by Dani Wade
But what annoyed him more was that Ivy had refused to ask for anything to drink, had refused to let him fix her another bowl of soup, had refused to let him make her cookies.
What pregnant woman refused cookies?
But it was as if she had to prove to him that she didn’t need him there at all. That she could get what she needed herself, rather than let him lend a hand.
Finally Paxton gave in and retired to the guest room for some sleep. He wasn’t getting any work done, so he might as well call it a night. But the resolve wasn’t enough to allow him to fall asleep. Instead he stared at the pressed-tin ceiling, wondering how to break through Ivy’s insistent need for independence. About fifteen minutes passed before he heard footsteps upstairs. Slow steps, then running.
A door slammed. Paxton sat up to listen. Water rushed through the pipes overhead. The sink? A toilet? He couldn’t be sure.
That was the only sound for a few minutes, then he heard a loud thump. He jumped out of bed, his body preparing for action. What was that?
But the water continued to run, long enough that he wondered if she was taking a shower. His muscles relaxed as the water finally ceased.
Then the barest creak of a door. No footsteps. He cocked his head to the side, listening hard. Was she just standing there? Or tiptoeing down the hall? Then another heavy thud came. Almost directly overhead.
After that, nothing. Silence descended, aside from the normal household hum. What was she doing up there?
His heartbeat sped up a notch. A lot of what-ifs sped through his mind... But the fact that he couldn’t distinguish between the normal household sounds and what could be a serious situation made him angry.
He didn’t care if she wanted help or not. He was going. It only took a second to pull a pair of sweatpants over his boxers and make his way up the stairs two at a time, turning on lights to illuminate the dark of the house along the way.
The first thing he saw in the upper hall as the light flicked on was tangled blond hair spread across the green floor runner. For a moment time froze.
“Ivy!”
She lifted her head a little as he knelt beside her.
“I’m fine,” she said, but her voice was thready. Though she normally maintained the gorgeous porcelain skin of a Southern belle, right now she had the sickly-gray cast of someone definitely under the weather.
“Obviously.” For the moment, his fear was easier to handle as sarcasm. But beneath the coping mechanism, he could feel rage building. “So, lying on the floor is just more comfortable than your bed?”
She patted the runner beneath her. “Just looking for a change of scenery.”
“You know my room is directly below this spot, right?”
She closed her eyes, but he wasn’t letting her ignore him this time.
“All you had to do was call my name. Heck, say my name and I would probably have heard you.” Heat slipped into his voice without permission, but dammit, why hadn’t she just called him for help?
He didn’t think any further, didn’t ask what she needed. He simply swept her up in his arms. She shrieked, but he ignored her.
“Put me down!”
Pretending to comply, he let her legs sweep down until her feet touched the floor, then lifted his arms in a hands-off gesture...until she swayed. “Sure that’s what you want?” he asked.
A whimper was the only answer he waited for, before he picked her back up and strode down the hall to her room.
It wasn’t until he set her onto the bed that he registered the bare skin against his palms. As he stepped back, the disheveled covers and hair reminded him of a much more titillating scenario. Something that shouldn’t be registering at this point. He quickly pulled his mind back from the brink and focused in on his anger. That seemed the safer, easier option.
“Are you really so angry with me that you’d rather sleep on the floor than ask for help?” He exploded, giving the frustration free rein. “And why were you on the floor in the first place?”
Ivy covered her face. At first he thought she was simply avoiding his demanding questions. “This resistance to any bit of help is getting very childish, Ivy.”
Then her shoulders started to shake. Paxton realized she wasn’t blocking him out. She was crying.
“No—wait.”
He held out both hands as if to pat her shoulders, but pulled back at the last minute. He wanted answers, but not like this. Upsetting her was the last thing he wanted. He hated for his sisters to cry. It made him feel helpless. But when Ivy lifted her face, helpless didn’t begin to describe his emotions.
“You don’t understand!” she spat out. “Two months ago, I was a fully functioning, fully capable woman. Now I have no job. No life. And apparently no ability to walk, either!”
Paxton could only stare as tears continued to rush over her cheeks.
“I’m just tired and weak and disgusting. Half the time, I can’t fix myself something to eat. I’m too exhausted to work. I haven’t done my nails in weeks. I mean, look at my hair!”
It was a genuine feminine complaint in the midst of bigger issues. Paxton understood. Her words painted a better picture of the loss of control she was feeling right now. His brain latched on to the details as something he could finally fix, something he could do to actually improve her feelings about this situation, as opposed to simply covering the basics.
But he had a feeling she wasn’t going to like his next move, either.
Six
The feelings washing over Ivy were even more out of control than her usual pregnancy doldrums. Why had she been cursed with hormones? Though that was probably a common female lament at various times in life, in this moment it was her truly heartfelt cry. Without consent, tears overflowed her eyes and trailed down her cheeks, even as she cursed her weakness.
This time she didn’t protest as Paxton once again lifted her into his arms and retraced his steps down the hall. His destination: the bathroom where she’d just gotten sick. Her ill-fated attempt to make it back to her bedroom on her own, even though she’d known she was weak, had ended with her collapsing on the floor.
