by CC MacKenzie
Pushed too far, he grabbed her arms, pulled her to her feet.
“Look at me when I tell you that I love you.” She closed her eyes tight and something like terror ran up his spine. “Don’t do that. Don’t turn away from me. I know I turned away from you. But I was scared, and you were right. I’m not good enough for you. The feelings I have for you terrify me. Please, Coco, look at me.”
She did and he saw it wasn’t too late.
“I’ve never said this to anyone before,” his voice went rough. He cleared his throat. “I need you to forgive me. I know I don’t deserve it. I’m scared of how you make me feel. My love for you sometimes feels too much for me to handle. And I overcompensate.”
“I know the feeling. My feelings for you scare me. But I don’t want to become a victim or ruled by your needs. I have needs, too.”
She pulled out of his arms, looked away.
Rafe saw the act as rejection.
The fist around his heart clenched.
But then she turned.
Her eyes met his and held. “I love you.”
Heart bursting out of his chest, he moved towards her.
But she held her hand up with the stop sign. “Don’t.”
“Say it again.” When her brow creased, he kept his eyes on hers. “Say it again.”
“I love you,” she whispered.
Rafe closed his eyes.
Okay.
He could do this.
She didn’t want him to touch her.
Okay.
“Talk to me,” he demanded.
Silence.
Coco’s chin lifted, big violet eyes met his.
“So, have you and my father set the date?”
Bemused, he simply stared at her. “Sorry?”
“Wedding date.”
“Nope.”
“Aww, come on. This is me you’re dealing with. You used to bounce me on your knee.”
He winced. “Don’t remind me.”
“You’re too old for me. I need a young virile man,” she said in a silky voice.
Offended, he sat beside her on the couch, grabbed her. “I know what you need.”
Her smile was a challenge. “Do you?”
“Oh yeah.”
He pulled her into him, but her hand slapped against his chest.
“No rough stuff. I’m fragile.”
Now he frowned as he studied her face. She did look peaky.
“Are you sick?”
“Hmm. Yes and no.”
“Coco?”
“Good job you’re sitting down,” her voice wobbled.
Fear for her fisted in his gut. “What is it?”
“I want you in my life, by my side. I know you want marriage. I know you want it all. I know you’d prefer to be married. And I know marriage would be easier on the children.”
She waited four breaths before he said,
“Children?”
“Well, one. The one I’m carrying.”
Very slowly he stood and stared at her as if she was speaking in tongues.
“You are carrying my child?”
The way he said it made her pout. “It would appear so.”
“But you don’t like children.”
“That’s not strictly accurate. I don’t feel a universal love for all children.”
Now his hands scrubbed through his inky hair, his face.
“I love you. I love you. But I’m a selfish bastard. I want my child and I want you. I’ll sign a pre-nup.”
“You think this is about money?”
“Nope. But I’ll do it. Call it crossing the t’s dotting the i’s.”
And he would too she could see it in his eyes, in the sincerity of his deep voice.
“I don’t want a pre-nup. I’ll be a terrible mother, a terrible wife,” she admitted in a shaky voice.
Rafe shook his head very slowly.
“No you won’t. You’ll be fucking amazing. And a fucking amazing wife.”
“You’re swearing.”
He sat and grabbed her, held her tight against his heart. And that strong heart drummed under her cheek.
“No fucking wonder.”
She didn’t deserve him.
She didn’t deserve his love.
She didn’t deserve his patience.
He gave everything.
She gave nothing.
The tears she’d been holding at bay for months, years, choked her and she let go with hard sobs of despair for the mother she’d never known. For the way her father had battled with his fear of letting her go and for the man who held her in his arms.
Rafe held her tight.
His heart thundered in his chest, in his throat, in his ears.
And he knew right then that he had to give in.
“If the thought of it upsets you this much, it doesn’t matter about marriage. Look, stop it. You’re fucking killing me. We’ll get through this. Please, Coco. For Christ’s sake, stop crying. Don’t. Don’t cry. That’s not playing fair.”
Pushing him away, she hunted in her pockets for her father’s hanky, blew her nose, then sent him a glare.
“Do you think I’m crying over the likes of you? I’m pregnant. Pregnant women cry at the opening of an envelope. I love you. I’ve never said that to a man before and I don’t love you just because I’m pregnant with your spawn.”
His heart did a marvellous leap of sheer happiness.
But he managed to hold back from kissing her senseless.
Instead, he gave her big eyes.
“Did you just call our child, spawn?”
“Yep. Not very maternal is it?”
He read the nerves, the fear and the tight knot in his gut loosened.
“Scared?”
“Bloody terrified.”
“You’ll be an amazing mother.”
She sniffed, swiped her fingers across her cheeks. “What if I don’t love it?”
“You’ll love ours.”
“You know what this means, don’t you?”
“What?”
“I’ll need to make an honest man of you.”
Silence.
His eyelashes fluttered.
