Maya Banks - Forged in Steele

“Spaghetti,” he replied. “Sorry it’s nothing fancier. I haven’t been home much in the last while and the groceries are in sore need of restocking. Hope you don’t mind deer burger in your spaghetti. It was all I had in the freezer.”

Her stomach rumbled. “I’m sure it’s wonderful. Anything that smells that good has to be delicious. And to be honest, I got really tired of all the fancy gourmet stuff that Caldwell always had prepared. I had no idea what I was eating half the time. I’m afraid my palate isn’t that refined. Give me a burger and some fries and I’m in heaven.”

Steele grinned. “You and I will get along just fine then. I can cook, but I’m no cordon bleu.”

A few minutes later, he drained the pasta and then ladled out the thick spaghetti sauce onto two beds of pasta.

“What would you like to drink?” he asked. “I quick-brewed some iced tea, but I wasn’t sure if you liked yours sweetened or not. To me, it isn’t tea unless it’s sweet tea, but if you’re not from the South, you aren’t likely to share that opinion. I also have a variety of sodas and bottled water.”

“Tea is fine,” she said. “Admittedly, the tea I drink is usually hot, but I’m not opposed to iced tea at all.”

“I’ll get you some tea when I restock the groceries. Make me a list of the kinds you like. I can’t guarantee my little grocery store will have a huge variety, but I can always order it for you.”

“You’re very sweet,” she said softly.

From the way he was talking, he seemed to take it for granted that she’d be staying longer than a few days. But then she’d have a better idea of whether he still felt hospitable after she dropped the bomb.

“I’ve been called a lot of things, but I don’t think anyone has ever called me sweet,” he said dryly.

“Then I’m glad I’m getting to see that sweet side of you. It’s definitely there!”

He slid her plate across the bar and then set his next to hers. He filled two glasses with ice, poured the tea and then walked around to sit beside her.

She stared down at the steaming plate of spaghetti and her stomach promptly rebelled. She sat completely still, willing the nausea to go away. But the longer she sat, the worse it got. Sweat broke out on her forehead and she inhaled sharply, realizing too late her mistake.

“Maren?”

Steele’s sharp inquiry reached her ears, but she was already bolting from the bar, stumbling toward the bathroom before she completely lost it.

She burst inside Steele’s bathroom, instinctively heading back where she’d just been a few minutes before. She’d just reached the toilet when the first dry heave hit her, the towel on her head tumbling to the floor.

She nearly fell with the force of the retch. Her stomach lurched painfully as it tried to offer up something, but there wasn’t anything there to get out.

And then Steele was there, holding her up and preventing her from collapsing. He anchored her to his side and bent over with her, holding her hair back from her face. He didn’t say anything, thank God. He just stood there with her, patient and gentle as her body convulsed over and over.

When her heaves finally calmed, he loosened his hold but remained there, seemingly uncertain of what he should do next. She was horrified that this had happened in front of him. Her humiliation knew no bounds.

“Can you stay right here for just a second? I’ll get you a cool cloth for your face, but I don’t want you to fall. Can you sit, or do you still need to vomit?”

She weakly shook her head. “I’ll be fine. Sorry.”

He cursed under his breath. “Don’t be sorry. Here, let me close the lid and you sit.”

He kept hold of her while he shut the toilet lid, and then he helped her ease down onto it. When he was satisfied she wasn’t going to fall over, he backed away to the sink and quickly dampened a washcloth.

He returned and pressed it to her forehead. “Take deep breaths through your nose. Just take it easy and don’t rush anything. When you feel like you can stand, I’ll help you to the couch in the living room, unless you’d prefer to lie down on the bed for a while.”

She nodded, closing her eyes while he gently wiped her face and mouth. Though nothing had come up, her mouth felt like yuck, and she really wanted something to drink, but she was afraid it would only come right back up.

“Better?” he asked softly.

She nodded again and then opened her eyes to look up at him.

“What the hell is going on, Maren? Are you sick? Do I need to take you to the hospital?”

She sighed. “Nothing that five more months won’t cure.”

He gave her a puzzled look.

“I’m pregnant, Steele,” she said. “This wasn’t the way I wanted to tell you, but that’s what’s wrong. I’m pregnant and I’m still in the everything-makes-me-queasy stage.”

