More Than Crave You

by Shayla Black

  I grab her shoulders. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re only getting married once, and that’s to me. So whatever dress will make you happy, I want you to have it.”

  “I don’t need anything extravagant.”

  “But what do you want? Whatever that is, I’ll give it to you.”

  Normally, I’d grit my teeth about the impractical pomp of weddings and stew about how illogical it is to spend thousands of dollars to speak a few words in front of some people simply so we can become man and wife. But until the baby, Nia wasn’t even sure she wanted to marry me. I’ve forever changed her life with one rash decision made in a haze of possessive anger and lust. How can I not give her the small consolation of the wedding of her dreams?

  “You don’t have to do that, Evan. I don’t mind keeping it small and simple.”

  Suddenly, I mind. “Our ceremony should be memorable, not expedient.”

  She sighs. I don’t know whether she’s conceding my point or simply too tired to argue. “You’ll be having a prenuptial agreement drawn up, I suppose?”

  It’s illogical but I instantly resent her suggestion, like she’s already concerned about our divorce before we’re even married. Still, my practical side kicks in. “Yes, but let’s not worry about it now. Shouldn’t we…” Break open a bottle of champagne and toast? No, we can’t do that since she’s pregnant. “Celebrate somehow? We’re engaged.”

  Nia looks at me for a long moment. “I don’t feel like celebrating, Evan. I feel like going to bed. I’m tired.”

  It’s been a day full of shock and exhaustion—for both of us. A few earlier searches on my phone informed me that her hormones are probably raging, and it’s not uncommon for her to feel exhausted. But knowing that doesn’t help. We’re planning to spend our lives together, yet I’ve never felt further apart from her.

  When she makes her way down the hall, I follow, gripping her arm to stop her when we reach the bedroom. “You’re unhappy, and it’s…hurting me.”

  She turns with a little furrow between her brows. “I didn’t plan this. You didn’t, either. I thought I knew where my life was going. But…” She pauses. “I’m happy about the baby. I’ve always wanted kids. I’m just sad because I wanted them with someone who would love me for the rest of my life.”

  Her words stab me in the chest.

  “Please understand. I’m not saying that to make you feel guilty,” she carries on. “You can’t help how you feel any more than I can. I know you’re not ready to fall in love again and—”

  “I never loved Becca. I realized that today.”

  Nia rears back, searches my face, then cups my cheek. “And you’re confused?”

  “Incredibly. But I know that for sure.”

  She looks stunned. “What are you saying?”

  I’m not sure she believes me. Why should she when it took me years to realize something that’s been staring me in the face? “You’ve changed me somehow. Made me look at everything differently.”

  “Or you’ve just gotten used to something new.” She shrugs. “I’m not even sure it matters.”

  Then she eases free from my grip and heads for the shower, peeling her clothes off along the way. It’s not seductive. It’s automatic, as if I’m not even here. As if I’m not important at all.

  That fucking hurts. Nia never doesn’t want to talk. She’s never not wanted to be with me.

  Tonight, I might as well be invisible.

  I sit back on the bed and watch her close the door between us. Everything inside me tells me to storm in there, strip down and climb in the shower with her, then grab her tight and kiss her until she melts against me. Until she curls herself around me.

  I don’t. It goes against everything inside me to sit idle, but I do.

  When she emerges ten minutes later, she’s wearing a cotton nightgown in a soft pink shade, trimmed in lace. Her face is clean, but her eyes are swollen. She’s been crying again. Her ring finger is bare.

  Fury swells. Not at her. At myself. She’s bitterly disappointed, and I don’t know to ease her. I fucking hate how impotent that makes me feel. If I could to go back in time and undo that night—No. I still wouldn’t. I didn’t expect any of this. Sure, I’d hoped I would be getting married, but to someone who roused only easy companionship, not a woman who makes me want her until I can’t breathe. I certainly never imagined I’d be expecting a child again.

  But I wouldn’t change anything. I only want to move forward.

