The action had given him some distance, but now she lay beneath him in just a triangle of lace the color of champagne. Blythe’s panting breaths told him that if he dared touch the fabric between her legs, it would be soaked through.
The thought made him groan, and he sought her mouth again, feeling almost feral. His tongue claimed and commanded hers, and when he slipped his fingers into her panties, she whimpered into his mouth. She broke free, writhing beneath him.
“Nate… please…”
All he had to do was banish her panties, and he could make love to her all night. As much as he wanted her — as long as he’d longed for her — it would take at least all night. But he needed to hold onto his sanity a little longer. He was done making the same mistakes.
“Blythe…” he began, realizing he didn’t know how to continue. He had no doubts, and yet, he wanted the words to be right.
“Yes, Nate… Now,” she rasped, quivering at his touch. He felt a moment of absurd pride at her pleasure, but when she reached down to take hold of him again, Nate knew he had to rein things in.
He didn’t miss her look of surprise when he grabbed both of her hands in both of his and dragged them up by her head.
“Blythe, I mean to take care of you this time,” he said, squeezing her hands.
The hazy desire in her eyes cleared, and she blinked, looking almost embarrassed.
“Oh, I… won’t get pregnant… I’m on the pill.”
Nate shook his head, wanting to kick himself.
“That’s not what I meant.” He looked down at the beautiful woman who’d owned his heart since the first time she smiled at him. His love. His best friend. His world. “I want to marry you. Soon. Will you marry me?”
As soon as the words were out, Nate’s face ached with a reckless smile. No other course of action could have been better. But Blythe’s eyes rounded in surprise, and her mouth fell open.
“Um… are you serious?”
He didn’t have a ring; his pants were around his ankles, and they’d only just found each other again, but none of that mattered to him. Now was the time. Nate pressed a kiss to her mouth and drew back again to look in her eyes.
“It’s the only thing I want,” he swore. “Say yes, Blythe. Please. I’ll get a ring and do this right — down on one knee — tomorrow. Just say you’ll marry me.”
She still looked at him like he was crazy, but the corners of her perfect blue eyes titled with the beginnings of a smile. Blythe squeezed back against his hands.
“You don’t think it’s too soon?” Her voice was hushed, and Nate could see she was afraid he’d change his mind. Fail her again. He vowed then to spend the rest of his life convincing her that she was his higher calling.
“Too soon? I’ve wanted this for six years.” He released her hands so he could cradle her in his arms. She felt so right. “Say yes.”
Blythe reached up and clasped the back of his neck. Her eyes shimmered with what he hoped were tears of joy, and her dimples clocked in. He’d never been so grateful to see them.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Of course!”
Now she kissed him. As eager — as hungry — as he had been moments before.
“When?” he asked between kisses. “Like tomorrow?”
Blythe giggled and kicked his pants free of his ankles. He loved her laugh, but he meant it. He’d marry her tomorrow. Heck, he’d marry her tonight.
“I think I’ll be sore tomorrow,” she said, her voice going low and molten. The sound vibrated through him, and, suddenly, language became obsolete.
Because he understood her every sigh. Her every motion. When she lifted her hips off the mattress, his hands were there to dismiss the lace panties. And when his teeth teased the slope of her neck, Blythe’s moan softened her body and hardened his.
And, later, when he entered the most sacred part of her with the most fortunate part of him, their eyes locked, and Nate knew he’d finally gotten it right.
EPILOGUE
Six months later
NATE COULD SEE HIS WIFE WAS doing her best not to cry again.
And he was doing his best not to seem worried. But he was making a crap job of it. To distract himself from the unsettling sight of Blythe stretched out on an ultrasound table, Nate held her left hand in both of his and traced the skin above her wedding ring over and over as they waited for the doctor.
The morning had been terrifying.
For the first time in three weeks, Blythe had woken up without feeling sick. It was Sunday, and a spring thunderstorm had kept the bedroom dim even after eight o’clock. Nate had thanked his lucky stars and made love to Blythe as though their quiet mornings were numbered.
