She wore jeans and a long tunic top. Her hair was cut short and sassy, a thick cap of shiny, midnight black hair. The memory of the feel of it, soft like silk, bunched in his fist, washed over him, stealing his breath. For a moment, the sight of her shook him.

He inhaled deeply in an effort to drag the fragrance of her deep into his lungs. He could actually feel her soft skin sliding against his, taste her in his mouth. Rose. He would never forget the way she looked up at him with her enormous eyes, so dark brown there was no gold whatsoever in them. Long lashes, black as night, framed those deep chocolate eyes, and she had stared straight into his eyes without flinching away, absolving him of all blame, but damn it all, she’d had no choice. None.

Kane drew another breath as he shoved the memory away ruthlessly. He was a big man, dwarfing her in size, all flowing muscle, his height proportionate with his weight and not an ounce of fat. He loomed over her, nothing more than a shadow, his arms coming around her from behind to take her weapon, and in one smooth motion, he tossed it on the broken-down couch. She tried to whirl around, going for his instep, but his arms became a steel cage, trapping her. His hands settled over her midsection and shockingly, she was round, like a basketball. His heart, after one heavy thump, settled into a satisfied rhythm.

“Shh, Rose,” he said gently, trying to breathe calm into her. Her breathing had gone ragged. “There’s a gun trained on you. Don’t pull another weapon. Just stay still.”

Under the palm of his hand, he felt the small rounded belly and a peculiar push as if the baby kicked him, trying to protect his mother. The sheer relief and satisfaction that she carried his child shocked him a little. “No one is going to hurt you.” And they wouldn’t, not ever again. She carried his baby, and no matter what else, the child would always connect them.