Impossible (Romance on the Go Book 0)

by Allyson Young

  Infusing calm and patience into her voice, she said, “Ronnie. Don’t get riled up on my behalf. It was one of those things, a one-night stand. I can look after myself and the baby.”

  “It’s not about money. I mean, I know you’re okay financially. Not that you tell anyone. But what about the emotional support?”

  “Emotional support from a reserved, self-absorbed, arrogant male?”

  “Whoa.” Ronnie stared at her, mouth agape. “You fucked somebody like that on a one-night stand? At least tell me he was a sex god.”

  Heat unfurled deep in Celeste’s belly and her core dampened. She took a breath in a room that suddenly felt short on oxygen as the memory of Elliot’s big, muscled body blanketing hers surged to the surface. Hormones. That’s all this is.

  “It was all right.”

  Her friend burst into laughter, all indignation vanishing. “Your face…” She chortled and dashed at a tear of mirth. “All right, my ass.”

  Celeste joined in, helpless against the contagion, her emotions rising and falling like a rollercoaster. She giggled and then belly laughed, the sound abruptly segueing into sobs, accompanied by trickling tears. That previously unsuspected vat capable of holding copious moisture had obviously refilled to the freaking brim.

  “Holy crap. Here.” Ronnie passed her a dishtowel.

  She covered her face with it and hiccupped her anguish. And she couldn’t even tell anyone about it. Had to pretend it didn’t matter. Sniffing didn’t cut it and she gave in, blowing her nose and folding the fabric over.

  “Um, here, let me…” A garbage can grated to a stop by her foot and she dropped the towel inside.

  “Thanks. Sorry. It takes me that way. Hormones.” She hoped her friend didn’t look too closely at the layers in her response. “Can you imagine me editing in this state of mind? I can’t stay objective over how I feel about the weather. I didn’t even make it through my probationary period. Hence my utter gratitude to you, Ronnie.”

  “I thought you were sick or something horrible. I mean, you’d just moved there. And I couldn’t imagine anyone firing you. Not with your skills. So when you offered to housesit, come back here…”

  “The timing’s perfect. You’re gone for a year and that gives me a chance to be pregnant, deliver the infant and decide where we go from there.” Her words rang so hollowly she wondered that Ronnie didn’t pounce on them.

  But the other woman was thinking, tapping a finger on her chin in a pose Celeste knew well. “And you probably don’t want to run into Asshole. Though New York’s so big you probably wouldn’t. Unless you ran in the same circles?”

  Maybe she should have stayed in Manhattan… Except her sister and family were here, and her dad, even if he was in personal care and probably wouldn’t remember her from one day to the next—or call her Martha. The estranged wife who abandoned her and Cynthia when she left him all those years ago. And taken his soul with her.

  “I’m not telling you his name or anything else to identify him, Detective Reynolds.” She’d have to watch herself over the next few days until Ronnie got on that plane.

  “Sorry. I get it and that’s your choice. It’s not like I was gonna shoot him.”

  Deciding the idea wasn’t as palatable as it sounded, she was that pissed at him, Celeste pushed to her feet. “Let me clean up and then help organize some dinner. I’m eating for two and that’s not an exaggeration. If I can keep a meal down for a bit at least Peanut here gets some of the benefits.”

  “You’ve got morning sickness?”

  “All day sickness. That’s what prompted the doctor’s visit in Manhattan. Apparently, newly hired editors with only a month of employment under their belts shouldn’t be puking into their wastebaskets following a sumptuous lunch of whatever the deli ordered that day. Not that I had to do more than smell it.”

  “How far along are you?” Ronnie moved to the fridge and yanked it open, studying the contents.

  “Se—about six weeks.”

  “Wow. Early days then. And the doctor said everything’s okay?”

  “You think I should have waited a bit before sharing?” She knew people often waited until after the first trimester, and she might have, but her best friend deserved to know before she went overseas on that security mission. A dangerous place to visit. And you could hardly wait to tell Elliot, right? Goddamn little voice.

