by Lee, Nadia
“She got tired of the porn studio?” He tilts his chin toward the statue from Barron.
It makes me choke and laugh at the same time. “Ah, no. It’s actually a friend of hers in Dillington. She’s sick with breast cancer. She lives alone, and Mom wants to make sure she’s okay.”
All the light humor leaves his face. “Is her doctor any good? Is she getting the treatment she needs?”
“Yeah. I think so.”
“I don’t want to presume, but you know you and your mom can ask me for anything, right?”
“I know.” I also know that he’ll move heaven and earth to make it happen because he’s just that generous and caring. “Thank you.”
He places a soft kiss on my forehead. “Anytime. It’s about time you get used to being my wife. And none of that six weeks, then get divorced stuff. The baby needs its father.”
I smile at him because that’s the right response, but I don’t miss the fact that he didn’t say anything about love. But it’s clear that he trusts me one hundred percent. Otherwise he would never have told his family the baby was his. I should be happy about that. Love can’t happen without trust. I’m at least ten steps ahead.
“So about your doctor visit…” Nate begins.
“Let’s not do that on a Sunday, even if doctors will come out for a Sterling baby. If they’re working on a Sunday, it’s for emergencies. And I feel fine.”
“Hmm. How about your regular doctor?”
“I, uh, don’t really have one. I haven’t had a chance—or a reason—to go to one.” Besides, gynecologists are right up there with dentists on the list of specialists I’d rather not see. I know I need to do pap smears and all that, but the visits are always so awkward, and the doctor examining me down there with clinical efficiency and a glob of cold lube? I can’t think of anything more embarrassing.
“Well, you have to see somebody. How about someone from the Sterling Medical Center? The doctors there are first-rate, and they can probably fit you in as a favor. And look, no kidding: if I don’t call Barron and give him some news, he’s going to show up with an obstetrician and one of those weird pink medieval sex-torture chairs.”
I snort a laugh at his description of stirrups. He’s seen them at the center, and they do come in pink. “Okay, okay, fine. How about Dr. Wong?” I remember working with her a few times, and I like her. Most importantly, she has a friendly demeanor that never fails to put people at ease. “Tomorrow.”
“Yeah, she’s very good. But are you sure you want to wait until tomorrow? Because—”
“Tomorrow. Monday.”
He doesn’t like it, but finally says, “All right.”
“Let me text her and see when she’s coming in,” I say, grabbing my phone. Thankfully, she’ll be working and she says she can see me, if I drop by on the way to the Sterling & Wilson Los Angeles headquarters. I check Nate’s schedule to make sure he doesn’t have any meetings, then say okay.
Nate insists on coming with me.
“Won’t you have to review some reports or something?” I ask.
“All that other stuff can wait. I want to be with you every step of the way.”
I nod with relief. I’m glad he wants to be as involved as possible. I want our child to know he’s loved by both his parents. He should never have to experience the achy pang of sadness at seeing other kids with their dads while he doesn’t have a dad to talk to or play with.
* * *
Evie
On Monday, I get up, shrug into a dressing robe and go to the closet first, to pick out his clothes. I want him in a power suit. Not because he has meetings, but because he looks hot as hell in it.
I sense his presence behind me and turn around, smiling. He’s in nothing but boxers, and for a moment, I can’t remember what I need to tell him. He looks utterly touchable: his hair slightly messy, dark stubble shadowing his chiseled cheeks. And his shoulders look extra broad today. I never appreciated how sexy broad, strong shoulders could be until I met him.
“Good morning,” he says. “What are you doing in the closet so early?”
I notice the hanger in my hand and pull myself together. “Just picking some stuff out for you. What do you think?” I show him the navy pinstriped suit.
He gives it a cursory glance. “Nice, but I prefer a shirt and slacks.”
“I know—” I swallow the rest of the words abruptly. Did he just say he wants something other than what I picked out? “I’m sorry?”
