Don't Baby Me_Maple Mills Book Four

by Kate Gilead

  Then he turns his head, takes a breath again, cleans the baby’s bottom, throws the soiled wipe into the diaper bin, then finishes the job, including umbilical care, breathing normally.

  I’m giggling the whole time, but still impressed with his handiwork. “You’re doing a great job keeping him clean,” I say. “Especially for someone who’s nauseated by baby poop.”

  “I figure, it’s gotta get better. Right?”

  “Right.” I’m sure not going to tell him how much worse it could be.

  He picks up the freshly-diapered baby and tucks him into the crook of his arm.

  Then he takes me on a tour of the house.

  It’s a very nice place. He hasn’t been living here long, and it shows in the clean but sparsely furnished rooms.

  As modern and up-to-date as you could want, the home features gleaming hardwood floors throughout, wired-in broadband in every room and high-end fixtures, appliances and finishes everywhere.

  The kitchen is big and bright, with granite countertops, a Sub-Zero refrigerator, a small walk-in freezer, walk-in pantry and a Wolf range. There are deep, double sinks in front of a big window facing the back yard and the walls above and below the long, generous counter spaces hold plenty of cherrywood cabinets. Mason opens them to show me the locations of his restaurant-quality dishes, plus every accoutrement and kitchen gadget you could want.

  A smaller sink for washing produce graces a granite-topped center island with disposal unit, separate, enclosed trash and recycling bins on one side and a full-length wine rack on the other.

  A small hallway leads to a butler’s pantry, then an office, and a powder room. In the pantry, a brand-new high chair waits for Drew to grow into, and there’s a child’s dish set in bright, primary colors, waiting to be unboxed.

  “The housekeeper uses the kitchen more than I do, but I’m trying to learn to cook,” Mason tells me. “Now that I’ll be home with Andrew, I’ll probably get better at it.”

  “Have you always worked at home?”

  “Just since I moved here, a few months ago. My shop is out back.”

  There’s a big living room with a wall-mounted flat screen over a generous-sized wood-burning fireplace, and built-in shelves and cabinets in the same warm cherrywood as the kitchen.

  While we’re in there, he shows me how to turn on the TV and access the internet, Netflix and his vast collection of movies. He opens a cabinet to show me gaming consoles of every type available.

  “Won’t have much time for that anymore,” he observes.

  The furniture is all very masculine, leather couch and chairs, with modern accent tables that complement the built-ins.

  In here as well, there are brand-new baby items, some waiting to be unboxed and put together. There’s a baby bouncer and a playpen and there’s a colorful toy box already full of toys for a toddler. There’s an activity blanket and mobile set waiting for Andrew when he’s ready to play with them.

  “You’ve made a good start on getting him outfitted,” I say.

  “You think? Thanks.” He smiles. “I still have to baby-proof the whole house.”

  “Yep. But, you have plenty of time.”

  He shows me the basement, where there’s a full gym, a recreation room, a kitchenette, an additional bedroom and bath.

  I don’t have to ask if he uses the gym. His muscled physique is testament enough, but the gym looks more lived-in than the rest of the house, with gym shoes, towels and items of clothing scattered among the racks of weights and equipment.

  Back on the main floor, there are three bedrooms besides the master suite. Two of them remain empty. “One of these will be Andrew’s,” he says. “I haven’t decided which.”

  Lastly, he shows me the room I’ll be using. Not your typical spare room, it sports a waterbed, a shag area-rug and one of those lamps that hang from a curved stand. To one side there’s a sitting area with a well-used overstuffed couch, a flat-screen TV, reading lamps, coffee and end tables.

  “This is all stuff from my old place.” He shrugs, grinning. “This is actually what they call a nanny suite. This came with the house plans too. I figured it might come in handy at some point. It’s not like I knew I’d need it when I was looking at the plans.”

  “Maybe you had an intuition.”

  “Maybe. Either that, or, high hopes.”

  “High hopes?”

