She tipped her head away. “I’ve always bitten my lip. Bad habit.”
“You don’t do it so much now.”
“I suppose I don’t.”
“Get a good night’s sleep, sweetheart. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help with tomorrow.”
Chapter Nine
What was that about? Grace stared into the darkness, viscerally aware of Beckett’s slumbering form, well over onto the middle of the bed. He’d respected the distance for weeks now, though she’d woken early many days to find herself encroaching on his space, cuddled close. And sometimes he’d been tucked up behind her, his arm lying heavily over her waist.
But she’d been able to extricate herself or move away before he awoke and reprimand her body for its interest. She was at the stage in her pregnancy where her hormones were fueling an insane interest in anything sexual. Okay, sex with Beckett. Her husband. Past memories of their physical connection tormented her with evil intent because her brain was losing the battle.
Oh, she somehow kept a cool façade around him—at least she thought she did—but he was so darn present. Last night at the restaurant felt like a date or some such stupid thing, maybe a double date. Her past longing for that normal kept surfacing.
She’d become so accustomed to having breakfast with him, and lunch most days if he was working from home. He was always home for dinner, either with take-out or to help her prepare their meal.
The evenings, of late, had become a subtle torture. Beckett got rid of the uncomfortable couch, taking her to choose one she could curl up on to watch television or read. But he shared it with her and while he kept his distance there, she could scent him, aware of his every move. There were overtones of friendship as they came to know one another better, but overshadowed by what she knew to term as lust. She huffed a breath at the idea of normal. They’d never have that. Too much of the past lay between them, and she’d do well to remember that.
Sometimes she wondered how he managed his newfound celibacy, because unless he was somehow getting some on the side during his infrequent absences from home… He’d been such a sexual man… In any event, she wasn’t managing hers very well, and masturbating in the shower, despite him respecting her privacy, felt sneaky and unfulfilling.
Moving in with Charity felt a long way off, and in truth, she wasn’t nearly as anxious and determined, now Beckett had turned out to be … a nice guy. For now. She daren’t get her hopes up. All they had connecting them was their child, and she hadn’t forgotten her impassioned speech about wanting a life someday with a man who loved her. And Beckett should have the same opportunity with another woman.
Her libido poked her harder, suggesting some hot, satisfying sex wouldn’t be amiss—friends with benefits. She poured ice-cold water on the idea, knowing herself too well. Her heart had reluctantly accepted the farce that she’d been infatuated and not in love with Beckett, but she wouldn’t fool it twice.
So, instead, she turned her thoughts to the screaming chemistry between her friend and Kamil and hoped the guy didn’t get hurt. Charity tended to chew men up and spit them out.
****
Probably because she’d laid awake into the night, wrestling with unseemly urges and thinking about Charity and the seamstress bringing her samples, Grace woke up later than usual. Beckett’s warm breath teased the hair at her temple and the hot length of him heated her back. Something hard pressed against the softness of her buttocks and her breath hitched in her chest as she registered the fact her nightgown had ridden up and there was little between them. He was back to sleeping nude, the jerk.
She knew the instant he woke, a certain stiffness entering his relaxed body, and waited for him to roll away. She forced herself to remain calm, keeping her eyes closed and regulating her breathing.
Instead of moving back to his side of the bed, his hips flexed and his erection nuzzled into her pliant flesh. She knew if she dropped her leg forward he’d work his way inside her, eased by her embarrassing wetness. She could pretend she was still asleep and just let it happen.
His hand stroked down her arm. “Are you awake?”
“Yes.”
“I’m getting the message you want this, sweetheart.”
She didn’t have to look at him, she could pretend this was merely … servicing. She most certainly wanted this. She craved it. But she couldn’t say it, wishing he’d just do it.
With a sigh, he pressed a kiss on her hair and pulled away. “Can’t do it, Grace, as much as I want to. As much as I think about fucking you senseless each and every day. But I won’t reduce what we might have to a faceless quickie.”
She wanted to scream at him and maybe beg him to come back and get it done, but fortunately, the bathroom door closed behind him and she didn’t humiliate herself. With some strict self-management, she got herself under control and staggered down the hall to the guest bathroom. When she showed her face a little later, there was no sign of Beckett and she applied some makeup and chose her clothes with care, finding an outfit from Kilmer that flattered her.
