She blinked up at me. “Well, I appreciate that. And if you want to be in the baby’s life, I’ll absolutely be on board with that.”
Panic clawed at my chest. Not just a baby, but Dahlia’s baby. My baby.
“I have to take a test, of course. Pretty sure this is the first time anyone has been smacked upside the back of the head by a ghost to tell them they’re pregnant.” She laughed, but it was a strangled, nervous sound. “I can’t believe I didn’t even pay attention.”
She assumed I wouldn’t want anything to do with her.
I bent at the waist and focused on the striations in the wood floor. A baby.
“Nolan?”
I straightened up. “Marry me.”
“What?” Her huge eyes widened as she paled.
“Marry me.” I crossed to her and took her hands. “I know I’m a bad bet. Everyone knows I’m a bad fucking bet but marry me, anyway.”
“I’m not marrying you.”
The quick stab of pain sideswiped me.
She pulled her hands from mine. “What, because I’m pregnant? Just because you live in a Victorian house doesn’t mean we’re living in the dark ages, my guy. Hell, no.”
“Not just because of that.”
She lifted her chin. “I’m only doing the marriage thing once and it has to be because of love. This baby will be loved, regardless if you want to be in their life, but you and me?” She shook her head. “Every time I tried to get close to you, there was a wall as tall as this mansion. I deserve better than that.”
She did deserve better than me in every way.
But I was done running away from everyone and everything. There were roots here in this house, in the town, and with what was left of my family. Now this?
I didn’t want to run.
This woman might be carrying my baby, but nothing had felt right since I’d shoved her away that last time. The baby was only one part of her, and I had the chance to show up. To prove to someone that I could be depended on.
“You’re right. You deserve miles better.”
Her mouth dropped open, then shut. She swallowed and nodded slowly. “Right. Then we’re in agreement.”
“Nope.”
“What do you mean, nope?”
“You deserve better, so I’ll be better.” I crowded her back toward the window.
She kept backing up. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I know, but I’m not giving you up and I’m not giving up on that baby.” I cupped her face. “You are the most maddening, incredible, stubborn as fuck, stupendous, irritating woman I’ve ever met.”
“You don’t have a choice here.” Her hands remained locked at her sides. She didn’t touch me.
“Let me prove it, Hellcat.” I lowered my mouth to hers. “Give me a chance to show you.”
“What, with sex? We don’t have any problem with the sex part, Nolan. At least the one-sided kind. But you don’t share with me there, either.”
“You’re right. Because under these clothes, what I see is a monster.” I dragged in a slow breath. I had to share something, or I’d lose her. “I used to be an artist. It was the only thing that I could focus on to get me out of the pit that was my life. My dad was a junkie, and my mom was...addicted to him. He was her drug.”
Her eyes softened and she touched my sides. “Why does that make you a monster? You got out. You were brave enough to do something with your life.”
I swallowed down the bile that rose up. I wasn’t brave. I’d been a coward every damn day. “I ran. I sold out. The minute I got the least bit of notoriety, I sold my fucking soul.”
She frowned. “Being a starving artist is only romantic in books. So what if you got paid for your artwork? I get paid to do my version of art. Does that make me a monster too?”
“You don’t understand. I sold out and worked on commission.”
“So? That’s what all artists do if they can manage it.”
Was she being deliberately obtuse? God, this woman was so maddening.
She pushed me back. “That sounds like shit you need to figure out with a therapist, Nolan.”
“I stopped caring. I stopped getting inspired. And I got burned for it. Literally.” I flipped off my shirt.
She didn’t look at my chest, just kept her gaze on mine. “You had a terrible accident.”
“I deserved it!”
Dahlia folded her arms and looked me over. “You deserved to be cut open? You deserved those...what? Skin grafts?” She stepped toward me and lifted a hand to my scar on my cheek and trailed her fingers down my neck to the jagged line that went down to where I’d been opened up with the sheet metal.