Even now her limbs felt weighted with the heaviness of fatigue. Her eyes refused to open. She was too tired to fight, too overwhelmed to keep her emotions under wraps. The roller coaster of the last three months was now running off the rails.
Heat burned beneath her skin as she remembered her whining complaints. At least, that’s probably how Paxton heard them. Without comment he set her on the stool they kept in the good-sized room, then moved away. It wasn’t until she heard water running into the tub that she started paying attention. Her soggy eyelashes took an effort to lift. “What are you doing?”
He didn’t even look up from his task. “You’ll be more comfortable if we wash you up.”
“We?” she squeaked.
“You just collapsed on the floor. Are you gonna do this alone?”
She felt her mouth open to defend herself, but nothing came out. She glanced at the water, able to almost feel the heat with the rising steam. Then she looked back at the larger-than-life male pulling fluffy towels from the cabinet. Tendrils of sensual awareness shimmered through her exhaustion—familiar even though distant.
No. No. No.
She was not getting naked in front of him again.
Then he poured some of her favorite bubble bath into the running water. The soft sent of bourbon sugar filled the air. Her muscles started to ache, as if demanding to be immersed in the liquid warmth. Her body desperately wanted to relax, to rest...along with her brain.
Paxton used her distraction to his advantage. With a rush of fabric, her oversize T-shirt was whisked over her head, leaving her clad in nothing but her underclothes. Only then did she realize just how much of the lower half of her body had been on display. Even more was on display now.
�
��In you go,” he said like a nursemaid, urging her to her feet so that she was facing the tub.
At least she didn’t have to watch his expression while he undressed her. But that didn’t stop the worries from rushing in. Unaware of her runaway thoughts, he popped open the clasp on her bra, and part of her wondered if he was just no longer interested in her...sexually.
Why couldn’t she shut down these distressing thoughts?
Especially when his warm fingers brushed her hips as he pushed her panties down. Almost immediately a towel was draped over her shoulders.
He’s protecting my modesty, not ogling. Why did that thought depress her? Contrary tears prickled the backs of her eyes. She didn’t want to be wanted just because she was a naked woman.
Any naked woman.
But his practical touch reinforced the fact that he no longer saw her as desirable—just as the mother of his child. Someone he would take care of, but not cherish the way she’d dreamed of months before.
Ivy squeezed away the tears and focused on the warmth of the water as he guided her gently over the edge, into the tub. As she sank beneath the bubbles into sheer bliss, she heard him close the curtain.
A weird mixture of disappointment and relief shimmered through her. She saw his shadow lower as he sat on the stool. Trying to ignore the intimacy of the moment, she let her eyes close once more and focused on the sweet-scented steam in the air, the lap of water against the sides of the bathtub, and the loosening of her muscles in the liquid heat.
“Any more nausea?” Paxton finally asked.
Ivy did a quick self-check and realized her body was settling down, even if her mind wasn’t. “No,” she answered simply.
“Okay... Just give me a little warning if need be.”
That was funny. “I’ll give you as much warning as I’m given.”
“I completely understand,” he said with a chuckle.
Ivy lay cocooned in steamy warmth, lazily watching the bubbles float with her subtle movements, hyperaware of Paxton on the other side of the curtain. His silence. His vigilance.
“You’ve been pretty sick,” he said, his tone deepening. “That must make the idea of motherhood pretty daunting.”
“Not as much as doing it all alone.” She immediately tensed, knowing she probably shouldn’t have said that...but it was at least honest.
“You don’t have to.”
His quiet voice was steady, but could she trust him? If only it were that simple. She couldn’t hold back her answer. “I’m not so sure about that.”
Outside the curtain, he shifted, causing the stool to squeak. “Look, I’m here. I’m staying.”
Maybe it was time for her to address the elephant in the room. At least this situation helped her feel secure, facing him but not really having to see him through the curtain. First she took a deep breath; then she let it out.
“So, why didn’t you stay before?”
* * *
No good deed went unpunished.
Paxton had simply assumed Ivy would avoid any kind of deep discussion now, the same way she had since he’d gotten here. Her question came out of the blue.
A dozen excuses ran through his head while his lungs struggled for air in the steamy space. I’m not ready. I wasn’t prepared for what happened. I wasn’t sure I wanted this to continue. I don’t want to know if what I’m feeling is more than lust...
He couldn’t say any of that...but she deserved something real. Paxton wasn’t sure if it was the warm air, the soft scent of vanilla or the sounds from the bath that brought to mind images of Ivy’s soft skin and even softer curves—whatever the cause, it loosened his tongue.
Maybe it had been the same for her, the intimate atmosphere prompting something deeper.
Without permission, he heard himself say, “I was afraid.”
The silence that engulfed the room seemed to echo in his ears. His throat clenched in a belated attempt to hold the words inside. Why had he said that? What was he thinking?
He wasn’t. In an attempt to cover up the truth, he rushed into speech. “I just didn’t want to ruin our working relationship.”
