“That’s hardly your choice to make.”

He raises a brow. “You think I shouldn’t have a choice in where my children live?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“No? I think it was. I think you’re still convinced that, by the time you have those babies, I’m going to be back in LA and out of your life for good.” He stalks up to me slowly, determination in his eyes. “Sorry to disappoint you, angel, but that’s not going to happen. You can’t push me out of your life.”

“I’m not trying to!” I squeeze my eyes shut and take a breath. We had such a nice, pleasant day, and I don’t want to ruin it. “I never want to make you feel like you aren’t welcome in the twins’ lives. You’re their father. They’ll need you.” I lift my gaze to his, and he drops his shoulders.

“So let me do this,” he says softly. “If not for you, then for them.”

“Do what?”

“Give them a home. This home. I know you think you can make it work in that little apartment, but even if it weren’t way too small for two children, it also has those damn stairs. Have you really thought about what it’s going to be like, lugging two babies up those stairs along with strollers and groceries? And what about when it gets icy in the winter? What if you fell again? What if you were holding the babies when you fell?”

I let out a long, slow breath. He’s right. That apartment isn’t going to work once the twins are here. “Okay,” I agree. “I need a different place to live, but I’m not in a position to have a place like this yet.”

“I am.”

I wrap my arms around myself and shake my head. “No. It’s too much. I can’t let you do that for me.”

“I already have,” he says softly.

He takes my hand and leads me through the house—the breakfast nook beside the kitchen with a great view of the backyard, the dining room.

“The master is on the main floor,” he says, “but there’s an attached office you can use as a nursery until the twins are old enough to move upstairs.” He takes me into the large bedroom.

The attached bathroom is gorgeous—stone countertops, a jetted tub, and a large tile shower that has room for a small family. Off to the left of the bedroom is a sunny room with dark mahogany nursery furniture—two cribs, mechanical swings, a rocking chair, and a changing table.

“Do the current owners have twins too?” I ask.

“I’m the current owner,” Nate says. He watches me carefully. “I bought the house and furniture for you. I hope you like it. I didn’t get any of the bedding or decorations because I thought you’d want to choose that.”

My breath feels stuck in my throat and my eyes burn with unshed tears. “It’s too much.”

He gathers me against his chest and wraps his arms around me. I’m so overwhelmed that I let him, breathing in his good, clean scent and wishing life were simpler.

Suddenly I'm hit with a memory of Vivian crying in my office, asking me to give her a future with Nate. He deserves that future. And if it weren’t for me, he’d want it.

“It’s not nearly enough,” he whispers against my hair. “You’re carrying my children. There is no gift that amounts to that.”

“Thank you.”

“I tried to remember everything you told me you wanted in your life. It’s close to your family, so someday, when Maggie has kids, the cousins can play. It’s a five-minute drive from the bakery. The fenced backyard will be perfect for a dog when you decide you’re ready for that.”

I pull out of his arms and wipe my eyes. “You thought of everything.”

“I tried.” He studies me. “There are four bedrooms upstairs, so the twins can each have their own room when they’re older, but there’s still room for more kids if that’s what you want.”

I chuckle softly. “And who exactly would I have these children with?” I regret the question as soon as it’s out of my mouth.

Some emotion I don’t recognize flashes over Nate’s face, and then he’s stepping toward me, cupping my jaw in his big hand, skimming his thumb over my lips. “May I, angel?”

I’m too caught up and trying to process his nearness—the amazing and forbidden unfurling of need low in my belly—and before I realize what he’s asking, his mouth is on mine. Warm and tender, coaxing and wicked, the kiss is everything that turns me on about this man. It’s the sweet against the sensual, the protective against the need to consume. His lips sweep over mine and his tongue slides into my mouth, and I feel wanton and sexy and cherished all at once. I want to stay here, locked under the power of his kiss as his hand slides under my shirt. I could. I know he’d take me as far I as I wanted to go, and it would feel so damn good.

Between my shirt and bra, his thumb grazes over my sensitive nipple, and I gasp at the faint contact. My knees go weak and the hot, needy ache between my legs turns molten.

Somewhere deep within me, I find the will to step away from his kiss, and we stare at each other, chests heaving, eyes hot, bodies on fire.

“You bought me a house,” I say. “You didn’t buy me.” But my mind is already conjuring up all the things we could do in that bathroom, and some really horny, slutty part of me is whispering that it wouldn’t be right to let him buy me that big four-poster bed without trying it out.