  Nia climbs into bed and turns off the light, then rolls away from me. I ease down beside her. I may not know exactly what to do, but I know she needs my comfort.

  When I wrap an arm around her, she stiffens. I don’t relent, just press a kiss to her shoulder and wait. Slowly, she relaxes, her breathing evening out as she falls asleep in my arms.

  I lie awake for hours, feeling her warmth against me, wondering how and when I’ll figure out a way to make her happy for the rest of our lives.

  Maui, Hawaii

  Saturday, December 9

  Eleven days later, the day of our wedding dawns. It should be one of the happiest days of our lives. Instead, I’ve never seen Nia more withdrawn, as if she’s preparing to walk to the hangman’s noose, not the altar. Every time I look at her face, I see second thoughts and regrets. I can’t stand it. And I can’t marry her like this. She might have said yes, but I know damn well she answered me under duress.

  It’s stupid-early when I knock on Maxon and Keeley’s door. It takes a good two minutes before my oldest brother opens with a yawn. “What’s up? You’re about eight hours early for the wedding, bro.”

  “I need to see Nia.”

  The gravity in my voice halts his stretch. “You okay? I didn’t want to say anything, but you guys haven’t seemed the same since you arrived.”

  How do I answer that? “I don’t know what to think.”

  “Want to talk?”

  “About how I feel?” I toss my hands in the air. “I can’t answer that. Is shitty an emotion?”

  Maxon grabs me by the arm and leads me into the kitchen. “You’ve got Reed genes, so yeah. I feel you. Coffee?”

  “Please.”

  He prepares the single-cup brewer, then glances at me over his shoulder. “You have cold feet? Worried you two won’t last?”

  “No.” With everything between us tense and uncertain, I probably should be. She’s been closed off since she learned about the baby. I haven’t wanted to push her. But my gut still tells me this is the right move. “She wants a father for our child. I…”

  My brother stares at me as coffee drips and I grapple for words. I could explain that I’m loyal and I keep my promises but what’s happening between us is more than that.

  “I want to be with her.” That’s the best way I know how to put it.

  Handing me a cup of steaming brew, Maxon nods and opens his mouth to speak.

  It’s interrupted by another knock at the door.

  “Grab that. Will you?”

  Wondering who the hell else could be here at the ass crack of dawn, I yank the door open again, stunned to find Bas and Griff. “What are you doing here?”

  When I step back, they enter.

  Griff slaps me on the back. “Thought I’d come by. Britta was having contractions earlier. For a while, I suspected we’d be having a baby and a wedding today. But it was false labor. It stopped about two hours ago. I came over because Noah called me and said he saw you leave his place at oh-dark-thirty. I picked up Sebastian along the way.”

  I nod. “I just, um…”

  “Needs his head screwed on straight,” Maxon supplies. “Before you knocked, Evan was explaining that he doesn’t know how he feels about Nia. He’s both male and a Reed, so naturally he has his head up his ass.”

  “Can’t say I’m surprised. Welcome to the family,” Griff drawls, then regards me with a slap on the shoulder. “It took three years and almost losing Britta for me to tell her I love her.”

  “I was faste
r with Keeley, but it was…messy.” Maxon winces.

  “How did you know?”

  “My feelings?” Griff asks, then shrugs. “Process of elimination. Do you feel miserable without Nia?”

  “Yes.”

  “Does it get under your skin and make you panic a little when she’s angry or not speaking to you?”

  The last week and a half has been anxiety-ridden and gut churning. “Yes.”

  “Does it bug the shit out of you when another guy so much as glances at her?”

  “A lot.” Even thinking about her exes and all the ways they’ve touched her makes me want to punch them all.

  “Do you want her more than any woman you’ve ever known?”

  From the first moment I saw her as something more than my assistant. “Yes.”

  “Have you ever felt this way before?”

  I shake my head. “I didn’t know I could.”

  Bas tsks at me as Maxon hands him coffee. “Dude, you’re in love.” He looks at my brothers. “I’ve been telling him this for a while.”

