by Katie Dowe
“So do you.” She snuggled deep down in his arms and he hugged her to him. “You have been awake for the entire time.”
“I am used to it.” He kissed the top of her head. They had cleaned her up and she was wearing an ivory nightgown with a matching robe. Her hair was brushed back from her face and into a ponytail. She looked wilted but very happy. “I was thinking that for Christmas we could go on a tour and spend Christmas Day in Italy.”
“All of us?” She turned her head to look up at him.
He bent to kiss the tip of her upturned nose. “Yes. I think Mother has her own plans. She has been seeing William for more than a year now.” He told her about the hospital chief of staff.
“That’s wonderful!” she exclaimed. “Was she afraid you would not approve?”
“Something like that.” He looked down at her and admired the softness of her skin and the way her breasts strained at the material. Motherhood suited her, he thought with love filling him up. “Let us get some sleep,” he suggested and she put her head on his chest. Within a few minutes, she was asleep. He did not drift off for a few minutes as his heart processed what he had gained. With a tremulous sigh, he pulled the covers over her and went to sleep with his arms around her.
*****
She was able to go home two days later and Holly could not get enough of her brother. The wives had called and congratulated her, telling her that they would be coming by for a visit when she and the baby was settled.
“We have been fighting to see which one of us would be godparents,’” Gina said with a laugh.
“So, who will it be?” Ciara asked, feeling at last that she belonged somewhere.
“We cannot decide, so we are leaving it to you.”
“Oh no, you don’t!” Ciara said with a laugh. “Leave me out of it.”
Now it was the night and after urging Holly to go to bed and putting their son to sleep both Aiden and Ciara were in their bedroom. “Tired?” he asked her softly as he rubbed the cream over her belly.
“A little bit. I feel a little surreal,” she admitted.
“Why is that?” She had delivered an eight-pound baby but her stomach had receded drastically with only a little bit of looseness around the flesh.
“I am a mother of two children and a wife. I never dreamt that I would be both,” she said frankly.
“Why?”
“Because of the way I felt about my dad leaving us. I always loved children, Aiden, and would dream of something like this, but I never thought it would happen to me. I often thought I would end up like my mother.” Clara had come to visit her and had fallen in love with her grandson from the very first day. “She had a sense of bitterness to her that she had never gotten rid of and I wondered if that would be me someday.”
“You mother went through a lot.” He capped the bottle and used the towel to wipe his hands before coming on the bed next to her. “You are never going to go through something like that,” he vowed.
“I know. I love you, Aiden,” she whispered as she went into his arms.
“I love you, Ciara,” he whispered back as he closed his arms around her, thankful for the chance of experiencing something so poignantly wonderful!
The end.
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The Other Side
An unhappy relationship, the chance of a new start...
A complete pregnancy romance, brought to you by hit romance author Erica A Davis.
Top tennis player Mark Hildenstern used to have it all.
Now however, the top spot has been taken by Andy Henson, the latest young talent on the scene.
Andy is a skilled athlete, but is mean and plays very dirty.
Then Mark sees Andy’s girlfriend, Charli.
To get revenge on Andy, Mark decides to plant the idea in his head that Charli is cheating on him - with Mark.
The thing is, Mark overlooked one problem: the one where he starts to actually like Charli.
When he finds out Andy and Charli are already splitting up and accidental pregnancy gets thrown into the mix, how will the new couple deal with the fallout?
Find out in this emotional, high-stakes pregnancy romance by Erica A Davis of BWWM Club (search us).
Suitable for over 18s only due to sex scenes so hot, you'll desire your own hunky tennis player.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 1
"Mark? Mark, are you there?"
Mark Hildenstern didn't look up as Stephen Akhtar entered the changing rooms, staring at the floor as he sat forward with his elbows on his knees. Sweat dripped off his face and onto the tiles. He didn't want to talk to anybody, especially his coach.
"Get lost, Steve." He growled. "I'm not in the mood to talk."
"I should say you're not." Stephen folded his arms and glared at him. "What happened out there?"
Mark wanted to hit someone and Stephen was available. It would be so easy to stand up and swing. But despite his slight build, Stephen was very fast and even stronger than Mark. If Mark tried to punch Stephen, chances were he would be the one ending up in the hospital.
He looked up, knowing that he was trembling.
"I got outplayed." He snorted disparagingly. "Isn't that the way? He played better than me and I got caught on the back foot."
"That never happens with you. You never get caught on the back foot."
"It did this time." Mark rubbed his hands over his face. "Henson is bloody good and he got me."
He felt like the worst person on the planet. When he was out on the tennis court he dominated it. Even when he lost a match he made it hard work for his opponent; it was how he played - hard and fast. But then a younger man comes onto the scene and he flipped Mark's tactics on its head, annihilating him on the court. In front of the TV cameras and thousands of people watching. Mark had never been beaten that badly since he was sixteen years old and no one had even come close to doing that in the last fourteen years.