  “Just in case I ever met the right girl and get married again. Maybe her parents could use it or something. Look, it has its own ensuite, too.” He opens a door off the sleeping area to a sparkling bathroom. There’s a huge glassed-in shower that could fit a foursome at the same time, with two rainfall shower heads. There’s a separate tub, separate toilet enclosure and a bidet! Plus heated towel racks and a granite-topped vanity.

  “I may never leave this room,” I say, smiling.

  Back in the bedroom area, I take a second to flop on the waterbed, making a big wave and enjoying the way it rocks me.

  Mason watches, amused.

  “This is so cool,” I grin. “I’ve never actually slept in a waterbed!” I struggle a little to get off the bed. Mason holds a hand out and pulls me off.

  “Thanks.” Our eyes meet, and then I look away. “The only thing is, we need somewhere for Andrew to sleep in here, too. I’ll want to keep him with me during the night so I can take care of him without waking you up.”

  “Sure, no problem. That bassinet has wheels, so we’ll just bring it in here.”

  He finishes the tour of the house by showing me the voice-activated, state-of-the art security system and Smart House controls.

  It’s an amazing home actually. Clean and neat, thanks to his housekeeper. A spacious but manly and somewhat utilitarian home, it only lacks a woman’s touch to warm it up.

  When we’re done, it’s time to feed Andrew again. We get a bottle of formula from the fridge, and I run the hot water tap so I can fill a bowl in which to warm the formula.

  “Oh,” he says. “I haven’t been warming his bottles. The nurses at the hospital said not to use a microwave, but I didn’t think of using hot water.”

  “Oh? Well, the baby will take it cold but ah, um…Nature serves it warm, so…”

  He grins. “I gotcha. Listen, I have an idea.”

  “What?”

  “Maybe you could do this feeding, and I’ll take the opportunity to tidy up and organize my bedroom. As you noticed, right now, it’s the nursery too, and I want to get his changing station set up properly, get his clothes put away and all that. You could sit in the rocker in there and feed him, and give me your opinion about where stuff should go. That’d be a big help.”

  Taking the warmed bottle back to his bedroom, I sit in what looks like a brand-new rocking chair and begin feeding Andrew, who eats with his usual gusto.

  Mason watches for a moment, hands on hips, then turns and begins sorting through boxes and organizing his stuff.

  “So, ah…from what you said earlier, I take it you don’t have a routine in mind yet?”

  “Routine?” He snorts, breaking down an empty box and setting it aside to be recycled.

  “Yes, a routine or schedule. Babies feed on demand at first, but it’s better to get them onto a routine as soon as you can. It’s good for everyone and it helps them sleep through the night. Obviously, it’s important that they learn to do that as soon as possible.”

  As I speak, Mason’s gaze keeps focusing on my lips before returning to my eyes.

  It’s making me very aware that we’re alone, together, in his bedroom, with his enormous bed just a few feet away. My face gets warm, and I stumble over my words a few times.

  I explain how he can slowly train the baby to nap in the afternoons, and to have a bottle or meal at the same time as the adults have their meals and so on.

  “And then, some people like to give their baby a bath right before bed. It helps relax the baby and being clean helps them sleep more comfortably.” I push my hair back off my forehead, trying to think
if I’ve covered everything.

  The way he’s looking at me with heavy-lidded eyes could be read as either sleepy or sultry. Probably sleepy…but the vibe in here as we talk together is changing; becoming closer.

  More intimate.

  “I think I read that somewhere, too. You know an awful lot about this, for someone so young,” he says, his voice very quiet.

  Baby Andrew, finished eating, has been burped and is now dozing in my arms, his tiny mouth making sucking motions peacefully.

  “As I said, I took courses. And babysat, a lot. I…don’t want any of my own just yet, but I love babies and small children. I think they’re wonderful. Beautiful.”

  “I think you’re beautiful,” Mason says. “And sexy as hell in a bikini.” He grins and opens his eyes wide. “Oops. Was that out of line?”

  “Uhh, um, heh. I…I don’t know. Thank you,” I say, blushing.

  Mason’s eyes hold mine, and we stare at each other for just a little too long.

