“You just made it all worthwhile.”
“I’m glad.” He sucked one then two of her fingers into his mouth, eyes twinkling mischievously. “What’s for dessert?”
“Ah, dessert.” She pushed away from the table and walked over to sit on his lap. “I have something very special planned for dessert.”
“Yeah?” He pulled her lower lip into his mouth, sucking on it maddeningly before slowly releasing it. “Can I have it now?”
“Oh yes, as much as you want.” Her hands cupped his head and pulled his mouth back to hers.
“Damn,” he muttered against her lips.
“What’s wrong?” She slid her hand inside his shirt, and his eyes darkened dangerously.
“I wish the table was free.”
“There’s the floor,” she suggested, and laughed in delight when he pulled her down onto it before covering her mouth and body hungrily with his.
* * *
The next day at rehearsal, a smile lit up Damien’s face when he glanced out into the audience. Natasha followed his gaze and saw two women entering the hall being greeted by Rachel with hugs and kisses. Then three sets of eyes turned to stare at her on the stage, and she knew she was the topic of their hushed conversation.
“Everyone, take a fifteen-minute break,” Damien threw over his shoulder before leaving the stage.
Once level with his family, he happily embraced both women in turn. He swung his sister around, making her giggle in delight, then he glanced warningly at Rachel, who simply smiled innocently in return. It was obvious she had been discussing him and Natasha with them. He sighed inwardly; women, did they never get tired of matchmaking?
“We didn’t want to interrupt your rehearsal,” Margaret began. “But Marcy insisted that we stop by to tell you how much we missed you at Thanksgiving.”
Marcy and Damien exchanged knowing looks at their mother’s words. He was sure stopping by had been his mother’s idea, not Marcy’s.
“I missed all of you too, Mom,” Damien assured, adding as he glanced toward the stage, eyes lingering on Natasha, who was doing her best not to stare at him, “I wound up having a nice time myself.”
“Really?” Marcy didn’t miss the look.
“You must tell us all about it.” Margaret touched her son’s arm, forcing him to refocus his gaze on her. “Who do you keep looking at?”
“No one,” Damien denied. “Just keeping an eye on my dancers.”
“One in particular,” Rachel added under her breath.
“Do tell.” Margaret’s eyes sparkled with interest. “Which one?”
“The ballerina in the lavender, Natasha Carter.” Rachel ignored Damien’s darkening countenance. “She’s dancing the lead.”
“She’s very good,” Marcy stated after they all watched Natasha and Dennis dance for a few seconds. “And pretty.”
“Right on both counts, Marce,” Damien agreed on a sigh.
“So you’ve noticed how pretty she is?” Margaret approved. “What else have you noticed about her?”
“Mom, don’t start.” He could see the wheels were turning in her head, thanks in large part to his nosy choreographer.
“Don’t start what? I’m simply asking a very innocent question.”
Damien’s eyes narrowed as Rachel suppressed a chuckle. “Rachel, don’t you have some work to do?”
“I suppose I could find some.” A smile played about her lips.
“Please do,” Damien dryly suggested.
“It was lovely seeing you two.” Rachel hugged Marcy and Margaret in turn. “We’ll have to get together soon.”
“Why don’t you join us for dinner tonight?” Marcy suggested.
Rachel glanced at Damien before declining. “I have a date tonight, but another time?”
“Definitely, dear,” Margaret agreed as Rachel left the trio alone. “Damien, do you have plans for dinner?”
“No, Mom.” He sighed. “I’m free.”
“Wonderful.” Margaret beamed. “Feel free to bring a date.”
“Aren’t I good enough for you?” Damien teased.
“Of course you are.” Margaret glanced at a smiling Marcy. “But if you’re seeing someone, she’s more than welcome.”
“Regardless of what you’ve been told, Mom—” Damien glanced pointedly at Rachel’s retreating back “—I’ve been far too busy getting the ballet ready to engage in dating.”
“Really? That’s not exactly what we hear, dear.”
“Oh, I’m sure it isn’t, but that’s the truth.” Damien kissed his mother’s cheek. “Now, I’ve got to get back to work.”
“Of course, dear.” Margaret curbed her curiosity for now. “We’ll have a nice long talk tonight, Damien Michael Johnson.”
“Okay, Mom,” he agreed, sighing inwardly. When she used his full name, he knew he was in for it.
“See you tonight, Dami.” Marcy smiled knowingly at him.
“You are no help,” he whispered in her ear.
She shrugged at him and, taking their mother’s arm, left with a backward wave and a mischievous grin.
* * *
That night Damien sat around the white linen-covered table with his mother and sister. Marcy watched him without saying much, though he instinctively knew she was full of questions he would no doubt be bombarded with soon.
“So, Damien, what’s going on with you and Natasha Carter?” his mother questioned.
“Nothing, Mom,” he sighed. Here we go.
“I’m your mother, dear.” Margaret smiled. “You can’t fool me.”
“Especially not with Rachel acting as your mole,” he muttered.
