“What does different mean?” she asked, her hands sliding from his shoulders.
He shook his head and rolled off her, then plumped up the pillows and lay back, one arm tucked beneath his head.
“You brought it up.” She rolled onto her stomach at his side, immediately distracted by his rock-hard body—on display and invitingly touchable. “You told Rowdy he could ask you anything.”
He cocked a brow at her. “One, you’re not Rowdy. Two, he’d never ask me about my screwed-up personal life.”
“You’re not happy? You seemed to enjoy the hell out of it. New bed, new gal, new...adventures.” She couldn’t imagine. Taking a man to bed was too intimate a thing to do so carelessly. Since Rowdy had been conceived, only Mitchell had shared her bed. And then it was to sleep, nothing more.
He lifted a long curl from her shoulder, twining it around his fingers as his gaze traveled over her bare shoulder. “So you’re asking if I’m happy?”
She grinned. He really didn’t want to talk about it. “Are you?”
“I don’t think I could be happier than I am right now.” His blue gaze met hers.
She swallowed.
“You don’t trust me,” he said, nodding. “I get it. But I’m not going anywhere. I want to be here, a family, for you both. I’m hoping I can prove I’m a different man. A better man than I was.”
She rested her chin on her folded arms, watching him. He turned onto his side, his fingers running along her back and buttock, exploring her body with slow, gentle strokes. It was mesmerizing, easing her into a state of sensation.
His words repeated, over and over, until she accepted the truth. She wanted this; she wanted him to prove he was trustworthy. She wanted him. Not just for dinners and the occasional fireworks in her bedroom. But here, with her and Rowdy, every night—a real family bound by love and commitment. It was asking too much of him, she knew. She’d never seen evidence of commitment or love from the man, until now. If she were smart, she’d guard her heart and accept what she wanted could never happen. Still, she whispered, “What does that mean, Toben? A family?”
His hand stopped, resting on the base of her lower back. His breath powered from his chest, unsteady and harsh. “You, me and Rowdy.”
She tried to sit up, but his arm snaked around her waist and tugged her against him.
“Don’t start putting space between us now,” he said.
She stared at his chest, willing her heart rate down.
“Poppy?” he whispered. “Look at me.”
She shook her head.
“Please,” he tried again.
It was a mistake. He was too damn mesmerizing, too intense. In his smile, she saw all the reasons she should run the other way. Passion, strength, charm—things that could hurt her in the end. Her hand rested on his chest, the racing of his heart pounding against her palm. That he couldn’t fake. That was real. Even if she didn’t know exactly what it meant.
“You know I love Rowdy?” he asked.
She nodded. Without a doubt.
“But you wouldn’t believe me if I told you I love you.” His fingers combed through her hair, his gaze traveling over her face. “Not yet. Not till I’ve shown you.” His jaw tightened, pure resolve on his face. “And I will show you. Every day.”
She swallowed. His words painted a pretty picture, one that made her ache. But...
“It’s going to take time. Time, I’ve got.” He smiled at her, tugging her close to press a kiss to her forehead. She relaxed, loving the way his hand smoothed down her back, the way he buried his nose in her hair to breathe her in. Like she was his—like he wanted her to be his.
“You staying?” she asked.
“Is that an invitation?” he asked.
“It’s awful late to be driving home,” she murmured, doing her best to avoid the question.
“Not really. I’ll stay if you want me to.”
She looked up at him. “Rowdy would want you to.”