  He was right about the fact I didn’t love Becca. Maybe he’s right about this, too.

  Maxon points at Sebastian. “See? I rest my case. You, my brother, just need to believe. You need to take that leap of faith.”

  “What he said,” Griff puts in.

  They make it sound so easy…

  “What’s going on, guys?” Keeley steps into the room, wrapped in a silky, pale robe, belted around the swelling of her belly. “Did you decide you wanted a bachelor party after all, Evan? I have to say, six a.m. is a pretty interesting time…”

  Nia will look that pregnant come summer. I did some calculating. Our baby will be born late in July. We have our first appointment with a new obstetrician while we’re on the island. We haven’t talked about the fact that we’re moving here, but as far as I’m concerned, it’s a done deal.

  “We’re just convincing Evan that he’s head over heels for his bride-to-be,” Maxon quips.

  Keeley frowns and blinks. “Of course. I mean, something has been troubling you both since you got here, and I guess neither of you were expecting to have a baby so soon. But I’ve known since you two came for Thanksgiving that you’re mad for each other.”

  Head reeling, I set my coffee down and leave the men behind. Maxon’s wife knew, too? Before I even suspected?

  I take Keeley aside. “How’s Nia?”

  She stayed here the night before the wedding since everyone insists it’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the ceremony. I think that’s a foolish, antiquated notion, but Nia agreed with the superstition, so I acquiesced. I haven’t seen her in almost twelve hours. She looked particularly pensive last night. I’ve been awake for hours, worrying she’ll wake up this morning and tell me she’s changed her mind.

  “She seemed happy that everything is ready. Britta’s mom finished the food last night. The florist will be here at eleven to drop off all the bouquets and arrangements. Lono will be here a little after one, a good hour before he performs the ceremony. The photographer will show up about the same time. The seamstress finished the alterations for Nia’s dress and we picked it up. Thankfully, she found one off the rack that fit her almost perfectly. Otherwise—”

  “That’s not what I asked. How is she?”

  Keeley takes a long time answering. “Nervous.”

  “Hesitant.”

  Maxon’s wife pauses even longer before she nods. “But she loves you.”

  Right. The problem is, she thinks I don’t love her. I may not know what love is, but I know what it isn’t. I know that, since being with her, I’ve become full of nonsensical notions and something else I can’t explain: feelings. Even though they have no basis in logic, I can no longer deny them. They exist.

  In the background, my brothers and Bas rib each other about something. I focus on my racing thoughts and pounding heart. “I need to see her.”

  For a moment, Keeley looks as if she’s going to object, then she presses her lips together and gives me a decisive nod. “Follow me.”

  As she leads me through the kitchen, pausing to accept a soft kiss from her husband, I follow.

  “Evan?” Bas asks.

  “Where you going?” Griff calls out.

  Maxon follows up. “What are you doing?”

  I raise my hand and wave them off. “I think…I’m leaping.”

  Behind me, they celebrate and immediately start arguing about who was right first. I don’t care. I’m focused on Nia as I trail Keeley behind their bed and breakfast, toward the private ohana they’ve recently renovated into a suite.

  We creep through the humid predawn and dewy grass until we reach the beachy blue door.

  Keeley knocks. “Nia?”

  A minute later, my bride opens with a sleepy yawn. Her face closes up the instant she sees me. “Evan?”

  “I need to talk to you.”

  Something I don’t like skitters across her face. “Come in.”

  “You two going to be okay?” Keeley asks, seemingly reluctant to leave us.

  Nia doesn’t answer. She’s worried. That I’m here to call it off? Or that she wants to end it and doesn’t know how to tell me?

  “We’ll be fine,” I assure my brother’s wife as I nudge her aside and head straight for Nia.

  “Call me if you need—”

  “Thanks,” I assure Keeley. “I appreciate it. I’ve got it from here.”