Margaret laughed. “You leave Rachel alone. She only wants to see you happy.”
He sighed. “I know, but I can handle my own affairs.”
Margaret’s expression brightened. “Are you having an affair with Natasha?”
“I like her,” he admitted.
“And?” Margaret waited for more information.
“And what?” Damien sipped his wine.
“Are you serious about her? How does she feel about you? Are you thinking long term?” Margaret rattled off a few of her top questions.
“Mom, stop browbeating Dami,” Marcy suggested.
“Browbeating?” Margaret balked at her daughter’s description. “Damien, was I browbeating you?”
“Yes,” Damien dryly agreed, and Marcy laughed.
“Oh, how you two always stick together.” Margaret shook her head in exasperation.
“That’s how you raised us,” they replied in unison and then chuckled as their mother rolled her eyes heavenward.
“If you’ll excuse me.” Margaret rose and left her frustrating offspring alone.
“Poor Mom, we’re going to give her a nervous breakdown if we don’t settle down soon.” Damien laughed as he watched her walk away toward the ladies’ room.
“You first.” Marcy smiled sweetly.
“Maybe I’ll surprise you.” He glanced at his phone to see if he had any messages.
“So, are you involved with Natasha?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, my darling little sister, but yes, I am.”
“How interesting.” March sat back in her seat and smiled like the cat that swallowed the canary, finding out in a few seconds what her mother hadn’t accomplished all night.
“What’s that smile about?”
“You’ve never been at a loss for a beautiful woman on your arm.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“But you’ve never once said you were involved with any of them.”
He shrugged. “Just a figure of speech, Marce.”
“I don’t think so.” She watched him clo
sely. “Natasha is important to you, isn’t she?”
“Marcy—” he covered her hand with his “—I love you very, very much.”
“But mind my own business,” she finished for him with a smirk.
“Exactly.” He brought her hand to his lips.
“Dami, I just want you to enjoy life and be happy.” She leaned forward. “You would do the same for me.”
“I know.” He sighed. “But you wouldn’t like it any more than I do.”
“That wouldn’t stop you.”
“No, it wouldn’t,” he agreed with a chuckle.
“Then I can’t let it stop me,” she said and laughed. “Now answer my question. Are you serious about Natasha?”
“I could be—if I allow myself to.” He paused before admitting, “I want her.”
“But the past is holding you back.”
“Yes.” His eyes clouded. “And you know why.”
“I do, but it’s time, Dami,” she softly declared.
“For what?”
“To take a chance on someone again.” She watched him closely. “Is Natasha that person?”
“Maybe.” He thoughtfully rubbed his chin. “Maybe she is.”
Chapter 12
After dinner with his mother and sister, Damien stopped by Natasha��s apartment. When he let himself in, she was sitting on the sofa in a short red robe, reading a book, which she laid on the table at his entrance.
“How was dinner?” She smiled as he sat beside her on the sofa, placing one hand on her bare knee.
“Good.” He lifted her hand and kissed her palm. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too.” She kissed his lips lightly.
He ran his fingers through her hair and smiled when she purred. “I would have invited you, but…”
She placed a finger on his lips. “I understand why you didn’t.”
“I know you do.” He nibbled at her fingers.
The fingers of her free hand traced his brow. “You look tired.”
He smiled devilishly. “I’m not that tired.”
“Oh, you’re not?” She giggled when he bobbed his eyebrows.
“No, ma’am.” His mouth lowered to hers.
“Come to bed with me.” She avoided his mouth, took his hand and pulled him to his feet.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
“I’m not asking—” she pulled him toward the bedroom “—I’m demanding.”
“I don’t like aggressive women.” He frowned in mock indignation as she undid his tie and slid his jacket from his shoulders. His shirt quickly followed.
“We will see about that.”
She pushed his shoulders until he fell across the bed. She followed him down, straddling him, undressing him slowly and driving him crazy with butterfly kisses and light caresses, all the while skillfully avoiding his advances. Even when he was almost insane with desire, she continued to sweetly torture him.
“Do you like aggressive women now?” She kissed him deeply and then moved away. “Do you?” She removed her robe and slowly, deliberately brought him inside her.
“Yes!” He hissed the word sitting up, arms going around her, mouth attaching to a breast.
Her slender arms held him close, fingers anchoring fast to his head as he continued to ravage her flesh. He pulled her tight, lifting his head and fusing his mouth to hers as she took him with her for a ride on tumultuous, stormy seas.
Her body expertly milked his. His mouth fastened on her other breast. Her back arched gracefully, sending more of her firm breast into his greedy mouth. Feverish hands roamed across her back to her hips, pulling her tighter when she sought to teasingly withdraw. Hands on his head, she pulled his mouth away from her flesh to fuse hotly with hers. Their tongues made wild love and their bodies fervently mimicked their urgent, passionate dance.
Much too quickly, they shuddered from rapture and gasped out loud before crashing back into the shore, falling against feather-soft pillows nearly unconscious, panting and clinging tightly as their hearts continued beating furiously as one.
