by KL Donn
“No. It’s okay.” His voice is a hoarse whisper. “I never thought of it that way. I was angry and—” He looks ashamed. “I know that I should have accepted her reasoning, no matter what it was, but it killed me because—”
“You wanted the baby,” I say softly.
He nods and closes his eyes.
My heart aches for him, despite knowing how the story ends. I never could have imagined this was the climate of how Paige come into the world. It goes to show that there are always multiple aspects to every single decision.
He opens his eyes, but gazes at his seltzer, instead of looking at me. I inch closer and rub his back. “I’m so sorry, Sylvain.”
“Spoiler alert—there’s a happily ever after to my story,” he jokes, lightening the mood.
Everything he says makes me admire him more and more. And like him more and more.
“She left me while I was on a road trip. I thought I’d never see her again.” He chuckles. “I was right about that part.”
I’m intrigued, hanging on his every word. “But Paige is here. So, you must have seen her.”
He shakes his head. “Nope. She left. I thought she’d have an abortion and that would be the end of that chapter. But that’s not what happened.”
I’m too stunned and confused to speak, so I let him keep talking.
“A few weeks after she left, I got a letter in the mail from a fertilization clinic saying that she had the embryo transferred into a surrogate womb.”
“What?” I cannot believe my ears. Who would ever even think to do that?
“Told you it was fucked up.”
“Working in child care, I’ve heard a lot of stories. Miracle babies, fertility journeys, every childbirth story you can imagine. I thought I’d heard it all.”
“Yeah, well, get this.” He taps my arm. “Right after that, she sent me an invoice for the cost of the transfer and a fee for using her egg.”
“Stop. It.” I slap the top of his thigh.
“And that’s how I got my baby,” he says without taking his eyes off my hand.
“That’s—” I laugh, but it’s fueled by disbelief rather than humor. “That is one crazy-ass story.”
“And I have one crazy-ass kid.”
My heart lurches, triggered by the sentence.
One kid. That’s all he’ll ever have if we were together. I can’t give him any more. Knowing how hard he fought for Paige, I doubt he’d even consider being with a woman who couldn’t have kids.
“Guess my attempt to lighten the mood failed, eh?” he asks.
“No, Sylvain, I just—” I shake my head. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s something.” He grabs my hands and brings them to his chest. “Please tell me.”
“Do you see yourself having more kids after all you went through?” The question comes out tentatively. I’m sure he thinks it’s because I’m worried about treading too far into his business.
“Absolutely,” he answers without missing a beat. “I want two or three kids. Or, ya know, however many my partner wants.”
Tears prick at my eyes. We aren’t even together and I’m already mourning the loss.
How do I tell him I can’t have kids?
Is that even something we discuss right now or does that come up later? What if we fall in love and that breaks us up?
I’m letting my imagination run away, but they’re valid concerns.
He lowers his eyes to our hands, still intertwined on his chest. “Sorry,” he says, releasing mine as if he just realized he was doing something wrong.
“Please, don’t let me go,” I whisper tightening my grip.
He wraps his arms around me and rests his head on mine, whispering, “I won’t, I promise.”
I swallow hard, enjoying this moment being enveloped in his strong arms. Because when he finds out the truth, he’ll let me go forever.
18
EMMA
Even though Sylvain did his best to prepare me for it, I didn’t realize how hectic a hockey player’s life would be. He really does have a crazy schedule. I was prepared not to see him during road trips, but even when he’s home, he’s gone. Whether it’s a game, practice, workout, or some kind of community or team event, he’s always in and out. Most of the time, we’re like ships passing in the night.
Thankfully, Paige and I video chat with him on the days he’s out of town. She usually talks for two minutes then wanders away to do something else, and I stay on the phone with him for another thirty. The conversations always start with how things are going and morph into us getting to know each other better.
Ever since our he shared the story about his ex and how he became a father, it’s like the dam opened and everything came gushing out. Over the last few days, we’ve traded intimate details about our lives. He knows my dad left when I was a baby, and my mother is a drug addict. And I know his father died of a heart attack while working on a skyscraper in Quebec City, and growing up he had three almost-identical dogs named Lassie because his parents didn’t want to tell him the others had died.
Yesterday, he told me his mom didn’t come back to Charlotte this year because she wanted to be with his grandfather in his final days with lung cancer, it hit me like a sucker punch to the stomach. It’s like the universe placed a glowing neon sign flashing: “Tell him” in my path and I can’t move forward until I do.
But time isn’t on my side. Tomorrow, he leaves for a three-game road trip, which will keep him out of town for four days.
“That’s Nik,” Sylvain says as he runs from room to room getting his things together.
He’s still riding with his friend so I can use his car. I don’t blame him for wanting his daughter to be safe instead of ride in my death trap on wheels. When I have more money saved up, I’ll get something reliable. Not having to pay rent or utilities really helps.
Suddenly, he stops in front of me and scans me up and down.
“Criss,” he whispers when his gaze stops at my thighs.
That’s when I realize—I’m not wearing pants.
Embarrassment sends heat straight to my cheeks. How can I escape? Do I slowly back away, then sprint to my room?
