The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins (Mia and Kyle) novel Chapter 462

Mia's POV

My heartbeat is too loud.

The leaves keep hitting us. Small impacts on Kyle's back, his shoulders. The children's laughter is bright and sharp in the cold air. Alexander is shrieking something about "GET THEM BOTH!" and Madison's giggle has that breathless quality she gets when she's truly delighted.

But all I can focus on is the rhythm under my ear.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Too fast.

His arm is around my back. Solid. Heavy. His hand cradling my head like I'm something fragile that might break if he lets go. His chin rests on top of my head—I can feel the slight pressure of it, the warmth of his breath disturbing my hair.

This is too much.

The realization hits suddenly. Too close. Too warm. Too many points of contact—my cheek against his chest, his arm around me, my hands that have somehow ended up fisted in the front of his sweater.

When did I grab his sweater?

I need to move. Need to put space between us. Need air that doesn't smell like cedar and cold leaves and him.

I push against his chest. Not hard. Just enough pressure to signal I want up.

He doesn't move.

"Kyle—" My voice comes out muffled against the cashmere.

"They're still throwing leaves." His voice rumbles through his chest, vibrates against my cheek. "Wait."

"I don't need you to—"

Another handful of leaves hits his back. Gas barks somewhere to my left. The children are shouting strategy at each other—Ethan's voice calm and analytical, directing Alexander to "aim for the center mass," which would be funny if I wasn't currently pressed against said center mass.

I push harder. Flatten my palms against his chest and shove.

His arms loosen. I lean back. Pull away.

My weight shifts wrong.

The leaves under us are slippery—wet and packed down and completely unstable as a foundation for any kind of movement. My right foot slides. My knee buckles.

I'm falling backward.

His hand shoots out. Grabs my arm. Pulls.

But he's off-balance too—sitting in leaves, all his weight wrong, my sudden backward momentum dragging him forward.

We're both going down.

I see it happening in that stretched-out way time moves when you know something bad is coming but can't stop it. His body tipping toward me. My back arching away. The leaves rushing up.

Then his other arm wraps around my waist. Tight. His hand spreads wide across my lower back and suddenly he's not falling on top of me—he's controlling the descent. Turning us. Taking the impact himself.

We land in a tangle. Him on his back in the leaves. Me on top of him. My hands braced on either side of his head. My face maybe six inches from his.

His eyes are very gray.

I can see the darker ring around the iris. Can see the way the colors shift—smoke and steel and something almost silver near the pupil. Can see my own reflection in them, tiny and inverted.

His breath hits my lips. Short quick puffs that smell like the coffee he had this morning.

Neither of us moves.

The children have gone quiet. That particular sudden silence that means they've noticed something interesting.

"Ohhhhh," Alexander says. Long and drawn out and loaded with meaning I really don't want to examine.

"They're gonna kiss!" His voice goes high. Excited.

I move to push up anyway. Shifting my weight. Preparing to lever myself off him.

His arm tightens around my waist. Not painful. Just firm. Keeping me exactly where I am.

"Wait," he says.

"For what?"

"Let me help you up properly. So you don't fall."

"I'm not going to—"

"Mia." His voice drops lower. Gets that particular quality it has when he's being serious. "Let me help you."

The children are still chanting. Alexander has gotten Madison and even Ethan to join in now—a chorus of "KISS! KISS! KISS!" that echoes off the bare trees.

"You're making this worse," I hiss at Kyle.

"I'm preventing you from falling."

"You're—" I stop. Take a breath. The air is cold in my lungs. Sharp. "Fine. Help me up. Now."

His hand on my waist shifts. Slides lower. Grips my hip. The pressure of his fingers through my jeans is very specific. Very deliberate.

"On three," he says. "One—"

"THEY'RE GONNA DO IT!" Alexander shrieks.

"Two—"

"Alexander!" I snap, not looking away from Kyle. "Stop it!"