Hard to Hold by Katie Rose

with the baby.
    He’d felt trapped. And when the crying started, he thought he’d lose his fucking mind.
    As he walked into his condo and tossed the keys on the kitchen counter, he noticed a covered dish on the stove. Frowning, Logan removed the glass lid and saw that there was some kind of macaroni thing inside.
    Was it something that Isabella had made for herself, and then forgot?
    Or maybe she made it for him?
    After grabbing a beer from the fridge, Logan got a fork from the silver drawer and stabbed a couple of the macaroni. He’d intended to just try the dish, but when he tasted it, he groaned.
    Lobster macaroni and cheese. With broccoli.
    And it was to die for.
    His stomach growled as he reached for a second sample. Normally he ate just to satisfy his hunger, but now he took his time, savoring the cheeses, the pasta, the sweet chunks of lobster, and the bitter texture of the broccoli.
    Fucking amazing.
    Either Isabella was a hell of a cook or she knew a great takeout place. Whichever the case, he was in hog heaven. Taking out a bowl from the cabinet, he spooned half of the casserole into it, leaving the rest in case it was intended as her midnight snack. He rationalized by observing it was way too much food for one person, and he was actually doing her a favor by saving her from all those calories.
    Yeah, right
.
    But he couldn’t help himself; it was too damned good to pass up. And if he got into trouble with her, fuck it, he’d sweet-talk his way out of it the way he always did.
    Regrets fled as he enjoyed the food. Each bite was better than the last. He cleaned the bowl and downed the last of his beer. This simple rustic dish was probably the best meal he’d had since Italy.
    Fully satisfied, he rinsed the bowl and stuck it in the dishwasher. It was then that he noticed the slips of paper positioned under the dried flower arrangement on the countertop. Receipts. Taking another swig of beer, Logan examined them.
    Babies R Us.
    Carter’s.
    Pottery Barn Kids.
    Frowning, he mentally calculated the total. It was over a thousand fucking bucks!
    Stunned, he recognized his credit card number. He did tell Isabella to buy whatever the baby needed, but he wasn’t expecting this shit! He turned on the light and began to inspect the documents closely.
    A crib, dressing table, and bureau.
    Clothing.
    Bottles. Diapers. Blankets. Vitamins. Thermometer. Vaporizer.
    The last items were what he had expected her to purchase, but the majority of the expense was the furniture.
    Fucking furniture!
    What the hell was she doing, ordering a crib for a baby who would only be here a few weeks? It made no goddamned sense!
    As if hearing his thoughts, Isabella ventured into the kitchen. Dressed in an open robe with a sleep T-shirt and shorts beneath, her hair in a braid, she yawned. He had enough presence of mind to see that she appeared adorable.
    Something she had no business looking like in his home after a couple of beers when his guard was down…
    “I thought I heard you come in.” She gave him a sleepy smile that made his blood pound. He could picture her naked in his bed as he reached for her, waking her up with his hand between her legs as she came…
    “I see you found the casserole?” Her gaze shifted to the open dish still on the stove.
    “Yeah.”
You need to get this shit under control. She works for you, asshole.
But there was something intimate about the two of them sharing the kitchen in the middle of the night, as if they were truly a couple.
    And Isabella dressed in sleepwear. So she wore cotton! He tried to look away, but he could see the outline of her breasts beneath the soft fabric, the length of those legs, bare from mid-thigh down. Shit! He had to fight to keep from scooping her up in his arms, taking her to his bed, and giving her a night she wouldn’t soon forget…
    “I hope I didn’t eat your snack?” He forced his brain to work.
    “No. I left it for you. I ate earlier.”
    So she had made him dinner!