by Lexy Timms
She nodded. "I know that. I also know that he walked away before when he was 'crazy' about me. And for little more than on his brother's say so. What if he isn't happy about this? What if he wants nothing to do with this change in our lives?"
"Then screw him. You’ll make a great mother," and she squealed again. "I'm going to be an auntie."
Jazz laughed. "That you will. Either way."
"Talk to him. It's what's driving you crazy, and until you know, you're just going to worry."
"Yeah," she said reluctantly. "I know. I need to." But she didn't want to. She didn’t want to change the status quo, but if the second test gave the same result, then it was going to change regardless.
And she wanted this baby.
If he didn’t, well, she had survived him leaving before. She could survive this too.
***
Morgan waited for when Jazz came home. He’d been nervous all day. She was different and well, maybe he was too. He fingered the ring he’d bought just after the nightmare had ended, but he’d yet to ask her or intimate that he was thinking in that direction.
He wanted to chain her up and keep her safe and keep her here with him so he wouldn’t have to worry about her anymore. But he couldn’t do that. The next best thing was to make her his wife. It was the highest honor he could give her, and the greatest gift he could receive was her acceptance.
But what if she said no? She’d given no inkling that she was upset about their living arrangements, although it felt like they were in limbo.
Caught between before and after with no resolution. And damn, he wanted resolution, but he wanted the resolution he wanted. Not just an end.
This one had to be perfect. He took a deep sigh and pulled the ring out yet again. It was a beautiful sapphire surrounded by diamonds. He remembered a long time ago when she’d mentioned she wasn’t into big ass solitaire rings. He could only hope she was into midnight sapphires. Then again, maybe he was supposed to have taken her with him to the store. Let her pick out what she wanted.
Was there a specific etiquette to follow on something like this? He had no idea.
He’d seen this ring and loved it, knowing it was perfect for her. So he’d bought it. He didn’t even know if he could take it back. And that was a little worrisome, too.
What if she said no?
The sound of her small truck approaching had him stuffing it back and away. She couldn’t see it before he was ready to ask her.
He watched as she approached, turned into the driveway, and parked.
From his position, just out of her sight, he watched as she leaned her head back for a long moment and sat there, not getting out of the truck. As if not wanting to get out.
His heart pounded and his breath was choked. What the hell was wrong? As he watched, she opened the door and hopped out. She looked so damn tired. Of course she was doing too much. Returning to work too fast.
Then she caught sight of him and plastered a bright smile on her face.
She might be happy to see him, but a few moments ago, she hadn’t been looking forward to getting out of her vehicle. And that made his heart ache.
He wanted her to be happy here.
She was his. He was hers. They were a pair. Nothing could come between them.
He hoped.
Chapter 3
After dinner, she wanted to go lie down and rest. Morgan wanted to go watch a movie. A date night, he'd suggested. She loved the idea, but something about having to get dressed to go out and sit in a theater for a couple of hours then come home again didn't appeal. Now a hot bath and early to bed, that appealed.
She knew he was watching her walk out of the kitchen, leaving the dishes for him to do for the first time. Hopefully he'd take it to mean she was feeling sick. And she was.
But not the way he meant.
Her dinner wasn’t sitting well. She thought morning sickness was just that - 'morning' sickness - not all day sickness. She'd Googled several times and found out that some women were sick for the whole pregnancy. Just what she wanted to hear. Morgan had worked hard at putting some flesh on her bones these last weeks, but keeping it on was going to be the challenge.
Then again, some women reported that they felt fine after the first trimester and others who said they only started to feel sick at that point. In other words, no one knew anything. She'd have to figure it out herself.
She stripped off her clothes and tumbled under the covers. Somewhere along the line, the thought of a bath had gone under the heading of too much work, too.
For all her fatigue, sleep was hard come by. She tossed and turned and decided the bath was a good idea after all, then instantly decided that she was too tired to move.
"Not feeling good, Jazz?" Morgan asked from the doorway.
“No,” she whispered from under the covers. “I might be coming down with something.”
“Can I get you anything?” His loving voice brought tears to her eyes, but she didn’t dare care or he’d know for sure something was wrong with her. Or right with her.
“No, I just need sleep.”
And sleep she did. For a few hours. When she woke up, she was hot and fretful. Hell, maybe she really was coming down with the flu. That would explain so much. But not the pee stick. At least she didn’t think it would affect the results, but what did she know?
What if it had? Maybe she wasn’t pregnant and all these psychosomatic symptoms were likely just that – from the flu or in her head.
Instantly she was awash in grief, tears pouring silently down her cheek. That was when she realized something else. She wanted to be pregnant. She really wanted this baby. Morgan’s baby. Dear God, please don’t let these symptoms be from the flu. She so wanted this to be real.
Beside herself, she sat up and found the tissues. She blew her nose, trying to pull it all together.
And cried harder.
She heard the muffled cry from the doorway before she was gently picked up and turned around until she was in his lap with him leaning against the headboard. With his gentle massage and soft murmurs, she couldn’t hold the tidal wave back, and she cried and cried.