“Why, Coco. Are you asking me to marry you? Don’t I get flowers, a ring?”
“You’ll get a fat lip and a thick ear in a minute.”
“I’ll make you happy. I promise.”
“I know you’ll try.”
“Don’t cry, baby. Please don’t cry.”
“Why do a few tears bother you?”
“Because your father will kill me, very slowly.”
She thought about that for the longest time, then shrugged. “I don’t want a diamond.”
“You’ll take what you get. I was thinking tanzanite, the exact shade of your eyes, in white gold.”
“You’ve been thinking about a ring?”
“For weeks.”
“You were so certain of me?”
“No. But I hoped.”
Her eyes shut tight.
“I’m not ready for this.”
How he found the strength to speak the words he’d never know.
He cleared his throat.
“It’s your body. But I want you to know that I’m beyond happy that you’re carrying my child. I...”
Her fingertips pressed against his lips stopped him.
“I want this baby, too.”
“I’ll be a good father, Coco. I promise.”
She sniffed gave him a dark look that only made him love her more.
“Karma’s a bitch. Knowing my luck it will be a boy who’s the clone of his father.”
Chapter Forty Eight
Six months and one week later.
Rafe busied himself around the house waiting for his fiancé to come home after her last board meeting at First Step before their baby entered the world.
In spite of Charles Monroe’s constant muttering under his breath, they’d decided the wedding, their small wedding, could wait until after the baby w
as born. And he was glad they’d waited because it was only now that the love of his life had begun to truly trust him, to trust them as a couple. He couldn’t remember a time when he’d felt so content or so happy. And Rafe was determined nothing was going to spoil Coco’s blissful serenity. The girl was absolutely glowing with health and happiness.
Tonight was going to be perfect, he assured himself.
The florist had delivered the flowers, in vases. He might be a new man but no way in hell was he going to attempt flower arranging. And they smelt fabulous.
He checked the time and told himself to get a move on. Crouching in front of the stainless steel wood burner, he added a couple of logs, watched flames dance along the wood.
Happy, he rose to cast a critical eye over the scene he’d set. The table for two was laid in front of a wall of windows with a view of the lake. The crisp white tablecloth he’d found in a drawer in a sideboard in the dining area.
The plates were white bone china; the heavy cutlery solid silver and the champagne glasses were Swedish crystal.
A sip of champagne wouldn’t hurt the baby - he’d read up on that.
In fact, over the last six months he’d read up on everything and anything he could get his hands on about babies. It was very true that no military man worth his salt is happy without an instruction manual. And Rafael Cavendish was no exception, be it for his new family friendly Range Rover, or the state-of-the art baby seat that could have been designed by NASA.
At the moment his bedside reading, much to Coco’s side splitting hilarity, was titled ‘Commando Dad - Basic Training’, a handbook somewhat in the style of Basic Battle Skills, the Army bible given to new recruits. Rafe could get right behind the thinking of the author, ex Commando and father-of-three Neil Sinclair. When Coco and Louise read that babies were referred to as BT’s (baby troopers), toddlers as MT’s (mobile troopers), that home was referred to as ‘Base Camp’, the emptying of dirty diapers as ‘Bomb Disposal’ and a holiday was a ‘long-term major deployment’ their laughter rang loud and long. Which was nothing to the belly laughs of Coco’s brothers. But for a man who’d never changed a diaper in his life Rafe was undeterred and ready to follow the book’s fail-safe, ten point plan, laid out in clear and precise terms in a chapter called, ‘New Recruits: Surviving The First 24 Hours.’
Nico Ferranti had sobbed with laughter all the way through it and pointed out helpfully that the chapter included the universal truth that boys, without fail, will wee in your eye.
However, the father-very-soon-to-be was nothing if not determined and everything was going according to plan. The baby bag was packed with tiny baby grows, diapers, vests, hats and mittens knitted by auntie-to-be Louise. The mummy bag was packed too with energy bars, iPod with soothing music, massage oil scented with organic lavender. Plus he’d attended each and every single birthing class on each and every stage, including something called ‘transition’. Much to his eternal shame he’d winced in a store that sold breast pumps. Jesus, they looked like instruments of torture. Anyone who said women were the weaker sex needed their head examined.
Wild-eyed at the thought of what Coco would, very soon, go through he ignored the panic lurking in his belly and eyed the table again. There was something missing.
Candles!
Honey and Jezebel sat watching him with interest as he dashed into the dining area, rummaged through a cupboard, found a single white candle and stuck it in a candle stick right in the centre of the table set for two. For some reason the candle wouldn’t sit quite straight, but he didn’t have time to worry about it.
And music!
How could he have missed music?
Another dash, this time to the iPod deck. He scrolled through the extensive playlist found the soundtrack to Final Fantasy IV then nodded his appreciation after the first couple of bars.
He’d just lit the candle when the dogs dashed to the stairs.