STEELE’S mind went utterly and completely blank. He stared back at Maren, took in the anxiety written in clear lines all over her face. Her pale, drawn features. The fear in her eyes. The longer he remained silent, the more afraid she looked, and yet he couldn’t find his damn tongue to save his life.

Rage billowed through him like a storm. He was afraid to say anything for fear that she’d think his anger was directed at her.

“What did he do to you?” he finally demanded in a hoarse voice. “I’m going to kill the son of a bitch, Maren. I swear it. Did he force you? Does he know you’re pregnant with his child?”

If Caldwell knew, his obsession with Maren wouldn’t likely end. He would pursue her relentlessly and Steele would never let the man touch her again. If he died trying, he’d protect her with his last breath.

Maren looked gray and very much like she would vomit all over again. She swayed precariously, her eyes shadowed as she looked anxiously at him.

“Steele, he didn’t . . . I mean he isn’t . . .”

She closed her eyes, looking more ill than ever. Steele gathered her gently into his arms and stood, carrying her with him.

“The bathroom isn’t the place for a conversation like this,” he muttered.

He walked out of the bedroom and back into the living room, where he tucked her onto the end of the couch, bunching pillows around her so she’d be as comfortable as possible. Then he reached for a blanket because she was shaking like a leaf.

After ensuring her comfort and that she was warm, he sat next to her, purposely remaining close to her, their bodies touching. He took her icy hands in his, rubbing them gently between his palms.

“Maren, look at me,” he said in a gentle voice. “No matter what happened, you can talk to me about it. Unless that’s not what you want. If you’d prefer to talk to someone else, I’ll get them for you. Maybe your mom? Maybe we should call her now.”

She shook her head and a tear squeezed from the corner of her eye, alarming him. Oh shit. He didn’t do crying females. And Maren crying? Panic paralyzed him as he scrambled to try to think of what the hell he should do.

“It’s not what you think,” she said. “He didn’t hurt me. Didn’t touch me. As prisons go, his was rather opulent. He provided everything I could possibly need, spoiled and pampered me. Lavished gifts. No, I wasn’t there of my own free will, but he didn’t mistreat me in any way other than keeping me under lock and key 24-7.”

Steele’s eyes narrowed in confusion. Surely she didn’t mean what he thought she did. “So what are you saying? That you were with him willingly?”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m not pregnant with Tristan’s baby, Steele. He never touched me. He was growing bolder. I think if I had been there much longer, he would have . . . Well, I’d rather not think about where things were headed if I hadn’t gotten out when I did.”

Steele’s mouth dropped open in bewilderment. That wasn’t at all what he’d expected her to say. His mind was screaming what the fuck. This wasn’t making any damn sense at all.

“Then who the hell is the father?”

She pulled her hands from his grip and eyed him with huge, blue eyes, wide with anxiety, fear written clearly in her features. She looked like she was afraid of . . . him. The thought gutted him. He never wanted her to be afraid of him. Did she expect him to go off the rails because she’d gotten pregnant by some other guy?

“I’ve only been with one man in the last eighteen months,” she said quietly. “You. I’m pregnant with your baby, Steele.”

He stared at her in complete silence as he processed what she’d just dropped on him. There were so many conflicting emotions ranging from what-the-fuck to absolute relief and elation. And a whole lot in between.

And when he did finally manage to open his mouth, he shoved his foot right in.

“I used condoms,” he ground out. “I’d never take such a risk with you, Maren. I’d never not protect you.” And then it hit him. “That last time. We didn’t use a condom. It had to have been then. God, I’m so sorry. I knew better.”

Before he could continue, she shook her head, biting into her bottom lip. “I was already pregnant then.”

She sounded defensive, but there was also a quiver in her voice that knotted his stomach. Fuck it all, he didn’t want her afraid of him. He wasn’t going to freak out and start denying responsibility. But this was huge on the what-the-fuck scale. Life-alteringly huge.

He ran a hand raggedly through his hair and exhaled in a long whoosh, and then what she’d said finally registered. His eyes narrowed as he looked back at her.

“You were already pregnant? You knew that? And you didn’t tell me? What the hell, Maren?”