  I tear my gaze away and look around, suddenly overwhelmed with intensity.

  He looks around at the room, too, then looks back at me, putting this hands on his hips and sucking that bottom lip between his teeth.

  Humor…and something else…shines from his eyes. “I better get back to it,” he mutters, turning and running his hand over his face.

  Sitting in the rocking chair with the baby cuddled against me, I watch Mason moving around the room, listening to him talk about his life, mesmerized by the play of his muscles and the unexpected grace and sexiness of his movements.

  “So we got divorced after a year of marriage. It was amiable enough, but I still felt like a huge failure. And I was alone again.”

  “I’m sorry, Mason. From what I’ve heard, everyone feels like that when they go through a divorce.”

  “Yeah, no doubt. So, should I hang the diaper thingie here?” He gestures towards a space on the wall next to the changing table.

  “A bit more to the right. That way you don’t have to step away from the changing table to reach the diapers.”

  “Okay.” Using a hammer and some nails, Mason mounts a diaper caddy to the wall next to the changing table, then fills it up with fresh diapers. “Although, frankly I was glad when the ex moved back to Europe,” he says. “After a couple months, I un-friended her on Facebook, even though I don’t use it much. Just thought it was for the best.”

  Our talk’s been flowing so comfortably, it’s like we’ve known each other forever.

  So, now, I ask what I’m dying to ask. “And Drew’s mother? Where’d you meet her?”

  “At a bar downtown. I was lonely, she was lonely. She seemed like a nice girl. There’s really nothing more to it than that.”

  “I feel so bad for her. It must be a horrible to give up a child.”

  “Yeah.” A look of sadness crosses his features, making my heart hurt. “It happens. She’s very distraught. I wonder if she’ll ever get over it. I just hope she doesn’t change her mind and try to, I dunno, somehow come back into his life and mess with his head. Or with mine.”

  “Yeah. But if she relinquished her rights, then, how could she?”

  “You never know what the courts might do. And if it’s down the road, and she’s stable, and I feel okay with it, and if she ticks all the right boxes…you know? If the stars all line up right, maybe it’d be a good thing for him, good to get to know his mother. Not share custody, but just, let them see each other.” He rubs his hand over his chin. “I lost both my parents when I was a teenager and I’d give anything to be able to talk to them again.”

  “Oh my God! I didn’t know that! I’m so sorry Mason.”

  “Thanks. It was a long time ago, but, yeah. I have no family to speak of. You know, that’s why I liked it at your house so much today. It’s nice to be around a loving family.”

  My heart is a complete puddle in my chest now. He finishes making his bed, smoothing the comforter and fluffing the pillows into place.

  Everything done, he stops to look around. It’s neat and tidy and peaceful in here now.

  “This is great. I should’ve done this before I brought the baby home, but I’m still wrapping up a work project and…yeah. I had no idea how much work a newborn is. Even one who sleeps as well as Andrew does.”

  He takes the elastic tie out of his pony tail, drawing my eyes to the play of his biceps. His hair falls loosely in thick, rippling waves. “I was trying to grow this mop out. Now I think I’ll get it chopped off. It’s just going to get in the way now.”

  He looks yummy with his hair tied back, yummy with it loose, and I bet, yummy if it’s chopped.

  I bet he’d look yummy bald.

  He’s just a yummy guy that I’m finding myself very attracted to.

  We spend the next three or four heartbeats just…looking at each other again.

  Oh boy. Something’s bubbling up, under the surface. We both feel it, we both know it.

  He steps towards me, closing the distance between us. I’m holding my breath, looking up at him, afraid of what I see in his eyes…and a little afraid of the desire that’s been growing in me since I laid eyes on him just this morning.

  He stops in front of me, gazing down, a smile playing around his generous mouth. He takes his bottom lip between his teeth and runs his fingertips over my arm, so lightly it feels like a soft wind.

  Goosebumps rise on my skin, racing after his touch before disappearing again.

  Five

  The tips of my breasts harden, their tingling creating that commotion in the valley between my legs.

