by Joanne Rock
She clutched him to her hard, her head tipped to his strong chest as she slowly became aware of his heartbeat. It raced faster than if he’d run sprints. She placed a kiss there, smoothing her hand over his skin gone lightly damp.
Closing her eyes, she waited for her breathing to return to normal, her own heart to slow. With the flood of happy endorphins running through her, she couldn’t imagine a time when she would regret what they’d just shared. It was nothing short of beautiful. But that didn’t mean she could simply allow an affair to continue indefinitely.
She needed to think about her child’s future. About maintaining a relationship with Jager that would never put them at odds. Not for all the world would she subject her child to the kind of confusing upbringing Jager had, never seeing his father after his thirteenth birthday.
“Can I get you anything?” His voice broke in on the crowd of worries creeping up on her, his hand tender as he stroked her tousled hair. “Something to eat or drink before bed?”
“I feel like Hansel and Gretel in the witch’s cabin,” she murmured, exhaustion from their long day starting to take hold.
“Okay. Did I miss something?” He sounded so baffled that she laughed.
“You’re trying to fatten me up, Jager McNeill. Don’t deny it.”
“I’ve been reading.” He tried to fluff the pillow under her head without moving her, then he straightened the blankets as they untangled themselves. “You might experience extreme fatigue in the upcoming weeks. I want you to be ready for it.”
Imagining this all-business corporate magnate on his computer doing Google searches of pregnancy symptoms made her smile. He would be a good father. Would she ever measure up as a mother with so little to guide her?
A nervous flutter tripped through her belly at the same time his hand landed there. Right where their baby was growing. Her eyes stung at his tenderness.
“I’ll be fine,” she reassured him. “And I think the fatigue is starting. I’m so tired all of the sudden.”
It was true. Yet she also wasn’t ready to think about the implications of what had just happened. About how important it was that she get her relationship with Jager right. Because no matter how tenderly he’d touched her, she had to ask herself if it was really her who mattered to him.
Or was he simply honor bound to care for the mother of his child?
* * *
Once Delia had fallen asleep, Jager could no longer ignore the notifications on his phone. Or, at least, that was what he told himself; he wanted to let Delia get her rest and he was still reeling from their encounter.
He’d wanted her, that much was damn certain. Still did, even after sex that satisfied him to his toes.
But he hadn’t expected being with her to rattle him this way. There had been something deeper at work between them than sex. Knowing the whole time that she carried his child had been powerful.
So maybe he scrambled out of the bed a little too fast once she’d dozed off. But there were a hell of a lot of messages and missed calls on his cell. He’d noticed them earlier, beginning shortly after Paolo dropped them off at The Plaza. Messages from Cameron, Quinn and Ian.
His half brothers were all looking for him. Apparently they’d been summoned to the McNeill mansion to greet him tonight, and he’d never shown. In his defense, he’d tried to warn Cam he needed to have space of his own in New York. And he needed to meet with the family on his own terms. On his timetable. Now, stalking around the dark living room, he debated whom to text first. Before he could decide, the phone vibrated again.
Gabe.
Jager clicked the button to connect them. “I hope you’re calling with good news.”
“What good news could I possibly have for you?” his brother drawled. Gabe was as unhurried in life as Jager was Type A. “I know better than to think you’ll get excited about the new crown molding I installed in the McNeill Meadows gift shop.”
Dropping onto the sofa where he’d sat with Delia earlier, Jager stared out over the lights dotting Central Park and the few low buildings that broke up the dark expanse of trees.
“This is the woodwork you were making?” He’d visited Gabe when he returned from Europe, wanting to update him on the search for Damon.
As usual, Gabe had been in his workshop in the converted boathouse on the small hotel property he ran. The Birdsong had come into his hands as a teen when the older woman Gabe worked for had died. Her family had fought the inheritance for months, but the will had been airtight. Gabe had renovated every square inch, bringing guests from around the world to the Birdsong. He’d either restored or handcrafted all the woodwork himself and quickly got a reputation as a master. Now he had more work than he could handle from businesses that appreciated an artisan’s touch.
“That’s the stuff.” In fact, Gabe had started the project based on a long-ago memo from Delia, when she’d been trying to make over the McNeill Meadows gift shop into a more period-appropriate space. “But I wasn’t calling about that. I wanted to see what happened today. Did Cameron have an update on Damon?”
Leaning back into the couch cushions that still held a hint of Delia’s scent, Jager ground his teeth at Gabe’s impatience. But then, he could hardly blame Gabe for wanting to think about something besides his personal life. Gabe’s songstress wife had told him their marriage was over while pregnant with their firstborn. She’d abandoned Gabe—and their son—two weeks after giving birth so that she could pursue her career.
The only thing keeping the guy’s bitterness in check was his eight-month-old son.
“I didn’t go over there today.” He pounded a fist on the arm of the couch. “I’m not going to start reporting to Malcolm McNeill’s every summons, and the quicker the old man understands that, the better.”