When the storm finally passed, and Lord only knew where it had come from or why, she lay against his chest, so damn sad.
“What’s the matter, Jazz?”
His rich voice was full of worry and held a tinge of fear. Of course. He had no idea what was wrong with her.
“I’m okay,” she whispered. “I’m just going through a rough patch.”
He held her close. “And here I thought we’d gone through the worst life could throw at us.”
A burp of a laugh erupted from her mouth. “Oh, we did. We did.”
“And yet here you are, terrified to tell me what’s going on.”
He knew her so well. Hell, no one else could have seen the fear in her actions. No one but him. She hadn’t even seen it. But he was right. She was terrified.
Terrified that this was too big. For her to do. For them to do. Motherhood, oh my God, was there anything bigger? The commitment? All so big, so important. Up until now, she’d brushed it off as being something she’d do eventually, but now… she shook her head. Now… it was too soon. She needed time. She wasn’t ready. She wasn’t good enough to be a mother. The thought petrified her. The responsibility.
She wanted to be the best mom ever, but for the baby’s sake, not hers. Morgan would be a wonderful father.
If he wanted to be.
“Shh. Whatever is wrong, we’ll fix it.”
She nodded and reached up to kiss him. If her kiss was a little demanding, he didn’t seem to care. If it was a little too passionate, he didn’t seem to mind. If her actions were hurried and rougher than normal, he seemed to be right there with her.
In fact, he moved her back a step, his breathing hard, choppy. “Hold on. Let me get out of these clothes.”
Only she followed as he tried to retreat and was reefing on his belt buckle as he pulled his shirt over his head.
“I’ve got this,” he said, his voice thick.
She smiled and let her hand slip down to encase the bulge under her fingers, then stroked it up and down over the thick denim. He swore and opened his jeans zipper. Her fingers dove in.
He laughed, but it ended as a groan as her fingers encircled him. “Jesus sweetheart, you’re killing me.”
She laughed. “Not yet.” With her other hand, she pulled his boxers down so his erection stood in front of her with nothing between them.
Then she lowered her head.
He swore lightly, then loudly as she licked the head of his erection, then his voice rose and fell as her tongue stroked down the side of his penis. She cupped his testicles and squeezed gently. She couldn’t resist when she saw the bead of moisture along the slit. She licked it up then took the head into her mouth and sucked gently.
He gasped then groaned and then whimpered. His hands held her head gently, the restraint in them amazing her. He pulled back suddenly, lifted her, dropped her on the bed, and mounted her. In a single thrust, he entered her to the hilt.
She arched her back, a light scream ripping from her throat.
He stilled, searched her face, and must have seen something reassuring in there because he pulled back slightly then plunged back in. She arched her back and cried out again. She was already so damn close. And then he retreated.
“No,” she cried out, “Don’t stop.”
“It’s all right, my sweet.” He reached down for her hips and held her firm as he entered her, thrust after thrust… and one final time…
Waves of pleasure washed through her in unending spirals. Dimly, through the haze of wonder, she heard him cry out his own release.
***
Perfect.
It was always perfect. No matter how or where or what mood, making love to Jazz was perfect.
He loved her so much. He was terrified of losing her.
Maybe this was the time to ask the big question, to give her the ring? He glanced down at her, intending to slip out of the bed just long enough to grab his pants where the ring was still in the pocket.
Only she was asleep, her breathing even.
He smiled and relaxed back. He’d let her sleep. She needed the rest. He didn't know why she was so tired but if she needed more rest, then he’d do what he could to see she got it.
She was still recovering from her injury, and more than that, she was recovering from the shock and terror of everything that happened to them. It had been hell on her. On them.
He couldn't wake her now.
He wracked his brain for a way to ask her to marry him. He wasn’t the kind of guy to make a public display. Nor was he the one to do something big and over the top. He was just Morgan.
There were videos all over the Internet of guys doing something wild and wonderful to ask their beloveds. Most he watched for amusement, but the thought of doing something like that himself made him break out in hives. Nothing good came to mind. He had no idea how to do this. He figured he'd know the right moment when it happened, only every time there was maybe a right moment, he second-guessed himself and couldn't get the words out.
He was a fool. He needed to just do it.
Tomorrow. He'd ask her tomorrow. It was Saturday. They would be able to lie in late. He could wake her up the way he loved to and ask her just after she was overwhelmed with pleasure.
He needed to do it early. The rest of the morning was going to be getting caught up on house chores. They’d already talked about it. He glanced around the room full of discarded clothing.
Laundry being one of the highest priorities.
Yeah, he'd find the right time tomorrow.
Somehow.
Chapter 4
The next morning, she woke up slowly to find herself alone again. Emotional, almost teary, she lay in bed and just rested. Morgan used to wake her up in the most wonderful of ways, especially on weekends, but now… she rolled over, realized it was after ten already, and groaned. She never slept in. No wonder he wasn’t here with her. Eight was late for him. If they were snuggling, maybe nine, but for her to not wake up at ten, no way.
She could hear him walking around the house doing chores. She yawned. They’d already organized the chores they’d do today. Morgan was better than her in cleaning up. He could run a vacuum and do dishes, and he was a wizard at laundry. She, on the other hand, was a slug.
