions.
Trishelle bit her lip at his breathy plea, her mind reeling. Why wasn’t she revolted by his suggestion? She knew she should tell him no, should rise from this couch and retreat to her room to wait for her mate. She should be planning to tell Bradley the minute he returned so they could leave and head back to Goldmoon. Yet all she did was lick her lips nervously, her pulse quickening when she noticed how James’s nostrils flared at the unconscious action.
She sat perfectly still, scarcely breathing. James leaned forward, ever so slightly, his movements deliberate and careful as he watched her. He was waiting for her to lean back, to reject him, but when she remained motionless, he continued. Some part of him knew it was too late to stop - he needed to know the truth of what lay between them. Just before his lips met hers, he saw Trishelle close her eyes, her dark lashes fanning against her cheeks.
Reigning in the fierce desire that threatened to consume him, he kissed her lightly, slowly, savoring the feel of her soft lips and the sweet taste of the milk she had drunk earlier.
Trishelle sighed as the touch of James’s lips failed to repulse her. In fact, it felt wonderful - unexpectedly, impossibly wonderful. She noticed the slight roughness from his training in the sun, the coolness from the beer he had drunk. She found herself grateful that the kiss remained slow and tender, each gentle press making her heart skip a beat. Her hand moved up to clutch the front of his shirt, anchoring herself to this moment, while his hand came to rest on her waist, warm and steady.
James tilted his head, pressing a bit more firmly, but keeping his tongue to himself. The last thing he wanted was to frighten her away, to shatter this fragile connection. However, his noble intentions crumbled when Trishelle groaned softly, and James felt the tip of her tongue tentatively enter his mouth. His hand began to shake as he fought to maintain control. He knew that pregnant females experienced hormonal surges, their desires heightened, and he refused to take advantage of that, no matter how vehemently his body protested his displaced chivalry.
Trishelle had no idea that kissing James would feel so intoxicating. She had been certain she would feel disgusted, repulsed even, but all she felt was that his body remained too far from hers. She slid her hand up his chest to wrap around his neck and bury her fingers in his hair, the silky strands sliding between her fingers. The momentum caused him to fall back to the ground, her weight settling on top of him. She felt his hardness beneath her and began rubbing herself against him, seeking friction, seeking relief.
James groaned, his carefully maintained restraint draining away like water through his fingers. He was now fully erect and aching, every nerve ending alive with sensation. The feel of her breasts - fuller than before, heavy with pregnancy - pressed against his pounding heart drove him to the edge of madness. His hands moved of their own volition, one sliding to the back of her neck, threading through her hair, the other grabbing her luscious backside and giving it a firm squeeze.
Trishelle gasped at the sensation, pleasure shooting through her. James seized the opportunity to trail kisses along her neck, his lips burning a path lower.
Trishelle raised herself up, positioning her knees on either side of his waist, and looked down at the father of her pup. James gazed up at her, his eyes drinking in every detail - eyes darkened with desire, cheeks flushed with arousal, lips swollen and moist from their kissing. His gaze traveled lower to her heaving chest and the breasts peaked with erect nipples straining against the thin fabric of her nightgown. His hands rose as if drawn by an invisible force and cupped their fullness, his thumbs rubbing over the sensitive tips.
Trishelle gasped, arching her back like a bow, and began rubbing herself more insistently over his bulge. The friction sent sparks of pleasure through her core. James groaned again as he realized she wore no underwear beneath the silky nightgown, and her wetness was now seeping through the thin fabric into his pants. His hips bucked involuntarily, desperate to be inside her, not caring that they were on the floor of the common room, not caring about anything except this overwhelming need. Just as his hands moved to raise the silky fabric, the sounds of men returning to the house - their voices carrying through the night air, footsteps on the porch - snapped them both out of the haze they were lost in.
Trishelle’s face flamed with embarrassment, the heat spreading down her neck. She scrambled to her feet, nearly tripping in her haste, and rushed back to her room, mortified that in mere seconds she would have let James do what he clearly wanted to do - what she had wanted him to do. She reached her room and closed the door, leaning against it as her heart hammered. She stripped off the nightgown with trembling hands and took the clothes, pushing them to the bottom of the hamper as if burying the evidence. She darted into the bathroom and turned on the shower, hoping the scalding water could wash away not just the scent of her arousal but James’s arousal as well, the mingled evidence of their desire.
As she stood beneath the spray, hot water flowing over her flushed skin, she wondered why she didn’t feel as if she had done something wrong. Shouldn’t she feel guilty? Shouldn’t she be consumed with shame? Instead, remembering the touch of James’s hands on her body, the way his fingers had felt against her breast, had her cupping herself, making the ache between her thighs flare anew. She pulled her hands away as if burned, pressing them against the cool tile wall instead, praying that she could understand just what the hell was happening to her. What did it mean that she wanted both men? How could she reconcile these impossible feelings?