“Kash,” she whispered and pulled my head up to press her lips to mine. “That was a really good effort, but no.”

I growled and mumbled, “I’m going to hide your birth control.”

Rachel sucked in a large amount of air, and I knew she was about to let me have it, but I’d just realized I knew where her birth control was.

She must have seen the recognition flash in my eyes, because hers widened and she gasped, “Oh no, sir!”

I jumped off the couch, but she grabbed me before I could land, and we both hit the ground with Rachel now caging me to the floor. Not that I couldn’t get out, but I f**king loved the position we were in.

“Logan Kash Ryan . . . I swear to God if you hide my pills, I will go to my doctor and get one of those birth control things put in tomorrow. You know those ones last five years unless you get them taken out? Actually five years until kids sounds pretty good right about now.”

My hands had been traveling up her waist, underneath her shirt; but when I realized what she was saying, I froze. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would and I will,” she gritted out.

“Fine.” I shrugged and ran my hands back down her flat stomach. Flashes of me running my hands over Rachel’s stomach, round with our child, hit me hard. Just like they had been all day.

I’d thought about having kids . . . eventually. But now? It was all I could think about. Something about seeing Rachel holding Shea had made it all click today, and I wanted it so bad, it felt like it was all I’d be able to think about until I saw it through. And, Jesus Christ, I wanted to see it through.

“It’s like you said”—I whispered, and my hands went to the button on her shorts—“they aren’t one hundred percent effective anyway.”

Her face fell. “You’re using condoms again. Starting now.”

“The f**k I am!”

“Kash.” She sighed and sat up, but her body curved in on itself as I watched hidden exhaustion set over her features. “I don’t want to even think about this right now. Okay? We can figure something out in a few years, but for now just . . . stop. Don’t push the issue of having kids on me.”

Whoa, what? “The issue of having kids? I thought you wanted kids.”

“I don’t know, Kash . . . I just—I can’t talk about this right now.”

“Rach—”

She pushed off me and had gone two feet before she turned and pointed a finger at me. “If you want kids so damn bad, figure out how to have them yourself!”

What the hell? When did she go from wanting kids eventually to not wanting to talk about it at all?

“Rachel,” I called after her when she turned to leave again. “Come here and just talk to me.”

She kept going. Slipping into her sandals, she grabbed her purse and headed toward the front door. I scrambled up and ran over to her, grabbing her arm just as she’d reached out for the doorknob.

“Are you kidding me? What the hell is going on? Why are you throwing shields at me, and how did that conversation just turn into you being upset and leaving?”

She kept her head down and refused to look at me. “I just want to go for a drive. Let me go.”

If I let her go now, we would go back ten steps . . . and I wasn’t willing to go back to how we’d been. Rachel keeping things from me. Shielding me from her emotions. Pushing everyone—including me—away. Hell no. Never again. “No. First off, you don’t leave when you’re upset or if we’re in the middle of a fight. You talk to me. Second, I told you a long time ago we were done with your shields, and we’re not about to start up with them again. So sit down and tell me what’s going on with you all of a sudden.”

“Kash, just let me go clear my—”

She hadn’t acted like this, or shielded me, for almost a year. To be honest, it was freaking me the f**k out that she was starting it again. Knowing she would keep this up until I dropped it or she eventually left, I did the only thing I knew in order to get her to listen. “I said sit the f**k down, Rachel!”

I hated yelling at her, but there was something about me taking control of the situation, and being an ass**le, that always got Rachel to break down her walls and start talking. Not waiting for her to move, I grabbed her purse and dropped it on the floor, bent so my shoulder was against her stomach, and stood back up with her hanging over me.

“Why are you such an ass?” she grunted when I turned back toward the living room. “All I want is to be alone right now!”

“Ah, my little Sour Patch. We’re going to have to work on that if you want to get married. Because after we are, you can’t just walk out on a fight.”

“I didn’t know we were fighting,” she grumbled.

“We weren’t until you started PMS-ing on me.”

“I am not PMS-ing! Put me down!”

“Gladly.” I let her slide down and pushed her so she was lying down on the couch and crawled on top of her, caging her in. “Talk.”

Her blue eyes were on fire as they narrowed at me, and I watched as her jaw locked while she took deep breaths in through her nose. My girl was about to explode, and as much as I loved her when she was pissed off, I needed to know what had just happened.

“Drop the attitude, Sour Patch, and talk to me.”

“I don’t want to talk to you. I want a couple hours to myself, we can talk after.”