Now a new kid on the block was making him feel like crap. Mark didn't like the feeling. He felt embarrassed. People came to watch him play; he was a favorite with the spectators. They didn't come to see him lose and not that badly.
"Then you can get him next time." Stephen leaned against the lockers, punching the air with his statement. "There are plenty of tournaments to go to where you'll face him again. You can beat him on the court, no problem."
"Maybe I will." Mark sat up and slumped. "But chances are I won't. Maybe I'm getting too old to be playing professionally."
"What are you talking about? You're only thirty. That's not old."
"It is in professional sports. Henson's twenty-five. He's got quite a few years in him yet."
Mark knew that for certain. He had been playing professionally since his early teens, playing men's tennis since he was sixteen, and he had beaten many players who were at the top of their game and they were approaching thirty. Those over thirty seemed to be a little slower than those in their twenties. It was an observation that Mark had made and he knew he was reaching that stage where he was getting slower than the younger players. He was going to have to admit that he was getting old sooner or later.
Denial wanted him to do it later.
"But how long has he been playing tennis at the top like this with a world ranking in the top twenty?" Stephen demanded. "Only the last year. You've been at the t
op of your game for fourteen. He's got a long way to go to get your record."
"But he's certainly on his way." Mark grunted.
When Andy Henson had appeared on the scene the season before and annihilated most of his competition, Mark had been stunned. He had never heard of Henson before then even though he was an average player in lower competitions. But suddenly he had rocketed to the top and taken everyone by surprise. No one knew exactly what had happened or how he had managed it but he was there and he was taking out the top players. Two of Mark's closest friends, two of his best opponents in the grand slams, had retired shortly after being slaughtered by Henson, both of them admitting privately to Mark that Henson was the reason and they couldn't take the humiliation.
And it wasn't just the humiliation of being beaten easily in front of a crowd. It was Henson's attitude. He was sneering, bordering on nasty but not enough to be warned or disqualified by the officials. But when he was in the change rooms and they were waiting to go on court he would be dropping nasty comments in his opponents' ears, enough to put them off and struggle.
Mark knew. Henson had done exactly the same to him before the match. Most of it had been about his past and his dad being killed. It was still a touchy subject even after twenty years and it shook Mark up. That had kept him off-balance throughout the game and Mark hated himself for being in that position.
But the tactics were downright nasty. People used tactics to throw their opponent off and get in their heads but Mark was friends with the majority of his fellow players. Even the ones he didn't get along with never got in his head like Henson got in his.
"Mark." Stephen pushed off the lockers and ruffled his hair. "Don't let him get to you. You've been beaten before."
"Not like this." Mark stood. He wasn't going to listen to any more of this. "I'm going to shower."
He knew Stephen was watching him as he walked away, collecting his towel and gel from his bag and making his way to the shower room. And he knew his closest friend was concerned about him. But Mark didn't care. He was feeling sorry for himself and didn't want to think about anything else except getting drunk.
Maybe he was getting old. Maybe he needed to remind himself what it was like to be young again. A few drinks should help that.
Or a few dozen.
*****
The next two weeks passed in a blur for Mark. Henson had completely knocked him off-course and now he was wandering aimlessly trying to figure out what he should be doing. He was getting old; he wanted to get out there and prove that he wasn't old, that he could keep up with the younger crowd.
Now he was regretting it badly.
Two weeks of partying every night, drinking heavily and smoking weed had taken an effect on Mark. His body was reacting to it and it wasn't good. He had put on ten pounds and nearly failed two random drugs tests. The drinking was also making him sluggish so his performance at training was going downhill and Stephen was in despair.
Mark knew he needed to stop. But he didn't know how. There wasn't really anything in his life to stop him and get him focused. Even the love for his sport was beginning to dwindle. It wouldn't hold him on the right path and get him clean anytime soon.
Something big had to happen to do that.
But when Mark stumbled onto the porch overlooking the courts one morning, he still had no idea what that big something would be.
Stephen was standing by the rail watching the rallies. He turned when Mark approached and scowled.
"Where the hell have you been? You were supposed to be here nearly two hours ago."
Mark winced. His brain had been fuzzy and he hadn't thought to call Stephen to say he was going to be late. Now Henson was on the court they had planned on commandeering first thing, hitting the balls back to his coach in a way that seemed far too easy for him.
"Sorry." He mumbled. He shoved his hands in his pockets and shuffled his feet, feeling like a teenager who had missed curfew. "Lost track of time."
"You mean you've lost track of your senses." Stephen grunted. He turned to his friend and gave him a worried look. "What the fuck has happened to you, Mark? You've been going off the rails for the last two weeks. I've never seen anything like it."
"I'm having a good time. Am I not allowed that?"