* * *
A few days later, Natasha leaned over the bathroom sink splashing cold water onto her numb face. After several seconds, she glanced at her horrified reflection in the mirror. This couldn’t be happening; not now! She sank down onto the toilet seat and placed a hand to her swimming head while the other shakily brought the small white object into view again. She must have read it wrong, but having performed the test twice, she knew she hadn’t.
She had felt a little nauseated for the past week or so and her appetite had increased some, but she had attributed it to the rigors of getting ready for Christmas and putting the final touches on the ballet. Her energy level was still high and she hadn’t gained an ounce of weight.
A hand went to her stomach, fingers tracing gingerly across her flat abdomen. The truth hit her like a ton of bricks—according to the test, she was pregnant!
How could she be pregnant? She nearly laughed out loud at the absurdity of that silently posed question—of course she knew how she was pregnant, but… Oh, God, what was she going to do? She racked her brain; she and Damien had been very careful to use protection—except…she paused and groaned inwardly—except in Saratoga Springs after her shower when they had fallen into each other’s arms. But still, she was on the pill, so why hadn’t it worked?
She ran into her bedroom, grabbed her tablet and typed furiously into the search bar and impatiently waited for tons of links to appear. After reading several, she clicked on one—Five Reasons the Pill Doesn’t Work—and read through each cause listed. She hadn’t drunk a lot of alcohol, she hadn’t been on antibiotics, she hadn’t missed her pill. Her eyes widened as she read the next reason—failing to take the pill at the same time every day.
Oh, Lord! She remembered the morning she had left for Saratoga Springs. She had been rushing around getting ready, and Simone, followed by Dennis, had phoned her while she was packing, and she hadn’t taken her pill until after lunch when she normally took it first thing in the morning. It seemed like such a trivial mishap, but it was the only thing she could figure as to why she was in the predicament she now found herself.
She had missed her pill that morning—dammit! That was the only explanation why she had conceived. She placed a hand to her mouth. One time, one time out of many she had forgotten to take her pill on time, and the result was catastrophic. Why oh why hadn’t she switched to the patch as Nicole had suggested? If she had, this wouldn’t have happened. Oh, God, what was she going to do?
“Tasha, where are you?” Damien’s voice rang out from the other room. “Tasha?”
“I’m in the bedroom.” She jumped up, ran into the bathroom and hastily threw the pregnancy test in the back corner under the sink. “I’ll be right out.”
“Okay.”
She released her breath on a shaky sigh and took several gulps of air while she tried to calm herself. How was she going to face him? She couldn’t do it now—but she had to; he was here and she couldn’t hide in the bathroom indefinitely. Taking a ragged breath and releasing it noisily, she dried her damp cheeks, tucked her hair behind her ears and opened the door.
“Hi, baby.” He smiled as she entered the living room.
“Hi.”
She went into his arms and lifted her mouth for his kiss, which was briefer than intended when he felt her cold lips. He pulled back to stare at her and placed a hand on her clammy cheek.
He frowned. “You don’t look well.”
“I feel a little sick.”
He felt her brow. “Was it something that you ate?”
“I—I don’t know.” Her fingers clung to his shirtfront. “Maybe.”
“Can I get you anything?”
“No.” She mana
ged a smile. “I’ll be all right.”
He touched her forehead with the back of his hand. “I hope you’re not coming down with something.”
“I’m sure I’m not,” she reassured as Damien led her to the sofa and pulled her into his arms. “I’ll be fine.”
“I’ll make sure you are.” He stroked her back. “I’ll take care of you.”
“Will you?” she mumbled against his chest.
“Of course.” He pulled her closer. “Just relax, baby.”
She clung to him, wondering if his words were true. Would he take care of her once he knew she was having his baby, or would he run fast in the other direction? What was she herself going to do about this completely unexpected situation that threatened to sidetrack her career?
How was she going to tell the love of her life she was pregnant when he hadn’t even told her he loved her yet? She closed her eyes tightly and clung to him as a wave of pure unadulterated fear assailed her. What was she going to do?
* * *
The next morning Natasha made it to rehearsal at her usual time. Once she reached the safety of her dressing room, she dropped her gym bag and coat over a chair and walked warily toward the floor-to-ceiling mirrors. She pulled up her black sweater and placed wary fingers on her flat stomach. She watched in the mirror as her fingers traveled lightly over the smooth brown skin. She looked the same as she had yesterday, the day before and the day before that, but she was different—she might not look physically different, but she was. She was going to be a mother.
“Tasha?”
At the sound of Damien’s voice, she yanked her sweater down and plopped into a chair seconds before he walked into her dressing room.
Natasha managed a smile. “Good morning.”
“How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine.” She took off her boots and placed on her ballerina slippers. “Really.”
“You don’t look fine.” He placed a hand under her chin and inspected her pale complexion.
“Thanks!” She snatched her chin away in irritation and stood.
“What’s wrong?” He touched her arm, pulling her around to face him. “I’m only concerned about you.”
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