Crave

going to carry that burden around with me for the rest of my life—but, and I know this is going to sound bad, I’m a murderer with a clear conscience? I don’t know if that makes sense . . .”

The thing was, though, that notation in his dossier Must have moral imperative hadn’t just been window dressing—and that was the only reason why he could live with not sending himself to prison or the electric chair.

He cleared his throat. “I want to go through my trial for the cage fighting—maybe if I agree to cooperate, I can plead out or something. And then I want to get a job. Maybe in security or . . .”

He’d been hoping to join Jim Heron’s crew, but then again, with Matthias dead, maybe those three had disbanded—although he was never going to know. If Jim hadn’t come to find him by now, he was never going to.

“I think I’m pregnant.”

Isaac froze. Then blinked.

Huh, he thought. Going by the ringing in his ears, someone had apparently just clipped him in the back of the head with a two-by-four.

Which would explain not only the noise but the sudden dizziness as well.

“I’m sorry. . . . What did you say?”

She held up the pills. “I forgot to take them. With all the drama, I just . . . didn’t do it.”

Isaac waited to see if the okay-I’ve-been-boarded sensation returned, and what do you know, that was a hell-yeah.

The aftermath didn’t last, though. A shattering joy beat back the wobbles, and before he knew it, he’d all but jumped on Grier, tackling her onto the mattress in an embrace that brought them bone-to-bone. And promptly horrified him.

“Oh, God, did I hurt you?”

“No,” she said, smiling and kissing him. “No, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

She got an odd, faraway look in her eyes. “Yes, I’m positive. Can we call him Daniel if it’s a boy?”

“We can call him anything. Daniel. Fred. Susie would be tough, but I’d deal.”

There was no more talking after that. He was too busy undressing her and her him, and then they were naked and—

“Fuck . . .” He groaned as he entered her, feeling her tight hold on him and reveling in that warm, slick pressure. “Sorry. . . . I don’t mean . . . to curse. . . .”

Oh, the moving, the glorious moving.

Oh, the glorious future.

He was free at last. And thanks to her, he was in out of the rain, literally.

“I love you, Isaac,” she breathed against his throat. “But harder . . . I need you to go harder. . . .”

“Yes, ma’am,” he growled. “Anything the lady wants.”

And then he proceeded to give her everything he had . . . and everything he was and ever would be.