When I heard him rustling around this morning, I scrambled out of bed so fast, I forgot to put on my boxers. I completely forgot I was standing in the kitchen in nothing but a tank top and undies.
I cross my legs, and tug at my tank uncomfortably.
Sylvain’s swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing as he lifts his eyes to mine. The energy buzzes between us.
Thankfully, he clears his throat and speaks first. “I’ve got the afternoon off, so you’re free to do whatever you want when I get home. But I, uh—” He reaches into the back pocket of his jeans and hands me an envelope. “I know how much of a handful Paige can be, especially when I’m not here to help. I thought you might want some time to yourself. I’m not telling you what to do with your free time, but I picked this up for you.”
I study the front and turn it over to check the back, but both are plain white. Without hesitation, I rip open the envelope and pull out a rectangular postcard. Covering my mouth with my fingertips, I scan the words. It’s a gift certificate to a local salon for a manicure and pedicure.
Butterflies flutter in my stomach.
When I lift my head to thank him, Sylvain grabs my hips and rubs his thumbs over the lacy black fabric at my hips and pulls me to him. My heart races as he presses his lips to mine. I open my mouth, let his tongue inside to touch and tangle with mine. His fingers dig into my flesh as the intensity increases.
When he releases me, I’m so weak in the knees I almost collapse. Still dazed from the kiss, I reach out with one hand and brace myself on the counter.
He lowers his eyes and dips a finger into my waistband. “Next time you come out in your underwear I’m going to rip them off with my teeth and bury my face in your pussy.”
“Promise?” I breathe.
“You’re trouble,” he says, chuck
ling as he backs away. Neither of us break eye contact until he slips out the door.
Clutching the gift certificate to my chest, I lean my hip on the counter and take a deep breath, letting it out slowly as I collect my thoughts.
Through the years, I’ve had my share of boyfriends. None of them were ever super-serious, but still. I thought I knew how to kiss and flirt. None of my previous boyfriends ever said things to me like Sylvain just said. Sex was always, I don’t know, normal? And definitely not something we talked about in detail. Maybe a “sext” here and there about wanting to do it later, but nothing explicit.
It’s hot. Especially with that sexy accent.
How in the world did I get so lucky? And how could I have ever thought he was an arrogant douchebag for the last three years?
I’m contemplating his thoughtfulness as I shuffle back to my room with the gift certificate in my hand. I’d never had a guy do something so sweet and considerate just for me.
One of my coworkers at Explorer got me a pedicure to lift my spirits during chemo, but I barely remember what the relaxation felt like because I’d be so sick for the next few days after.
After going-going-going for the last week and a half, a spa trip is exactly what the doctor ordered. Not my real doctor, of course, but I have a feeling Dr. Patel would be happy to hear I’m taking time for self-care. It was impossible to do when I relied on my mom for money.
The night we got home from Raleigh, Sylvain wrote me a check for my first two weeks of work—which was amazing. I feel more stable about the future with a few grand in my bank account.
Too bad that stability doesn’t filter into my feelings about him. I’m terrified to tell him the truth because I’m not ready for these feelings to end.
“Shoot!” I curse when the sharp chopping knife I’m washing slips out of my hand and flips to the floor. The tip catches my jeans, creating a small, but noticeable, hole.
Sylvain rushes into the kitchen. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” I skim my freshly manicured fingers across the tear as if I can rub the fabric back together.
“What happened?” He drops to his knees in front of me. “Did you cut yourself?”
My gaze flickers down to his face, inches from the sweet spot between my legs as he inspects the hole. My hips move toward him as if being pulled by an invisible magnet.
“No.” I shake my head quickly, dismissing the lust burning in my core. “It just sucks because they were my first new pair of jeans in three years.”
“What?” He springs to his feet.
Heat rushes to my cheeks, embarrassed for admitting something so trivial. He doesn’t need to know any more about my financial woes.
“Jeans and yoga pants last forever, right?” I smile. Those two wardrobe staples usually last a long time for me, but with all the weight I lost, everything I have looks big and bulky. It felt good to have one pair of pants that fit like a glove on this new frame I’m trying to feel comfortable in.
“You haven’t bought a pair of jeans in three years?” he asks dumbfounded.
“I haven’t bought a lot of things in three years.” I swallow back the emotion rising in my throat. “Life is expensive. Thank you for the mani/pedi. It was absolutely wonderful.”
He lifts one hand, checking out my new nail color. His touch sends blood coursing through my veins. “I wanted to do something nice for you.” Sylvain is silent for a moment, but it looks like he wants to say more, so I stay quiet. “Emma, can I ask you a personal question?”
Shit.
I’m absolutely fine with answering personal questions, especially after cancer. You can’t just tell people you had cancer and leave it at that. They always want to know more. But I almost don’t want to tell Sylvain, for the same reasons I didn’t want to tell anyone at first.
I don’t want his pity. I don’t want his sympathy. I don’t want him to see me in a different light.
“Why were you out of work for five months?”
Taking a step back, I lean my hip on the counter and cross my arms over my chest. He notices the defensive stance immediately.
“You know what, I have no right to ask you that.”