  “I’m glad you told me.” The fridge door slammed. “I’m thinking an omelet, some tea, and toast? My brother’s wife managed okay on that.”

  On cue, her belly rumbled. “Sounds great. Give me a minute.” She headed toward the bathroom. Another side effect of the Peanut, her bladder seemingly displaced.

  “You going to tell Cynthia soon?”

  “Tomorrow. She knows I’m moving back—but I didn’t share details so she’s probably thinking bad things, too. When she can think around that brood of hers and Tom’s,” she called down the hall.

  Ronnie appeared in the doorway, holding a bowl in the clasp of her arm. She beat eggs with a fork, the tines clinking against china. “Funny how the two of you took such a different slant on life in the beginning, you with your studies and plans to take the world by storm, Cyn with that earth mother thing she’s got going on. Maybe you’re not so different.”

  They were different. Chalk and cheese. Her sister married her one and only, a big, kind man who thought Cynthia set the moon and begat five children on her as fast as she could pop them out. Not to mention the two foster kids they planned to adopt. And the pets… A household full of people and things for her sister to lavish all her love and attention on. Which suited Celeste fine, having found that focus impossible to bear—or accept.

  She’d raised her far younger sister up as best she could with their disapproving, distant father providing food and shelter and nothing else of note. Cyn hero-worshipped her until Tom usurped the big sister role, the mutual lovefest freeing Celeste, or so she told herself. Hovering on the periphery of all that smothering had been the best for her, she knew it, although she did like her nieces and nephews. And the foster kids. The pets too.

  Funny how that had come about, the aloof, reserved Brainiac and the loving, compassionate nurturer, both from the same circumstance. Maybe because she’d been older and felt the rejection more keenly. And here she was now, her grand future plans of being the best editor in the world, honing and polishing the written word that encompassed all those life experiences for the masses to devour. The ones that filled her own empty soul, derailed by the promise of a child. And she could care less about the loss of that career.

  “Celeste? You’re washing the skin off your hands.”

  She yanked back from the water and fumbled the tap closed. Drying off, she said, “I think zoning out is part of being pregnant too. My brain keeps trying to make sense of it, comparing the experience to my … past.”

  “You come and get the toast in, hun. You’re delirious with hunger, I can tell.” Her friend’s teasing belied the worry in her tone.

  She dragged herself back to the kitchen, again so tired she wanted to curl up on the nearest soft place. Watching over the toaster while Ronnie finished off the omelet and set the table, she felt as though an eon had passed. She could only imagine the emotional barrage when she told her sister.

  They ate the fluffy egg mixture, finely chopped vegetables crunching satisfactorily between her teeth, the toast, with no butter, a perfect accompaniment. She took small bites and chewed slowly, listening to her finicky stomach and finally sat back with a cup of herbal tea.

  “That was perfect. Thanks.”

  “You go get ready for bed. You can sleep or come watch a movie.” Ronnie waved off her protests. “I’ll clean up, nothing to it. I’m off tomorrow, as you know, and we can catch up. Do some shopping. The usual. Before Cyn comes over.”

  Celeste wandered to the bedroom she’d stored her stuff in without further disagreement. Her friend heard the news, accepted it, and was there for her. No piercing que
stions, no judgment. Her sister wouldn’t be so easy insofar as the judgment piece, but she had her story straight and set. Once her family knew and any other immediate connections, she’d face the community. Ignoring Elliot shouldn’t be a problem as he’d be invested in keeping his distance from her. She set her teeth against the pricking of tears.

  Relieved she felt pleasantly full and without any of the warning signs her body wasn’t thrilled with food intake, she stripped off her clothes and dropped them in a corner to be dealt with some other time.

  The mirror reflected a female form beneath current average height, one with a definite curve to her hips and ass, all pale skin aside from the startling pink of her nipples. As fair as she was, any hair on her body blended almost seamlessly with her skin. Her legs were proportionate and well-toned—deskwork made a person doughy so she’d made a point to swim each and every morning before work no matter where she lived.