Because they were.
But when Blythe got up to go to the bathroom afterwards, her screams had knifed through the house. Nate thought his heart might explode at the sound, but that was nothing compared to the sight of her ashen and bleeding on the toilet.
He wouldn’t admit it to her, but it looked like a lot of blood.
Getting them dressed and to the hospital seemed to take forever, and the whole time, Blythe wept, blaming herself.
“You should text Father Gabe,” she said, breaking through Nate’s thoughts. “Someone should be with Lila…”
Nate brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. Blythe was so strong. Even now, she was able to think of someone else.
“You’re right,” he agreed, digging his phone out of his pocket.
As usual, Lila’s sixth sense had her running down the apartment stairs as he and Blythe were getting into his truck. Nate had only been able to get the words out that they were going to the hospital, and he’d pulled away, watching Lila pace in the driveway through the rearview mirror.
He sent Father Gabe a short text, letting him know the situation and asking him to look in on Lila. Nate rolled his eyes when he got the old man’s reply. Three emoticons. A thumbs up. Glowing hands in prayer. And a cross.
His priest friend was still trying to get them to attend church, but he’d already claimed victory at Nate and Blythe’s wedding. He’d completely ignored Nate’s argument that it didn’t count since the ceremony had taken place in Mr. Donallee’s garden, not in an actual church.
The memory of that afternoon made Nate smile, despite his worry.
“What?” Blythe asked, smiling in response. Nate looked into her blue eyes — gorgeous even when they were red from crying — and he leaned in to kiss her.
“I was just thinking about the wedding,” he murmured.
Her smile grew. “What a perfect day. I’m glad I made you wait until March so we’d have all those flowers.”
It had been a perfect day, especially when Blythe stepped out of the house in her white dress and a crown of blue cornflowers in her shining hair.
“You looked like something out of fairy lore… or a Greek myth. I swear, I couldn’t breathe when I saw you,” he said, squeezing her hand again. “And I couldn’t wait for Father Gabe to finish so I could kiss you in front of everyone without your brothers interrupting.”
Blythe tipped her head back and laughed, just as he wanted her to.
Nate let go a sigh of relief. This is what he needed to be doing now. Not worrying about what he couldn’t control, but taking care of Blythe. This was what he’d vowed to do. What he wanted to do until the end of his days.
As if she remembered her surroundings, Blythe’s laughter died too quickly, and Nate met her eyes. He knew exactly what she was thinking, and he wanted her to stop right then.
“It’s going to be okay,” he told her.
Her brow creased in worry.
“What if it’s not okay?”
“If we lose this baby, it will still be okay. We will still be okay, Blythe,” he promised. “And it won’t be your fault.”
But instead of looking convinced, her lip trembled again.
“How do you know? What if I’m being punished? What if I can never have one because of the one I gave up?”
“You know I don’t have a belief system like that, but Father Gabe would totally disagree with you. You… we are not being punished for the mistakes we made as kids, Blythe.” He ran his hands up and down her back as her body shook with little tremors. “Besides, all the evidence says otherwise. I think the universe wants us to have kids.”
Blythe sniffled and pulled back to look up at him.
“What do you mean?”
Nate smiled down at her. “I mean, you were off the pill for what? Five minutes before you got pregnant? By all accounts, it seems like I just have to look at you to knock you up—”
She was laughing again and wiping her eyes when the doctor came in.
Nate’s first thought was that he looked young. Too young. And not at all like a doctor — unless he was from Gray’s Anatomy.
Am I going to have to watch this guy touch her down there?
Nate squared his shoulders to take up as much room as possible.
“Hi, I’m Dr. Hawthorne.” He offered his hand to Blythe. “You must be Mrs. Bradley.”
Nate never got tired of hearing it. He was so glad she’d taken his name because he almost burst with pride every time he heard it. And hearing it now from Dr. Dreamy made one thing very clear: the young doctor knew she was taken.