“Yes, you do. As my employer, you have every right to ask about a gap in my employment.”
“Come on, Emma. Is that how you see me?” His eyes soften. “Because I’m getting a totally different vibe.”
“Really?” Warmth rushes to my cheeks and I press my lips together to keep my composure, but they turn up into a smile. My heart beat speeds up, pulse pounding as I inhale his sexy woodsy scent.
He presses his hand to my chest, right over my heart. “Busted,” he whispers.
“So busted,” I echo.
Sylvain leans toward me, sliding both hands over my cheeks as he pulls my face to his. When our lips touch, there’s a spark—energy so intense I almost jump at the jolt. My hands move to his shoulders and I clutch the short strands, holding on as the kiss intensifies, the passion burning between us.
He lifts his face and whispers, “I like spending time with you.” He kisses me again. “I like thinking about you.” Another kiss. He removes his hands from my face to trail his finger from the lower part of my neck down the skin exposed by my V-neck. “I like touching you.”
As he traces his finger across my skin, every nerve tingles, sending an SOS straight to my hormones. My chest heaves, pressing against his finger.
“Have you ever had that fantasy of shoving everything off a surface and getting it on?” I ask, glancing behind me at the island in his kitchen.
Sylvain’s gaze meets mine, his eyes widening with surprise and desire. “I’ve had a lot of fantasies about you, Emma.”
I look at the counter again. It’s fairly clean, only a pile of mail from when we were in Raleigh. Nothing too difficult to clean up, but Sylvain is a neat freak, so I don’t know if throwing things to the floor would be a buzzkill.
“Maybe it sounds cooler than it is,” I say off handedly.
He grabs me under my arms and lifts me onto the counter with ease. His strength and dominance alone are enough to make my heart flutter, but then he speaks in a quiet, sexy rasp and excitement throbs between my legs.
“It doesn’t have to be messy to be fun.” He leans in, dropping his lips to the sensual spot where my shoulder meets my neck. “We can take it slow.” Another kiss, lower this time. My head drops back, my chest rising to meet his lips, eagerly awaiting his next touch.
The sexual tension between us is like magma churning inside a volcano ready to erupt. I should know better than to begin something that could have such an explosive, destructive end.
Is having sex with Sylvain Bergeron worth more than this job? Is it worth more than the money I need to survive and keep myself from filing for bankruptcy?
The logical answer is no, but I don’t want it to stop because I’ve never felt anything like this before.
Sylvain unbuttons my pants. I lift my butt off the counter, helping as he slides both jeans and underwear down my legs. Then he drops to his knees and looks up at me, holding my gaze as he leans forward.
Is it anticipation or anxiety making my pussy pulse on beat with my heart as his face gets closer to the promised land?
I’m an intelligent woman. I know he can’t tell what I lack inside by looking at me, but common sense doesn’t stop the anxiety from flooding my head.
Then he flicks his tongue over the silky fabric between my legs, I close my eyes and forget my insecurities. I reach back, place my palms on the counter and lift my hips as if offering myself to him.
My reaction spurs him on. He dives in full force, hungerly exploring me with his tongue. When he begins rubbing my clit, my pelvis bucks forward, surprised at the sensation.
I’ve had sex with a few boyfriends, but none of them ever went down on me. Since I’ve never done it, I never realized what I was missing—until this moment.
Damn! I was missing a lot.
Curious to what
Sylvain looks like between my legs, I open my eyes and watch. He’s got one arm wrapped around my thigh, holding me in place while the other hand continues rubbing me mercilessly. As if he senses my gaze, he looks up and removes his tongue.
Before I can protest, his glistening lips slide into a devilish grin, and he shoves two fingers into me.
I cry out but he doesn’t stop—doesn’t let up at all. His eyes stay glued to mine as he moves his fingers in and out faster and harder. With each thrust, he hits my back wall, and it feels so good I could burst. But I need more. I need—
Just as I’m thinking about how he could make me come, Sylvain clamps his mouth over my clit, nibbling gently and flicking his tongue as his fingers continue their assault.
“Oh, my god!” I lean forward and grab his hair with both hands as I explode against his mouth.
With my fingers clutching his hair, I ride the pulsing waves of the most intense orgasm I’ve ever had.
He leans back, mouth gleaming with cum when he looks up at me. I smile and take a deep breath, waiting for my heartbeat to slow down. How can I be exhausted when he did all the work?
Sylvain stands up and grabs my hands, pulling me onto his chest. He slides his hands under my backside and lifts me up. I secure my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist and allow him to carry me to my room.
He holds me at the perfect height, our faces level, before leaning in and kissing me again.
“Can I do that every day?” Sylvain whispers against my lips.
I can’t help but smile. “I’m game if you are.”
He drops me onto the bed in the guest room and climbs on top of me. “You didn’t think it was over, did you?”
“I don’t want it to be, but I don’t want to be greedy.”
“Greedy?” He drops a kiss onto my forehead. “You’re the most giving person I’ve ever met in my life, Emma. You don’t have a greedy bone in your body.”
“I’d rather have a different kind of bone in my body,” I whisper so quietly it’s almost under my breath.