  “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you being here,” he says quietly. “Look how much I’ve gotten done already, with your help.”

  “You’re welcome, Mason. I mean, that’s what you’re paying me for.”

  His gaze changes, his eyes taking on an expression as if he’s just waking up.

  “Right. Of course. We should decide on that soon, actually.” He gives me a tight smile and steps back. “Would you mind taking Andrew to the living room? You can watch TV or put on a movie or do whatever you like. I haven’t had a minute to take a really good shower since I brought him home.”

  I can’t help but feel a bit bereft. Did reminding him that he’s paying me just kill the mood? Seems like it. The feeling that passed between us dissipates.

  But not all the way.

  That touch…I have to suppress a shiver.

  Maybe I should remember that we’re just playing house for a few days. It’s not like we’re an item or anything.

  “Oh, sure.” I gather the baby up with his blanket.

  “Thanks. It’s almost time for dinner. When I’m done, we’ll order in.”

  Baby Drew is nestled into my arms, sleeping. I’m watching an old western, and even the sound of galloping horses and gun fire doesn’t wake the baby up.

  Mason comes down the hall from his bedroom, wearing a pair of soft, loose lounge pants and a t-shirt. I notice again how tired he looks, like he’s ready for bed right now.

  He looks down at his sleeping son and smiles. “Is it normal for a newborn to sleep so much?”

  “Between feedings, it is. He won’t sleep through the night for a while yet. But while I’m here, I’ll get up with him.”

  “You’re a Godsend. Now, where’s that carry bed thingie…?” He sorts through some unopened boxes of baby goods. “Aha!” He opens a box marked “Carry Cot” and unfolds a small bassinet with handles. After examining it carefully, he lines it with a blanket and then takes the baby from my arms.

  “Let’s try this out, buddy,” he croons, and lays Drew gently into the soft interior.

  Oh my gosh. His tenderness, his devotion…it affects me deeply. It’s just so damn sexy!

  Somehow, it’s even more so in a tall, beefy guy like Mason.

  I bite my lip and focus on the baby.

  “Look how small he is compared to this cot! He’ll grow to fill up that space fast, but right now…awww!” I put my
hand on my heart.

  “I know. He’s tiny. Oh, yeah, that reminds me,” he mutters, getting out his phone. He takes a few shots of the baby nestled into his new carrier. “I keep forgetting to take photos,” he says. “I don’t want to neglect that. It’s just that…there’s so much to remember.”

  “That’s right! Don’t beat yourself up over it. While I’m here, I’ll try to remind you to take more photos,” I say, reassuringly.

  “Thanks. Okay, now, c’mon. I’m gonna show you how we get our take-out in the Grimmell household.” He picks up the carrier, and with a grin, he leads me through the kitchen, and out the back door.

  We walk down the driveway towards the garage. As we approach it, he says “Open sesame,” and the nearest roll-up door rises silently as we approach.

  “Oh! That’s so…so… Austin Powers, ha ha! And that must the quietest garage-door opener I’ve ever heard.”

  “It’s my own design,” he says. “Voice-recognition door opener. I replaced some of the metal parts in the motor with parts made of a kind of polymer. And also, the pulley chain. It makes it quieter. That, and lots of grease.”

  “Oh. Your design?”

  “Yup.” He grins. “I, uh, make robots, as you know. And remote-controlled vehicles. Among other things. Some are toys, some are commercial use, some, military. ” We walk under the open garage door and a row of fluorescent overhead lights comes on, illuminating half a dozen workbenches, their tops filled with tools and strewn with wires, gears, pistons, chains, and myriad parts.

  The workbenches are lined with drawers and a long anti-fatigue mat lies on the floor in front of each one. Stools of varying heights are scattered around. At the end of each bench is a computer terminal, mounted on a stand-up station.

  It smells faintly like metal and mineral oil.

  “Holy shit!” My eyes are darting everywhere, trying to take it all in. “Is this like, your World Domination Headquarters or what?”

  He guffaws, and puts an arm around my shoulder, giving me a quick squeeze.

  Electricity leaps into my body from his touch.