Blythe shook his hand, and he followed suit, giving the guy a firm grip that let the doctor know he worked with his hands. Nate didn’t miss the fact that Dr. Hawthorne wiggled his fingers after the handshake. One look at Blythe told him that she hadn’t missed it either. She was glaring at him with a raised brow.
“When did the bleeding start, Mrs. Bradley?” he asked, flipping through the chart in his hands.
“This morning,” Blythe’s voice was small, and it dropped almost to a whisper. “After intercourse.”
Nate’s chest puffed up until he felt his wife dig her fingernails into his hand.
“Some bleeding is quite common early in pregnancy. You’re eight weeks along?”
“Yes, that’s right.” Nate could hear the tentative hope in her voice.
“Are you having any cramping or abdominal pain? Nausea?”
“Um… I’m a little nauseated now,” she said. In fact, she was starting to look a bit green. Nate realized she hadn’t eaten since the night before, and it was almost ten in the morning now.
“You probably need to eat,” Nate said, deflating a little. What kind of a husband was he if he wasn’t making sure she ate right?
“We’ll get you something,” the doctor said before pressing on. “So, no pain?”
Blythe hesitated.
“Well, my back hurts a little.”
She hadn’t told him this. Nate sat down again and gripped her hand. Was this normal? He looked at the doctor now, all resentment of his youth and looks gone, just hoping he wouldn’t give them bad news.
“That’s probably just ligaments stretching.” He put down the chart and picked up what looked like a clear ketchup bottle. “Since you haven’t yet had an ultrasound, we’ll take a look to make sure your pregnancy isn’t ectopic and check on things.”
When the doctor reached for the bottom tie on Blythe’s hospital gown, Nate started sputtering.
“Will you…? Are you going to…?”
“I’m going to perform a transabdominal ultrasound,” he said calmly. “Hopefully, we can see everything we need to and avoid going transvaginally.”
Nate felt the blood drain from his face, and he heard Blythe snicker beside him.
“What do you think happens when I go to the doctor’s?” she asked as Dr. Hawthorne squirted lube on her still-flat belly.
Nate suppressed a groan. He watched the doctor pick up a blunt wand and place it low Blythe’s abdomen. At once, the room filled with a rapid whooshing sound that pulsed from the speakers of the ultrasound computer.
“I like that sound,” Dr. Hawthorne said smiling.
Blythe’s face lit up. “Is that a heartbeat?”
A heartbeat?
It was so fast. It was racing. Nate’s heart started racing, too.
“It sounds fast,” Nate said, unable to keep the worry from his voice. “Is that okay?”
Dr. Hawthorne chuckled.
“Calm down, Dad. It’s perfectly healthy.”
Dad? Holy shit, I’m that heartbeat’s Dad.
Nate watched the swirling gray and black blobs on the screen, trying to catch sight of their little heartbeat, the sound of it overpowering everything in the tiny, dim room.
“Yep, there we are,” Dr. Hawthorne said, as the screen focused on a peanut-shaped patch of gray surrounded by a bubble of black.
“Oh… my… God.” Nate stared in awe. “Are those little bumps on the sides arms?!”
Dr. Hawthorne laughed. “Yes, they are. You can see arms right here and legs down there.” He used a little pointer on the screen to show them each tiny nub. “Would you like a picture to take home?”
“Yes!” Nate and Blythe said in unison.
Nate looked at his wife and smiled at the tears streaming from her eyes. She smiled back at him. I love you, she mouthed.
“I love you,” he said aloud.
“Okay, everything looks great. Implantation looks normal, and I don’t see any tears in the placenta,” Dr. Hawthorne was saying. “Baby Bradley looks as healthy as can be. Like I said, bleeding early in pregnancy is very common, and sometimes we don’t know the cause.”
Blythe cleared her throat.
“Can you tell if it’s a boy or a girl?”
The doctor shook his head. “It’s too early for that, but when your OB schedules your next ultrasound at eighteen to twenty weeks, you should be able to tell then.”