  But it was her breasts that really drew her attention and she looked down at them, taking their weight in her palms, sucking in a breath at their sensitivity, especially the nipples. Already.

  There was a book in her suitcase, one recommended by the doctor who’d confirmed the pregnancy and she’d read it voraciously, cover to cover. Well, skipping over the graphics on childbirth, both vaginal and C-section. Tomorrow, she’d go back to the chapter on the particular placement of her pregnancy—seven weeks, though she’d have to remember to deduct a week around others. She’d read it slowly and pace herself. Enjoy the ride.

  Her hands tightened on her tender breasts and were replaced with Eliott’s, his darker skin and larger palms cupping her flesh with both reverence and lust. She swayed before the visual, the kinetic sense he was indeed touching her, holding her the way he’d feasted the night—Jesus. She was losing it.

  She freed her grip and whirled toward the long nightgown she’d tossed on the bed, the sudden movement making her dizzy. Dropping a knee on the mattress, she waited until the room steadied and then drew the garment over her body. No movie for her tonight, not in her ridiculous state of mind. She’d end up spilling the beans to Ronnie.

  It was okay, she told herself, as she clambered between the sheets and the cool fabric enveloped her body. It was okay to remember the night her baby was conceived, to remember it in such vivid detail it was like it was happening now. He was back in her head, with his brooding, sexy appeal, a man she’d noticed and had desired the moment she’d seen him.

  Arousal gripped her belly and pooled lower, her core dampening and swelling. Her breasts tingled, the nipples throbbing as though a hot mouth suckled there, faint stubble scoring her tender flesh. She bit back a moan and hitched over to her side, drawing up her legs.

  Unbidden, her hand slipped between her thighs and cupped the wet heat there. This wasn’t the time during pregnancy when a woman became insatiably horny, according to the book. Resolutely, she calmed her raging need by recalling Elliot’s response that very afternoon. Her body needed to get with the program. Her brain was already there, and her heart… Well, she’d only just figured that casualty out.

  On that miserable thought, she dropped toward slumber with her newfound ability to rest when she could, kind of like those guys in the military who never knew when they’d be called up to battle.

  Chapter Three

  “Leave the sample in the little cabinet built into the wall.” The pretty little brunette nurse wore a professional mask, but Elliot saw the glee in her eyes.

  “Thank you.” He took the small container, ignoring the discreetly offered magazine. He had plenty of wank material in his head.

  The door to the nicely appointed room closed behind him and he quietly threw the lock. Tile abounded. Even the chair was made of some kind of easily wiped down fabric, like pleather. He approached it cautiously, but the air was scented with a vigorous lemon cleaner and he figured the clinic sprung for fastidious cleanup of this room after every … use.

  Fresh from the visit with Dr. Ackerly, the doctor’s words rang in his head. “The human body often heals itself in a manner we can’t always explain or understand. So, yes, it’s possible.”

  “But my ex and I went through extensive testing. You have the records.” At that point, he still wasn’t certain what approach he was going to take, but the memory of Celeste’s anguished face and her assertion had piqued his interest enough to make the appointment, sandwiching it in between his own overwhelming schedule. That was all it was. All it could be. Interest.

  “That was years ago, Mr. Godwin. It is possible things have changed, as I said. There’s a note on your file recommending you be tested again in a few years.”

  He’d stilled when the physician turned the screen his way, reading the factual note. “I wasn’t told.”

  “No?” Dr. Ackerly peered closer and scrolled. “Ah, Dr. Myers shared it with your … wife. Perhaps you weren’t at the appointment when he gave the results. It’s common to share when it comes to couples’ testing, as both parties are invested in the news. Uh, your ex you said?”

  Indeed. His ex. Alice. Who hadn’t passed the information on. Deliberately, he now knew. A punch of fury had darkened his skin at the realization, heating his face in a flush he felt clear to his soul. The bitch divorced him on the basis he couldn’t give her children and took him for everything she could get. And he’d willingly let her go, that weeping, lost, devastated, beautiful, heartbroken creature.