“You went all the way to New York because they said they knew where Damon was, and now you choose to get in a pissing contest to prove some kind of asinine point about how we don’t need them?” Gabe’s voice lowered, a sure sign he was angry. “We all want the same thing. Bring Damon home.”
Frustrated, Jager closed his eyes and counted backward until he could rein himself in.
“They don’t want the same thing as us, because they don’t even know him. The only reason they’re helping us is to flex their muscle and bring us into the fold.”
“Dude. This isn’t a mob family or something where they’re asking us to be part of a gang or start offing their enemies.” Gabe’s voice broke up on the last few words, probably as a result of poor reception on the island. “They are blood relatives and they’d like to get to know us. It’s not their fault Dad is an ass.”
Jager had tried telling himself that before, but there was some latent protectiveness of his mom that he couldn’t quite shake.
“Still feels disloyal.” He didn’t have to explain why. Gabe understood him.
“Mom was tough as they come, bro, and she would never hold it against them.” Gabe sounded so certain. And he’d had a different relationship with their mother. He hadn’t necessarily been the favorite. But the two of them had been alike in a lot of ways. They were more generous and kindhearted than other people.
But you didn’t cross them.
“I’ll go over there tomorrow.” Jager needed to speak to Delia about it, and see what she wanted to do. “I promise.”
She’d stressed the importance of meeting his family, and keeping that connection open for their child’s sake. But did that mean she wanted to meet all the McNeills too? If so, did he introduce her as his girlfriend? The future mother of his child?
He wished she was already wearing his ring. He had no idea how to tell her that one of the stipulations in Malcolm McNeill’s will was that his grandsons had to be wed for at least twelve months to inherit their shares of the family business. Would she view that as him pressuring her? She had to know he didn’t w
ant any part of an inheritance from Malcolm, but then again, it seemed too important a detail to omit given that he was going to keep asking her to marry him until she said yes.
“I’ll call you tomorrow for an update. If Damon is stirring up trouble somewhere, we either need to talk some sense into him or—”
“Or help him. I know.” Jager disconnected the call, and quickly texted with Cameron to make arrangements for visiting the McNeill mansion the next day.
Still, he shut off the phone feeling even more unsettled than when he left Delia’s bed.
He had a lot to do to make a more secure world for the child coming in less than eight months’ time. Tomorrow, he’d see the McNeills and demand answers about his brother. But first, he needed to have a conversation with Delia about the future. Now that they’d renewed their physical intimacy, she must have recognized how strong their chemistry together could be.
They needed to stay together because he wouldn’t be the kind of failure at fatherhood that Liam was. More than that, Jager would never give Delia cause to feel betrayed the way his mother had been. He would be there for her. They could have a Christmas wedding in New York. At The Plaza, if she wanted, surrounded by all the Christmas decorations she loved.
It was a damn good plan. But as he slid quietly into bed beside the beautiful, vibrant woman who’d set him on fire an hour ago, he feared he didn’t have enough to offer her.
He had homes. Money. More security than she could ever want.
Yet after hearing about her upbringing with her stoic father, Jager wasn’t sure how to convince her he could provide the one thing she wanted most. She longed for love after not receiving it. Jager knew how it felt and understood the way it devastated you when you lost it.
Planting a kiss on Delia’s bare shoulder before he covered it with the sheet, he closed his eyes and tipped his head against her back. She sighed sleepily, curling into him. Fitting there perfectly.
Somehow, he would make her see there was more real security in shared goals. In a strong relationship based on trust. And in chemistry that would keep them both satisfied for a lifetime.
Eleven
Sinking deeper in her soaking tub the following afternoon, Delia tipped her head back against the soft bath pillow she’d discovered in a gift package from the hotel spa.
From Jager, of course.
After sleeping soundly for ten hours, she’d awoken to a room service cart near the bed with a veritable breakfast buffet just for her, including two plates of hot food on their own warming stands. She’d also discovered an assortment of gifts lined up on the bedroom’s bureau. Jager had gone out to do some Christmas shopping, but left her a note telling her to enjoy herself until he returned. How on earth had she slept through his departure?
She lifted one arm from the water to examine her fingers for their level of pruning and decided she’d probably soaked long enough. She emerged from the bath and stepped into the shower stall to rinse off the spa oils from her skin and deep conditioner from her hair, deciding the only possible explanation for her heavy sleep was the pregnancy. She hadn’t experienced any nausea and her breasts seemed to be the same size as normal, so she hadn’t felt many effects of carrying a baby. But she wasn’t one to sleep so soundly or for so long, and even when she awoke she’d been heavy-limbed and a bit foggy.
The bath and shower were welcome indulgences after the big breakfast. Jager would have been pleased to see how hungry she’d been.
Of course, the voracious appetite might have resulted from the late-night extracurricular activity. She stretched languidly in the shower, remembering the feel of Jager’s hands all over her. She was still hypersensitive everywhere, her body pleasantly warm and satiated.
Shutting off the spray, she wrapped herself in fluffy white towels and breathed in the heady fragrances from the bath oils and hair products. The spa package had inspired her to try some new herbal combinations when she got back to work at McNeill Meadows. She would also have to give a lot of thought to how she would balance the responsibilities of her job with the care of her child.