She hated to do any of it and so did it as fast as she could to get it done.
While she was still resting in bed, Morgan came in, a huge hamper of laundry in his arms.
“Ha look, sleepyhead is awake.”
“Not quite,” she mumbled, still lying flat under the covers.
He laughed. “Well, hopefully you got some rest. I did let you sleep in.” He waggled his eyebrows in a comical manner, making her smile.
Then he upended the clean laundry on the bed and her.
“But now that you’re awake, you can help fold.” He grinned at her mischievously. “And I’ll grab some coffee.”
“Only if you bring me a cup,” she groused good-naturedly. By the time he returned, she was sitting up and matching socks together. “We have too much laundry for just two of us,” she said, motioning to the heap on the bed.
“Yeah, but I did go around and grab stuff that needed to be washed so we could have it all done. This is several loads, including your stuff.”
Another yawn escaped. Then she froze. Her stuff? Her pants?
Her face flushed with heat as she remembered what she’d had hidden in her pocket. Had he found it? She’d planned to take a second test this morning but wasn’t going to do it with him here.
Then she saw him grab a pair of her pants and fold them. Her heart in her throat, she bit her lower lip as he went through the motions. He didn’t check the pocket because it was already turned out. He carefully put them back in.
Shit.
Had he seen the pregnancy test stick? Would he recognize it if he had? She hoped not. He was very aware of things like that, but hopefully he hadn’t seen her pants. She looked around the room, hoping she’d find where she’d dropped them last night.
He caught her glance and seemed to realize what she was looking for. He rummaged through the laundry and pulled out her jeans, dropping them on top of the pile.
“Hope there wasn’t anything in the pockets. I might have forgotten to check these ones.” She held her breath as he shoved his fingers into the left one first.
She held out her hand. “Here, I’ll do that.”
“It’s not a problem.”
Panicked that he might check the second pocket, she grabbed up his pants and teased. “So I can check your pockets? After all, looks like you forgot to turn these ones out before you washed them, too.”
And froze at the look on his face.
Dismay. Shock. Panic.
“No, don’t do that,” he said urgently. “I’ll check my own pockets.”
She swallowed hard. Shit. What had just happened? She locked her gaze on his. What could he possibly have in his pocket that he didn’t want her to see? She gave a broken laugh. She certainly had something in her pocket that she didn’t want him to see.
Is this what their life had come to? Secrets hidden in their pockets?
She slumped against the headboard, tears in her eyes. Given what her secret was, she needed to know what his was. It would impact her future and her baby’s future in a big way. Was she up for this? Today?
“Don’t cry. It’s okay.”
She shook her head wildly. “How can it be? You don’t want me to check your pockets, and I don’t want you to check mine.”
***
Morgan stared down at her jeans in his hands. He’d not intended to start anything, but apparently when he’d checked the first pocket, she’d gone after his jeans to throw him off. Or at least that’s how it appeared to him.
He sank slowly on the bed, fear snaking through him. What could she be hiding? He could see the item wasn�
�t big. The space was too small for much and it didn’t bulge like a large object. He hadn’t checked it before throwing it in the laundry, which he normally did. Then when folding, he automatically shoved the pockets back in. He’d been doing laundry that way since his mother first taught him.
He hadn’t meant to pry any more than he’d meant to leave the beautiful sapphire engagement ring in his pocket. Last night had been a flurry of clothes stripping, a repeat of so many nights with her. He was blessed. She wanted him as much as he wanted her.
They were a perfect match.
So why were they sitting here staring at each other as if across a huge divide? Him with his heart in his throat and her with tears rolling down her face?
The worst would be if she’d cheated on him. What could be in the pocket that would show such a thing? A guy’s phone number? He wouldn’t know the relationship – for all he knew, it could be a client.
No, this wasn’t about the items in the pockets, it was about trust. He trusted her. If he was wrong, life as he knew it was over for him anyway.
He couldn’t let this go. He needed her to know how he felt. If she found the ring and turned him down, he wasn’t going to make it anyways. Life without her… no.
It was now or never.
If this was it, then they both needed to know. He took a deep breath and jumped across the divide.
“First, you need to know that I love you,” he said calmly. “And that I trust you.”
The tears rolled faster on her cheeks.
“And that I don’t care what is in your pocket. Or what is in my pocket. I want you to open mine and take out what is in there.”
She shook her head. “No, that’s not fair.”
“Not fair, or you don’t want me to do the same for your pocket?”
The tears poured. Shit.
He moved closer and reached for his jeans now crumpled in her lap. She slumped against the headboard, a sheet over her bare skin, big fat tears rolling down her cheeks.
“Stop, you’ll make yourself sick, honey.”
“Look. I don’t care what’s in your pocket.” His alarm was growing over her reaction. She’d been upset over something last night, too. His mind kept going to horrible things, his gaze sliding back to her jeans to see if his guess could be correct. Had she received a terrible medical diagnosis? A full-size sheet of paper couldn’t fit in that tiny pocket, could it? Surely he’d have noticed when he threw them in the washing machine.