She’d obviously lost weight since being fitted for it because the skirt zipped closed with only a little encouragement, and the loose blouse and light jacket concealed her larger breasts and belly. Even the slate-blue tones suited her, Beckett’s eye for clothing excellent. It was probably why she shopped at lower end places for herself, some kind of passive-aggressive retaliation. But she wanted to look professional today when the seamstress came.
He was making breakfast with his usual eye to her finicky appetite when she went down to the kitchen. It seemed most of their interactions centered around food and she tamped down another, carnal appetite.
Thankfully, he didn’t talk about their little interaction upstairs, merely asking her to make toast. She organized that task and poured a cup of herbal tea, taking her vitamin. A curious flutter flickered through her midsection and she frowned, writing it off to Beckett’s impossibly sexy appeal, attired as he was in low-slung pajama pants and absolutely nothing else. The man even rocked bed hair and a stubbled jaw.
“What time is your … company coming?”
Dragging her stare away from his backside, she said, “Who?”
“You’re expecting someone today. And you’re dressed already. You look great, by the way.”
“Oh. This afternoon. And thanks.” Crap, now he’d guess she put clothes on as armor against what they’d nearly done.
“I can head out to the office, give you privacy.”
It all became too much, his thoughtfulness and insight, the comfort she’d come to find in living with him without their past baggage—minus the more recent, incessant arousal. Why was she hiding her plans from him? So what if he disparaged them? He’d only show the true colors she kept expecting, something deep inside of her never believing he’d changed.
“You don’t have to leave. Although I need the dining room. For the space.”
He set a perfectly poached egg on a slice of dry toast and passed it to her. “That’s no problem. Dinner with Kalim and Charity isn’t until tomorrow night.”
She perched at the counter and cut a tiny slice of her breakfast while he filled his own plate. “It’ll probably take a few hours.”
“Okay.”
“I’m designing a line of maternity clothes.” Silence reigned as she chewed another bite, her gaze on her plate.
“You’re designing clothes?”
“Maternity clothes. Nothing like your lines.”
“Grace. That’s amazing. I’d like to see your sketches.”
“I’m not like those experts you and your father hire.” Her stomach felt tight.
He touched her hand, his warm fingers scooping it up. “Hey. No self-criticism.”
She tried to ignore the way his thumb traced tiny circles over her pulse point. “I’ve been studying online. And finally found someone to sew some mockups.” She’d had to scrimp, seeing as her father had yanked the trust fund strings tight.
“Are you going to be the model?” His tone was light and she risked a look at his face. He stared back with interest all over his face.
“Me? I … I hadn’t thought about it.” What if she jinxed this pregnancy?
“You’d make a lovely model.”
“Maybe.” He never stopped telling her she was beautiful to him.
“Finish your breakfast,” he urged. “And maybe you’d show me your work?”
****
Her heart in her throat, she passed over the folder holding the completed drawings and specs. He scanned them carefully, turning each page over as he went, setting them carefully to the side. She couldn’t read anything from his face or body language and her belly clenched. If anyone knew design, it was Beckett.
When he turned to face her, she was ready to laugh it off and say it was a mere hobby. He said, “Very promising. A complete line, too.”
If he’d come across all complimentary and sweet instead of cautiously approving, it would have been worse than his disdain, and she could barely breathe through the relief. “Thank you. I wanted to ensure there were adequate choices for any event.”
“You succeeded. Though I want to see how the fabrics you chose will hang and if they’ll stand up to movement and look good.”
Wait. “Excuse me?”
“Your father’s company manufactures those types of fabrics and we buy them, remember?”
“I didn’t show you to ask for your help, Beckett. The seamstress I found chose fabrics from what I could afford. I know they aren’t high end but I think they’ll work.”
“Let’s see how they look. This afternoon, right?”
“You’re saying that if the designs work out but not the fabrics—”
“I’ll see that you get them.”
This was her project. Hers. She wanted to continue with it, having started the marketing campaign already. In fact, she’d been casting about for a model and his comment earlier made her wonder if she could do that as well. Save a little money. “I’m not sure I want to be affiliated with the company.”
He winced and his features took on the look she recognized as his business face. “Right. You want a divorce and you’re estranged from your father. You don’t want any help from this quarter.”
