His heart beat violently against his ribs, each thud a war drum to the truth he already sensed thrumming through her body. The dates lined up perfectly. Everything pointed to it. But dammit, how was he supposed to say it out loud? How did a man admit he *knew* what was happening inside her without sounding like a psychopath who could sense when his woman got her period?
His woman.
Fuck, he loved how that sounded. So much that it stole his breath every damn time he thought it.
But still—how could he say it without sounding like a monster?
Because that’s exactly what she’d see when she looked at him. With those ocean-deep eyes, the ones he wanted to drown in and never surface from. Eyes that had once looked at him with wonder and trust, and then—after those moments when the worst parts o