"Not to the extent you're doing it. You're going to end up with an STD, organ damage or, worst case, dead." Stephen shook his head. "What's the matter with you?"
Mark shuffled from foot to foot. Stephen had been his friend for years and they were close. Or rather, they had been until the last two weeks. Mark had shut Stephen out, refusing to go to counseling to help with the mental stress and turning his phone off when he went out. Stephen was getting frustrated and if the situation was reversed Mark would be feeling exactly the same right now.
He rubbed at his eyes, which were stinging from lack of sleep.
"I'm trying to prove to some people that I'm not old. That I've still got it in me."
"We all know that you've still got it." Stephen protested. "You don't have to burn so many brain cells in the process."
Mark winced as Stephen's voice rose. He had chugged down a bottle of whiskey the night before and then had passed out on the couch. His head still felt like he was swimming through sludge.
"It's proving that I can still keep up with the youngsters."
Stephen grunted. He clearly didn't agree.
"Well, now you've decided to act like a shit, you're going to have to wait." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the closest court where Henson was. "There's a forty-five minute slot after Henson's had his workout and I want to make the most of it. We're on in fifteen minutes."
Mark nodded, watching as Henson practiced his serves. They were fast, too fast for him to see, and they all bounced in the same part of the court on the opposite side. His serves were the best. Mark had been caught off-guard many times with that serve. And Henson made sure he never forgot it.
Turning away with a growl, Mark's gaze drifted across the porch, looking over the people who were nearby. Several wore tennis outfits and were sitting at tables with cups of coffee and talking, the sun radiating onto the porch. A few people were taking advantage of the warmth and were lying on sun loungers on the lawn below him. Everyone was going about their business and didn't seem to notice what was going on around them.
Except for one. An African-American girl in her twenties was sitting at a table near the steps down to the path, a cup of something in her cupped hands. She was watching the tennis, her gaze seeming to be focused on Henson.
Mark felt like he had been hit in the chest. She was lovely. She had long hair - really long - tied into a French plait down her back, kept away from a face looking to be devoid of makeup. She wasn't slim but she wasn't fat, either. Somewhere nicely in the middle. And the bright pink summer dress and strappy heels she wore looked good on her, especially around her slightly bigger breasts.
Mark felt his cock waking up from its own stupor. He coughed and shifted.
"Who's that?" He nudged Stephen.
"Who?"
"The woman over there?" Mark pointed at her. "Wearing the bright pink dress with the big boobs?"
Stephen looked over, peering over his sunglasses.
"That's Charli Fraser. She's Henson's girlfriend. Good kid. Why?"
"Just wondering." A plan was beginning to form in Mark's mind. He put his bag beside Stephen and clapped him on the shoulder as he moved away. "I'll see you in a minute."
If Henson was planning on playing mind games and screwing up his game play, then Mark was going to play mind games on him. And Charli Fraser was going to help him, whether she knew it or not.
*****
"Mind if I join you?"
Charli looked up and saw Mark Hildenstern standing beside her table, a polite yet charming smile on his face. She felt her breath hitch when she saw him. Tall - more like huge - and towering over her, carrying a slim but muscular frame with his blond hair tousled over his forehead, he looked a s
ight to behold. Seeing him at a distance or on the television didn't compare to being this close to him; the man was devastatingly handsome.
Andy didn't know about her secret crush on his rival and it was probably a good thing that he didn't; he would just go off on one of his rages again.
She was sure he had an agenda. Considering their current rivalry, Mark would be trying to find something to psyche Andy out. And she was the obvious choice. Seeing Mark talking to her would anger Andy and possibly put him off his game.
And they would be having a massive argument later.
But Charli wasn't one to be rude, even to her secret crush. She shrugged and nodded at the chair beside her.
"No problem."
"Thank you." Mark sat down and grinned as he held out a hand. "I'm Mark Hildenstern."
Charli didn't trust herself to touch him. Her hands were tingling from the closeness as it was. She kept her hands firmly around her coffee cup.
"I know who you are." She said quietly.
"Usually when I introduce myself that means the other person does the same."
He was right. Charli gave him a small smile, her stomach feeling like she was housing butterflies.
"Charli Fraser. I'm Andy Henson's girlfriend."
"I know." Mark raised his eyebrows. "Does that mean I'm not allowed to talk to you?"
"It means I'm off-limits."
"Still means we can talk. I won't flirt with you, I promise."
Charli snorted.
"Sure you won't."
She wasn't that naive. Mark wouldn't be coming over to talk to her randomly, not when they hadn't met before. He was sitting with her for another reason and that reason was to make Andy insecure.
Not that it would take much. Andy was insecure and paranoid already. That was his reason for cheating on her so much - because he thought she cheated on him.
And Charli was getting sick of it.
"You and Andy been together long?" Mark asked.
He was sitting a little closer than before, his knee nearly touching her thigh. Charli swallowed and covered up her nerves by sipping her coffee.