“Just a shirt and slacks is fine. No need for a suit. I don’t have any meetings today.”
I stare at him, trying to process what just happened. He vetoed my choice. He’s never done that before. What’s going on? Does he not like what I’ve selected for him? And by shirt and slacks…
My gaze drifts toward the back of the closet, where I hid the hideous puke-green shirt and pink shark pants. Oh, good God no.
“What’s wrong with the suit?” I ask.
“Nothing. It came from my closet, so of course it’s fine.”
A small shudder runs through me. He thinks everything in his closet is great. Not everything, Nate. “Let me pick out the shirt and pants, then.”
“Evie, really. I can dress myself.”
I inhale deeply. “If you’re doing this to lessen my workload because of my pregnancy, it isn’t necessary. I’m perfectly capable of picking out your clothes as usual.”
“So am I. I’ve been dressing myself since I was four.”
His poor mother.
“I only said I couldn’t and needed you here every morning because…” He clears his throat, looking slightly abashed. “Look, I just wanted you here every morning. I thought that if you saw, you know, my body in its most, uh, natural form—but without crossing the line, if you see what I mean—you’d be, well…”
“Yes?”
“…overcome with, uh, lust.”
Men. “So. You actually can pick out clothes that won’t embarrass you or the people who see you?”
He nods.
“Then what are the green shirt and shark pants for?” I gesture toward the back, needing to be sure.
“Those? They’re gag gift from Court. He thought it’d be hilarious to put me in them. Too bad for him that he can never beat me in poker or blackjack.”
I press the heels of my hands against my temples, unsure if I should be annoyed or glad that he isn’t colorblind and has decent taste. I decide I should be a little bit of both. “I can’t believe this. Do you know I had to get up an hour and a half early to come over here and help you get dressed?”
He looks a little guilty—but only a little. “Yeah, I know. And I’m sorry about that. But I didn’t think you’d resist for so long! I thought you’d give in within, you know, a month or two…and then I could tell you the truth.” He shoots me an angelic smile, the kind that I’m sure has granted him every get-out-of-jail-free card he’s ever needed.
“You’re incorrigible. Absolutely terrible,” I say, doing my best not to let my twitching mouth curve into a smile. Damn it, even though I know he’s being ridiculously manipulative, I just can’t help myself from softening. He’s too irresistible.
“I am, I know. But I’ll make it up to you. How about I buy you a pink Cullinan for Christmas, like the one Sophia has? It’s a pretty car.”
Just the thought of such a crazy extravagance is almost enough to make me faint again. I just haven’t gotten used to this mindset. Not yet, and maybe not ever. “No! That thing probably costs a kidney and a lung.”
“I think the new ones are only, like, a little finger.”
“Still a no. And since you just confessed to your crime, you can pick out your own clothes. I’m going to shower. Alone.”
I sashay away and step into the bathroom. But I don’t lock the door, because I don’t really want to shower alone. I toss my dressing gown on the counter and purse my lips. If Nate doesn’t get my hint—hello, there was no sound of the lock clicking into place!—I’m going to be ve
ry disappointed.
I step into the glass stall big enough to host a foursome. The tiles feel slightly grainy, like fine sandpaper, against the bottom of my feet. I start the shower. The water—which comes out of the rainfall faucet above my head and twelve pulsing jets on three vertical chrome pipes—is instantly hot. I sigh under the spray. Now this is a perk I can totally get used to. Until I moved in here, I didn’t know water could come out hot without having to wait.
The door opens. My heart beats faster. Nate doesn’t disappoint!
He steps into the stall, having already discarded his boxers. His cock is hard and thick, the head almost touching his tight six-pack. My God, the man’s magnificent. Perfect. If he hadn’t been born rich, he could make a fortune as an underwear model.
“I don’t feel right, not making amends after what I’ve done,” he says lightly.
His gaze skims over my wet body from face to breasts to the flesh between my legs and below, then back up to my eyes. I feel the perusal like a physical touch, and my nipples pucker and my clit throbs. Hard.