Returning to the spacious closet in her bedroom to choose an outfit, she heard rustling in the living area.
“Jager?” Barefoot, she hurried toward the door adjoining the rooms. Then, recognizing how eager she was to see him, she forced herself to slow down.
“Delia.” His voice was teasing. Good-humored. Had he been as stirred by their night together as she?
Cracking open the door, she peered out to see him scoop up a small package gift wrapped in gold foil printed with red holly berries and tied with a red velvet bow.
“I got you a pre-Christmas present,” he announced, approaching with the gift held out in front of him.
He wore dark pants and a white dress shirt she happened to know was custom-made for him since she’d been in his office one long-ago day when his tailor had arrived with a garment bag containing that season’s wardrobe update. No surprise, it fit him perfectly, molding to his shoulders and tapering to accommodate his athletic frame.
She heated all over remembering how well he’d used that sexy body of his last night.
“That was nice of you,” she offered after a pause. “I should dress first.”
“Please don’t think that’s necessary on my account.” He stopped just inches from the door but didn’t open it the rest of the way.
Letting her set the pace.
“I’m not sure we should make a habit of this.” She didn’t sound remotely convincing, especially since his nearness made her all hot and breathless.
“Of gift giving?” He arched an eyebrow, a wicked grin curling his lips.
Sweet. Heaven. She wanted his mouth on her.
She released her hold on the door, letting it fall open a bit more.
“Forget what I said.” She tipped her head sideways against the door frame. “How about if I thank you for the present first, and then I’ll unwrap it?”
His eyes narrowed. His nostrils flared. And he set the package aside on a narrow console table as he understood her meaning.
“That hardly seems fair, but I live to please you.” He reached for her, circling her waist and pulling her close.
His woodsy aftershave acted like an aphrodisiac, calling to mind all the ways she’d kissed him the night before.
Having his hands on her only deepened her hunger.
“I do believe pregnancy is finally increasing my appetite.” Delia grazed his mouth with hers once. Twice. Then she tugged his lower lip gently between her teeth. “At least one kind of appetite.”
With a growl of approval, he bent to lift her off her feet and cradled her in his arms. He headed for the bed.
“It could be me that’s driving the new hunger.” His fingers flexed lightly against her, squeezing her closer. “Either way, I’m going to be the one to satisfy it.”
Her eyes fell shut with the need to concentrate on all her other senses, especially the feel of him. The feel of his powerful body levering over hers when he lay with her on the bed. Of his hips sinking into hers, even through the damp towel around her waist.
He kissed her with a care and attentiveness they’d been too impatient for the previous night. He caressed her face, pressing his lips to her eyelids. Then he slid aside her towel to trail more kisses down her neck. Between her bare breasts.
Lower still.
Pleasure spiraled out from a fixed point inside her, sending ribbons of sensation to every hidden spot on her body. A trembling began in her legs before he laid a kiss on the most sensitive of places, taking his time, clearly in no hurry. Ah, but she was. Eager to ride the tension to completion. She saw stars and never opened her eyes, the pinpricks of light flashing a warning of the pleasure to come. He tasted her and she was lost, her hips arching helplessly against the sensual waves of sweet
release.
He didn’t let go until the spasms slowed and she sagged into the downy duvet, opening her eyes. Only then did he peel off his clothes and join her on the bed again, seating himself deep inside her. His presence there set off more aftershocks, and she wrapped her arms and legs around him tight.
He held himself still for a long moment, letting her adjust to him. He stroked her hair, kissed her neck. And then he began to move.
She wouldn’t have thought it possible to build the hunger again, but when he dropped a kiss on one tender breast, she felt pleasure swell for a second time. Seeing his perpetually shadowed jaw in contrast to the creamy pale skin there made her breath catch. Her nipples tightened more. Had she thought her breasts weren’t sensitive from pregnancy? She almost shuddered with release from his tongue’s careful attention to each peak.
But then he reversed their positions, letting her sit astride him the way she’d started to do the night before. Now, she didn’t take the moment for granted, enjoying the way he let her take control.
She delighted in seeing what pleased him, savored the sensation of his hands on her hips, guiding her when he was ready for more.
And then he stole the rhythm back for them both, taking her where they both wanted to go until her orgasm broke over her. Her thighs hugged his hips, drawing a shout of completion from him. The muscles along his chest contracted against her palms and the knowledge that she pleased him as much as he pleased her sent a fresh ripple of bliss over her tingling nerves until, finally, she slumped against his chest, spent.
Cracking open an eyelid to peer up at him, she was taken aback by a sudden swell of tender emotions. She wanted to wrap her arms around him tight and keep him in her bed for days. She wanted to feed him. Make him smile.
On instinct, she shut her eyes again, knowing she couldn’t let herself start caring for him that way. She hoped it was just pregnancy emotions making her so tenderhearted. When she thought she had a handle on her feelings again, she opened her eyes.
Unbelievably, the sun was starting to set again by the time her heart settled into an even pace once more.