Nate couldn’t stop smiling. “We’ll call her ‘Heartbeat’ until then.”
“Or him,” Blythe said, giving him an arched look.
Dr. Hawthorne set the wand down and proceeded to wipe Blythe’s belly with a towel.
I could have done that, Nate thought.
“Okay, we’re all done here. We’ll get the paperwork in order, and you all can go home. I recommend taking it easy for a couple of days, but everything looks fine to me.”
Nate felt saturated with relief, but Blythe spoke up.
“What about sex?” she asked, seeming less bashful now.
“After a couple days of rest, you can go back to life as normal,” he said, smiling. He stood up and handed Blythe the square printout of the ultrasound picture. Then he patted her on the shoulder and extended his hand to Nate. “Good luck, Daddy-oh.”
This time, Nate shook Dr. Hawthorne’s hand like he was his blood brother. “Thanks, Doc.”
After the door swung closed behind him, Blythe sat up to get dressed.
“Easy now,” Nate cautioned. “Let me help you up.”
To his relief, she listened. Nate began looking forward to the next few days when they could curl up in the den and lie in bed together for hours.
“What a nice doctor,” she said, pulling off her hospital gown. Nate handed over her clothes. “I liked him a lot better than Dr. Carter. And talk about easy on the eyes!”
Nate scowled at her, only to find his wife laughing at his expense.
“Dr. Carter is just fine,” Nate growled.
She laughed again, and Nate couldn’t fight his own smile. Nate helped her step into her jeans, and she pulled on her t-shirt.
“You have to know that I don’t see anyone but you, right?” she asked, beaming up at him. “I just get a kick out of your jealous streak.”
“I’m glad I can amuse you,” he said, raising an ironic brow at her.
“You’ve always been able to amuse me. That was the first thing I loved about you,” she said. “Well, that, and your hot bod.”
Nate narrowed his eyes at her. “Now you’re just trying to tease me since we can’t have sex for two whole days.”
She held up the picture in her hands.
“Yeah, but check it out! We made that little guy! And he’s healthy and strong, just like his Daddy.”
“Just like her Mama,” Nate countered.
He wrapped his arm around Blythe and held one corner of the little printout. The events of the morning had scared him to death, but now the world had redefined itself. The crazy, bottomless love he felt for Blythe had somehow doubled, tripled, all because of the tiny but mighty life that pulsed inside of her.
He leaned down and planted a kiss on her smile.
“C’mon. Let’s go home so I can take care of you and Heartbeat.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
STEPHANIE FOURNET, author of Fall Semester, Legacy, and Butterfly Ginger, lives in Lafayette, Louisiana—not far from the Saint Streets where her novels are set. She shares her home with her husband John and her daughter Hannah, their needy dogs Gladys and Mabel, and an immortal blue finch named Baby Blue. When she isn’t writing romance novels, she is usually helping students get into college or running. She loves hearing from fans, so look for her on Facebook, Twitter, Goodreads, and stephaniefournet.com.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
THERE ARE ALWAYS MOMENTS OF DOUBT in any creative project, but I had so much encouragement from so many people that this was, by far, my easiest novel to date. I first want to thank Ginger Hargett Welborn and my aunt Annette Broussard for identifying for me the deliciously fragrant blossom that seems to perfume all of the Saint Streets during the summers. Tom Robbins said that “80 percent of love is the smell,” and that unassuming little white flower is where this story got its start.
I will be forever grateful to Lisa McDaniel for her tireless efforts and abundant enthusiasm in serving as my beta reader, pro bono editor, travel companion, and partner in crime. I owe Stephanie Judice every bit as much thanks for mentoring and shepherding me through this world as a published author.
To Jen Halligan and everyone at JHPR, thanks for helping me to grow my audience and giving me a much greater appreciation for (read “addiction to”) Twitter. Thanks to Nathan and Rachel Van Dyken and everyone at Blue Tulip Publishing for taking this chance on me. I am so very grateful.
Butterfly Ginger Page 29