“Oh yeah?” I say, slightly breathless now. “What are you going to do then?”
“Atone.”
Raising an eyebrow, I eye his impressive erection. “I don’t think a morning quickie is really a proper form of atonement.”
“Depends on the quickie.”
He steps toward me. Lust thickens my blood, need hammering in my chest. He wraps my hair in his fist and kisses me hard.
I part my mouth at the masterful plundering of his lips and tongue. He pushes inside, then pulls back, then again and again and again, imitating the sweet friction of his cock sliding into me from yesterday. But instead of pushing into my pussy, his cock is pulsing against my belly.
His other hand slides down my wet body, tracing my shoulder, then down my arm until it hits my wrist, then jumps to my hips and rises back up. He cups my breast, holding its weight in his big, warm hand, circling his thumb lazily over my wet nipple.
Thick pleasure courses through me, sending one electric zing after another until my toes curl against the ribbed tiled floor. He pinches my nipple between his thumb and index finger, then tugs gently. A cry gets strangled in my throat.
“Love your body,” he whispers, his voice rough.
I love what you do to my body, I think. But before I can tell him so, he takes the other nipple into his mouth. Gasping, I lean against the wall, my hands not finding any purchase against the smooth glass wall behind me. I grab the closest water pipe, then tunnel my fingers into his wet hair, holding on to him as my knees start to shake.
His mouth glides down, his legs bending. Then finally, he puts one of my legs over his shoulder and looks at my vulnerable pink flesh with bright, lustful avarice. “Gorgeous.”
He runs a finger along the folds, and I bite my lip. I can feel the slickness sliding down my thighs. It’s an incredible turn-on to have a powerful man kneeling between your legs, ready to give you pleasure.
“I want to hear you scream when you come,” he growls deep in his chest. “I’ve been wanting to spend a morning doing this to you for a long time.”
My face flames even as excitement sparks through me. He moves in and devours me like a starving man. His mouth pulls at my clit, making it throb until I think I’ll die from the sharply blissful sensation. He’s relentless, his fingers penetrating me, two at first, then three. I clench around them, sobbing as pleasure builds, pull by pull, breath by breath.
I start to get close. Nate curls his fingers just so, driving with just enough force to give me exactly what I need, as he tongues my clit with more lustful abandon than pure skill.
My vision turns blinding white as an orgasm shatters me. I scream his name, my back arching, my pelvis rocking and my whole body shaking.
He holds me tightly the entire time, his tongue lapping at me. When I finally stop trembling, he looks up at me with the same angelic smile he gave me earlier in the closet. And I feel my heart melt.
“How was my penance?”
I laugh breathlessly. “Very good.”
He kisses my belly. “Am I forgiven, then?”
“If you atone like this…?” I hold his hands and raise them. He comes up until he’s standing before me. “I suppose you are.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Evie
Nate drives us. I ask him when Miguel’s coming back, and he says he isn’t sure but doesn’t care.
“You honestly don’t know?”
He clears his throat. “I might’ve given him six weeks off. I was planning on changing your mind about the divorce.”
“Why?” I ask. “I thought six weeks was the whole idea.”
“It was not. And I didn’t care for it. I don’t like going about my life with a set outcome. That limits your options, and I prefer to not kill off possibilities. Life can really surprise you if you approach it with an open mind.”
That’s a wise attitude, I decide with a smile. Maybe I should adopt it. “Regardless, I’m sure his wife appreciates the paid leave.”
“I deserve the Best Boss of the Millennium Award.”
“Want me to alert the media?”
He gives it mock consideration. “Probably best if you do.”
I smile. He might talk like that, but he doesn’t really want it. If he were the type to want credit for every good deed he does, he’d make sure to advertise how much he tips, how well he treats his workers and so on. The charity portion of Sterling & Wilson has its own PR team. But Nate never seeks the limelight. The team only focuses on the good the medical centers and hospitals are doing with the Sterling & Wilson fortune.