He beat Jezebel to the door.
Outside, Coco just raised her eyebrows when she saw Rafe’s car.
He was home early tonight.
She was smiling as she walked, or to be accurate waddled, to the door with her laptop case in one hand, her bag in the other.
The door opened and Rafe caught her to him in a deep, demanding kiss.
Needing their own hugs and kisses, the dogs did their best to wedge between them.
“Hello, doll face,” Rafe said, after they’d come up for air.
“Hi.” She handed him the laptop, her bag, before she greeted the dogs. “You’re home early.”
She closed the door.
“Yeah, I thought you’d be tired after a long day.”
He took her coat, dumped it on the chair with the laptop and the bag, and held out his hand. “How did it go?”
Sliding out of her low heels, she took his hand.
“We got a lot done. Made some decisions, long term plans.”
“Let’s go downstairs. I’ll get you a drink and you can put your feet up.”
Taking care on the steps, she held his hand as he guided her down.
“Sounds like a good idea. Actually, there’s a couple of things I want to talk to you...” Her words died as she stepped into the room.
Tea lights in crystal holders glittered on the kitchen surfaces, on coffee table, reflected in the walls of glass that framed the views of the lake. The heady scent of flowers, of candle wax, and a lilting melody filled the air. The log burner flickered with gentle flames.
Her hand flew to her throat, a delicately female gesture, as tears caught there. Tears from how much she loved this man, an emotion so honest and true she was completely shaken by it.
Coco looked at him, and the flickering lights were reflected in her vivid eyes.
“You’ve been busy. It’s stunning.”
Shaken himself, Rafe took her face between his hands, stared into those swimming eyes.
“You’re beautiful. I love you.”
Her lips curved as they brushed his. “I love you, too.”
He shifted, pulled her body against the hard length of his.
“How about a thimbleful of champagne?”
“Are we celebrating?”
“We are.”
“Okay.”
She relaxed on a couch, curled up her legs and stroked smooth circles over her swollen belly.
He lifted the bottle out of the ice bucket, showed her the label.
“Very nice.”
“Nothing but the best for my girl.”
He opened the bottle with a happy pop. He poured, then after handing her a glass, rang it against his. “To us.”
“To us,” she whispered, and sipped.
He sank into the couch next to her and she curled into the crook of his arm and watched the flames in the log burner.
“What did I do to deserve this?”
“I wanted to show you how much I care about you.”
With a smile, she pressed her lips to his strong manly jaw.
“I know how much you care.”
Happy, he propped his feet onto the glass coffee table. And amused himself by running his fingers through her silky hair.
“I spoke to your father today. Signed a big security deal with him. Talked about you, a lot.”
She laid her head on his shoulder and he pressed his lips to her hair, inhaled the scent of Coco. The keeper of his heart, the mother of his child.
“He’s a changed man,” she admitted with a happy sigh.
“We’ve all changed, for the better. Bruce is leaving the army. He’s taking over as head of operations and security for Monroe Industries.”
“Really?” Sparkling eyes met his. “I’m glad.”
“So is your father.”
Her face went white, then she rubbed her hand over her belly.
“Oooooh.”
For weeks they’d been through a few twinges, Braxton Hicks they called them.
She wasn’t due for another three weeks so he wasn’t unduly alarmed.
“Oops,” she muttered.
“Oops?”
Big eyes filled to the brim with a mixture of excitement, fear, stared into his.
“My waters have broken.”
In a single heartbeat, Rafe was on his feet and on his cell phone.
“Louise? The eagle is about to land. Her waters have broken. Calm? Of course I’m calm.”
Coco took the phone, watched with big eyes as Rafe turned in a very slow circle.
He patted his pockets muttering, “Keys, shoes, baby bag, hospital bag.” Before he dashed off in the direction of their bedroom.
“Yep,” she told her best friend. “He’s calm all right. Yes, it probably will be better if you drive. Phone the hospital and tell them we’re on our way.”
She sat back and winced as her belly went too tight.
Rubbing smooth circles over the bump, Coco took a nice deep breath.
“Now don’t you go scaring your daddy. There’s no rush. No rush at all.”
Wild-eyed, Rafe hurried back, turned in another circle before blowing out all the candles.
He crouched before her.
“Are you okay? Want me to carry you?”
She patted his cheek.
“I can walk. They say walking is good. It brings the baby on faster.”
He went bone white.
“I’ll carry you.”
Three hours later.
Anyone, anyone who thought women were the weak and feeble sex needed psychiatric care.
“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” Rafe said.
The soft articulation was a skilful lesson of exasperation and sheer fear kept on a tight leash.
Coco was lying in a birthing pool riding yet another wave of contraction.
Her belly was the perfect shape of a very large basketball. It was a perfectly tight, stretch mark free, oval. And she’d become terribly attached to it. Or the sprog as she called their child.
“Too late to back out now, Cavendish. Oooooh.”