Yes, that sounded perfectly logical.
“We work—worked—so perfectly together, and I could trust everything was taken care of when I wasn’t there. I didn’t want to risk losing that.”
Ivy wasn’t buying it. “Since when do you run instead of facing problems head on?”
Ah, the joys of arguing with someone who knows you all too well.
“I wasn’t running.” It was more of a strategic retreat. “I had a business issue to attend to, and felt we should talk about it face-to-face.”
“Sure, in a week or two... Not two months later.”
Funny how he could picture her slightly affronted expression just from her tone of voice. “So, why didn’t you bring it up?” he asked, not willing to accept all of the blame.
“And risk losing my job?”
He couldn’t argue that. Though he did lose sight of it from time to time, he was very aware they were in a situation where he was the one with the power. And a lot of Ivy’s choices had reflected that same knowledge.
“But didn’t you walk away from it in the end, anyway?”
Her sigh sounded sad, defeated. “Yes,” she conceded. “And it was one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever had to make.”
While Paxton had simply avoided making any decision at all...until she’d forced him to with her actions.
“Do you know what I think?” she asked.
He wasn’t sure he really wanted to know.
“I think you couldn’t figure out how to handle me or what had happened between us. You had no perfect plan.”
He grunted as her words hit home, but he wasn’t ready to concede just how much their night together had impacted him. Not yet. Maybe a distraction would get him off the hook. “Let’s get your hair washed before the water gets cold.”
“I don’t need help—”
“Right.” He’d heard that a time or two. “Exactly how long do you think you can hold your hands over your head right now?”
Suddenly it was her turn for silence.
He couldn’t suppress a grin. Victory, even a small one, felt pretty good. He let himself rub it in, just a little. “I thought so. And I know I heard you say your hair was driving you crazy. Don’t worry... I’ve washed my nieces’ hair plenty since they were babies.”
Which was a load of bull, because he knew touching Ivy in any way would be nothing like those innocent experiences. Paxton sucked in a deep breath, bracing himself for wet, naked skin. When he pulled back the shower curtain, he found Ivy shifted forward, her arms wrapped around knees covered in bubbles.
The pose shouldn’t have been provocative. All major erogenous zones were thoroughly covered by her arms or the thick bubbles drifting on the gentle current of the water. It was the bare curve of her spine, so vulnerable, so sexy, that had his breath catching in his throat. Not to mention the wealth of golden waves that spilled over each shoulder as if to frame the intimate sight.
He held up a shampoo bottle. “This one?”
She looked up briefly to confirm, then nodded at him. He picked up the large plastic cup nearby and used it to douse her hair with water. The long, tangled locks flattened instantly, spilling across her back to shield him from the tempting sight of her skin.
Paxton braced himself against the side of the bathtub. His body’s response to seeing her like this was swift and immediate, like a kick in the gut. But instead of intense pain, intense pleasure shot through him.
Eager to avoid this response, he let it drive him into action. Though not the type of action he craved.
The liquid shampoo was cool and thick as he squeezed it into his palm. Another sweet vanilla scent, but it didn’t quite match the bubble bath. He rubbed his palms toge
ther, spreading the mixture as he studied her hair and formulated a plan of attack. Finally he aimed for the wet mass right around her shoulders. He could feel the tangles as he rubbed in the shampoo. Even when wet, her hair was thick and heavy.
Not at all like the children’s. Usually with them it was a couple of quick strokes and they were ready to rinse. Even when his oldest niece’s hair had started growing in for real. Not this time.
His hands instinctively worked the shampoo into the thickness, down to the tips and then back up to the top. The mass seemed to grow under his attention, forcing him to corral it, rub it, scrub it.
That’s when he heard the first tiny response. Small noises at first, slowly growing into deep moans as he worked his fingers against her scalp. So very similar to the sounds he had heard one special night before.
Rivulets of foamy shampoo bubbles spilled down onto her glistening skin, making it look slick and oh so touchable. Dangerous territory, his mind warned.
Inadvertently his thumbs pressed down the length of her neck, easing the tension in the muscles along her spine. A soft sigh of satisfaction had him freezing in place.
He didn’t realize his hands had gone still against her head until she lifted it slightly. She didn’t open her eyes, probably to keep the shampoo from getting into them. Regardless of the reason, he was relieved.
“Everything okay?” she asked, her voice now husky.
No! “Almost done.”
He forced himself to view the task logically as he rinsed the soap from her hair, then added conditioner and ran a wide-tooth comb through the mass to remove tangles at her instruction.
But the wild feeling of satisfaction—the peace that stole over him, telling him there was nowhere else he’d rather be—wouldn’t be washed away.
Seven
Consciousness came slowly to Ivy the next morning. She woke in a much more leisurely manner than her usual “shocked opening of her eyes, rush for the toilet” ritual of the last two months. Even so, she lay perfectly still, evaluating her body for any concerns. No nausea yet, but she was still hesitant to move. Often that would start the cycle in the morning if she didn’t already feel like tossing her cookies.