I check my phone to see if there’s anything urgent from the auditors or medical centers. I see a text from Kim asking to have lunch today, so I say yes because she’s likely dying to know how the party went, and I want to tell her about the baby in person. I let her know she has to come pick me up, though, and she says that’s fine.
That done, I confirm the day’s agenda on the tablet one more time while Nate drives us to the Sterling Medical Center.
Once we arrive, we go up to Dr. Wong’s office together. Her office is quite interesting. No frills, no nonsense. You’d think it should be sterile and creepy—in that you’re here because your body hates you and you’re going to die way—but it’s actually comforting, because the place is just like the good doctor herself. I’ve never seen or heard her sugarcoat anything, but she’s not unkind or cold.
Dr. Wong is a pretty woman in her mid-forties. Her glossy black hair is long and straight, and I envy how it sits around her face and shoulders like a sleek veil. My hair needs some serious spray help to stay neat.
I don’t think she has any makeup on her face, but she has pink color on her lips. She smiles when she sees me and Nate. “Hello, Evie. And Nate. Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” we say together, and take the seats in one of the three examination and consultation rooms.
“Let’s get you started. Pregnant already, huh?”
I flush, suddenly a little shy but also pleased and excited about the life growing inside me. “Yeah.”
“Well, that’s good. It’s easier when you’re younger. Try having a child when you’re in your thirties. Your body just can’t handle lack of sleep the way you used to in your twenties. Doesn’t snap back”—she snaps her fingers loudly—“like it did before.”
I laugh at her light, joking tone. Nate squeezes my hand. “I’ll get Evie whatever help she needs so she can take care of herself, too.”
Dr. Wong smiles. “I’m sure she’ll appreciate it. Sleep deprivation can be hard, especially when your hormones are fluctuating. Anyway, that’s all still to come, so let’s make sure everything’s fine with you now.”
She does the usual—draws blood, checks my blood pressure, asks me about my appetite, any signs of nausea and so on.
“Are you going to do that ultrasound thing?” I ask.
“It’s a bit too early for that. We can do
it next time, if you’d like.” She smiles. “And you should start taking prenatal vitamins as soon as possible. If you want, the pharmacy on site has some you can get on your way out.”
Nate is tapping on his phone.
“What are you doing?” I ask, wondering if something critical at work just popped up. Maybe he should’ve just gone to the office. Or maybe I should’ve just waited until it was convenient for both of us, instead of jumping through Barron’s hoops.
On the other hand, I still haven’t forgotten the man’s bulldozer-like ways or the way he commandeered the Vegas hotel. I had the disadvantage of being thongless, but I have a feeling that having underwear on wouldn’t have made much difference.
“Making notes so we don’t forget anything,” Nate says.
I stifle a laugh. He’s adorably cute. And usually it’s my job to take notes.
A nurse hands Dr. Wong some papers, which she looks over. “You’re in perfect health,” she says, then explains what each item means.
I listen, but they don’t mean much to me. All I know—all that matters—is that the results are good.
She adds, “There’s no reason for you to restrict your activities, including intercourse, as long as they aren’t overly vigorous or tiring. If you don’t feel well, you should contact me anytime.”
“Thank you.” I smile, relieved. I didn’t think there was anything wrong with me, but it’s good to have a doctor confirm it. It should give Nate some peace of mind, too.
And he can lay off the one-sex-session-a-day rule, my lusty hormones whisper.
“Wait a minute, doc,” Nate says, raising a finger. “If she’s fine, why did she faint on Saturday?”
She turns to me. “You fainted?”
“I think it was the shock of realizing I was pregnant,” I say hurriedly, hating feeling like I’ve been some naughty, information-concealing gnome. “I didn’t even know I was, and before I could make an official announcement, Nate’s nephew just blurted it out in front of everyone. Besides, the doctor who came by said it was just some dehydration.”