  Well, I’m trying to. My palms are sweating. My throat begins to clamp tight. I catch sight of Nia’s wedding dress hanging from the bathroom door. I can’t see details since the room is shadowy and the white confection is shrouded by its protective plastic bag. But I’m not here for a sneak peek. I’m here purely to work out everything between me and Nia.

  I shut the door and turn to her.

  Her heart seems to stop. “What’s wrong?”

  Shit. Where do I start? What do I say? “I…”

  The sight of a manila folder on her nightstand catches my attention. The prenuptial agreement.

  “Did you sign that?” I ask.

  If she divorces me in the first ten years of our marriage, all the assets and possessions I brought into the union belong to me. She’ll walk away with nothing but child support. If I end the union at any time, she’s entitled to half of everything. The agreement is practical. My attorney insisted on it.

  Right now, I’m finding it distasteful and divisive.

  Nia swallows, bristling. “I said I would and I did. Look, if you’re having second thoughts—”

  “Not about marrying you, no. About everything you’re thinking? Yes. We need to clear up a few things. First, that document isn’t… That’s not how I feel.”

  As I storm across the room and pluck the paper from its folder, she gapes at me. A quick scan assures me she’s signed and dated it, as promised.

  “Does this bother you?”

  Nia doesn’t answer right away. “I know it shouldn’t.”

  “But it does.”

  “You’re entitled to protect yourself financially. In fact, you should.”

  “If you think that, why does having a prenuptial upset you?”

  She fidgets in the shadowy room. “In my head, if we’re building a future and spending the rest of our lives together, talking about the division of assets before we’ve spoken our vows feels like we’ve already given up.”

  Exactly. “I’m never going to divorce you. And I don’t believe we’re making a mistake.”

  Before she can say another word, I grasp the prenuptial paperwork in my hands and rip it in two.

  “What are you doing?” She gapes at me.

  I prowl toward her. Nia backs up a step. I come closer. She frowns and retreats again. I lunge for her. Her back hits the wall. I cage her in with a smile.

  “Trying to make you happy. We’re going to have a marriage, not a business partnership. I want to be with you. And I trust you, the way I hope you trust me. The only piece of paper we n
eed between us is the one legally declaring us man and wife.”

  Nia blinks. “You’re willing to give up your financial protection simply to make a point?”

  I gesture to the scraps of legal document. “I already did. For you.”

  “Why? You went to a lot of trouble to—”

  “Have my attorney draw up the papers quickly? Yes. Now I wish I hadn’t bothered.” I swallow. “Nia, you probably know how I feel better than I do.”

  “I don’t.”

  “You have no guess?”

  She looks away, biting her lip. “I don’t want to be wrong.”

  There’s no way she is.

  “Do you still love me?”

  Her eyes close. “I don’t see how I’ll ever stop.”

  Her admission makes something in my chest flip over. My heart. That crazy, cursed, uncontrollable organ slowly rousing like a sleeping giant. It’s frantically thundering between my ears, far louder than my common sense. It’s taking over my brain.

  “I’m slow to understand how something non-logical works. You know that. I never meant to hurt you or ruin your life or—”

  “You didn’t.” Nia looks almost confused by my statement. “I’ve been worried I ruined yours.”

  I cup her face. “Honey, no. You’ve made my life. Nothing would be right without you. Know why?” I shake my head because I can’t wait for her to either guess or demur. “Because I think—no, I know—I love you, too.”

  Her breathing stops. Tears fill her eyes. Her fingers try in vain to grip the wall behind her. “You don’t have to tell me what you think I want to hear. I’m going to marry you regardless.”

  “No.” I grab her shoulders. “I’m telling you what I’m finally comprehending. What I probably should have figured out a long time ago but was too emotionally numb and disconnected to understand. I. Love. You. If you need me to say it again—”

  Tears spill down her cheeks. A sob hitches her chest. “Don’t.”

  I’m so confused. “Don’t tell you how I feel?”

  “D-don’t lie.”

  Her voice sounds small and broken. My heart contracts and thuds again. I actually feel her pain as if it was my own. It’s disconcerting and awful and amazing all at once.