  He’d also willingly forked over most of his worldly goods and fortune in an attempt to make it up to her “giving him the best years of her life and how was she to fulfill her lifelong dreams of having a family now with a man she loved?” Those words had haunted him for years, entrenched as they were by his deep infatuation with the older, gorgeous redhead he courted and married in his young and impressionable twenties, thinking he’d been saved from a colorless life.

  His worldview had shifted in that moment, staring at the computer screen alongside the specialist. He was assaulted with such a myriad of emotions he didn’t dare sort them out, not until he knew if it was possible… Except he did, didn’t he? “I want to be tested again.”

  “Of course.” The gray-haired doctor wrote busily on a pad. Handing over the small piece of paper, he asked, “Purely professional curiosity, you understand, but do you suspect you’ve fathered a child? Or is this something else?”

  A couple of things. He’d known Celeste wasn’t lying to him, even past his disbelief, though it hadn’t stopped him from effortlessly destroying any connection they had. But the other… It was time he ripped the bandage off that part of him he’d wrapped up and stored away over a decade ago. He wasn’t going to think right now about his callous words to Celeste regarding money and his inference that she—his belly cramped and he suffered through it. “My situation has changed.”

  “Ah.” The other man nodded as if he understood, and perhaps he did, seeing people of all walks of life cross his threshold, day after day, seeking answers. “Take this down the hall. Marcie, my nurse, will direct you.”

  And so, here he was, locked in a small room, sterile, but cheerfully painted for all of that, with a glass container clutched in his hand, eyeing a box of tissues helpfully positioned beside the chair. A recliner. The more comfort the better, he supposed.

  Stretching out, he read the label on the vial. Elliot Godwin - sample 12/02/18. A series of numbers he assumed related to his file. His birth date filled one tiny corner. Men never seemed too old to father children, whereas women… However emancipated Celeste was, a fierce mother bear had stared back at him so he had to assume her biological clock had struck, planned or not.

  Carefully setting the container beside the tissues, he thought about her. He’d seen her a few times at various events geared to bringing investors and clients together, as well as business people in the city, his interest immediately drawn. Poised and elegant, her petite size and that drift of pale-blonde hair tended to make men—this man—want to pick her up and make off with her. He’d be
en strongly attracted.

  He’d particularly appreciated her reserved demeanor when finally introduced. While catching a marked flicker of interest in her strangely colored eyes, she hid her secrets, much as he hid his own. No fuss, no muss, no messy emotions. Like meeting like. How wrong—and right—he was in thinking that.

  He’d found out about her actual education and career interest accidentally, from a colleague who cobbled together the information from a variety of sources, being a well-versed gossip. And one who attended all chamber of commerce meetings and the like.

  “That pretty thing has a brain like a scalpel. Smart as a whip,” Greg recounted with relish. “Masters in English, some kind of journalism major or something. She’s senior editor at the Crown.”

  A reporter, he’d thought, with vague distaste, at the local paper. He rebuilt his life after Alice, cloaked it in privacy and never let anyone in. A bewildered child, raised by stern, reserved Christian grandparents after losing his parents young, he knew nothing about joy and laughter until his ex had swooped into his life and propelled him into a state of being he was powerless to resist. Gorging on the fruits of life and the pleasures of the flesh. Vulnerable…

  So, a reporter. Burrowing into others’ lives. “Raking up anything to print.”

  “Huh?” Greg shook his head. “Nope, I said “editor”. Trims the pieces, makes them suitable for print. I hear she rides ass for accuracy too. I’m gonna take another crack at her. A woman like that at my side? I can’t see anything better.”

  His colleague had it right, almost. Celeste would have been behind Greg, shoving him along, no patience for his foibles, a woman after his own heart. He flinched. He didn’t think he had a heart but something ached dead center in his chest.

  Wracking his brain, he remembered the occasional luncheon, watching her down the table, chatting with a couple of guys he knew were in the same field as him. It’d stirred his competitive side on top of the physical attraction and convinced him to ask her to dinner.