She didn’t—and she did. She wanted to see all those beautiful fabrics utilized in her designs, to make them come alive and flatter all pregnant women, regardless of size or shape. But she hated feeling even a hint of obligation to the men who had essentially overpowered her life. So she told a partial lie. “I want to make this line available to women who don’t have deep pocketbooks. I want to be able to afford them.”
He looked into her eyes and she wondered if he read her. She clutched at the edge of the desk when she considered that there was nothing stopping Beckett from running with her idea and barely kept herself from blurting that out. If her father was standing before her, there would have been no doubt. But not Beckett. She relaxed, somehow knowing he wouldn’t do such a thing.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing. It’s been hard to share, is all.”
“Thank you for that, Grace. I know I haven’t given you any reason in the past to think I’d be supportive.”
“You’ve been supportive, Beckett. We’ve carved out a truce.” And she’d been willing to fraternize with the enemy that morning, her face flaming as she thought about it.
His eyes darkened and he stepped closer. “But you still don’t trust me.”
She really didn’t want to lie about that, so took refuge in silence. Beckett clearly interpreted that correctly, because he gave her space, saying, “We have an enormous amount of offcuts. One of the things we look for is either a venue or entrepreneur to utilize them. Your designs are quirky and mix colors and textures. We might be able to work something out and keep the cost of your product down.”
Tempted, she replied, “I don’t want to get ahead of myself. I’ll wait to see what the mockups look like.”
“Can I be there?” He laughed, a rueful sound. “I should have asked, not assumed.”
Suddenly needing to share the experience with him, she nodded. “Okay. But as an observer. We’ll talk privately afterward.”
“Deal. Unless you think differently. Just say, okay?”
****
He was blown away. His sweet, little wife had talent. He wondered if her thwarted plans for college had involved design and could only imagine what she might have accomplished if she hadn’t been forced to take online courses with no actual mentoring or hands-on work.
The sketches were amazing but his eye told him she needed help with fabric choices, not that he wanted to come across as being superior. His years of experience, working in the business from the ground up had loaned itself to that kind of knowledge and he was determined to help Grace find her way while not threatening her independence. His bitter comment about divorce and her father had escaped before he could help himself, feeling rejected once again. Time he thought of her first, always, though he thought he’d been doing a better job of late.
While Grace was downstairs organizing the dining room space, leaving him to get ready for the day, he laid out all her designs and took pictures of them. His phone was a good one, the resolution crisp, so he figured he’d caught the feel and flair. He hurriedly sent them off to Jenna with instructions to have them printed onto better paper in varying sizes. Surprising Grace with them at a later date, as well as a format for a marketing campaign, would be his pleasure.
He then toiled at the paperwork his business produced and fielded several calls from suppliers and distributors alike, putting out a couple of fires along the way. Having forbidden Grace to move the heavy furniture to accommodate the samples, he helped with that while she made lunch.
Their domestic situation felt settled and workable to him and if his libido was chastising him for walking away from some morning delight with his wife, well, he had to believe that time would also come. He wasn’t going to reduce their renewed sexual connection to scratching an itch. Grace didn’t yet fully trust him and he had to accept that.
When the doorbell rang after they’d cleaned up the kitchen together, he impulsively drew her in for a hug. Relishing the feel of her petite form in his arms, thrilled she didn’t resist, he said, “No need to be nervous.”
“How did you know?”
“The jittery knee and teeth chattering gave it away.”
“I was not.” Tipping her head back, her pretty mouth then set in a mutinous line before she smiled. He’d been making it his mission to have her smile and as usual, it melted his heart.
“Go let her in, sweetheart.”
He’d never seen the people who assembled the designs his talent put together, so the sight of a middle-aged, rotund woman with a mass of steel-gray hair was a bit of a surprise. But her warmth with Grace eased his concern.
“Theresa, this is my…” Her silvery eyes blinked as she clearly wondered how to introduce him.
He was still her husband and intended that to be true forever, so he said, “Her husband. Beckett Kilmer.”
“Theresa Dobbs. I didn’t know Grace was related to the Kilmers.”
So, she’d used a different name. He smiled and helped Theresa with a trolley and several cases. “Is this all of it?”
“It is.” The other woman didn’t press the point with him, instead, turning to Grace. “I’m not sure I’m on a par with Kilmer/Langdon.”
“I’m not sure I am either,” Grace replied.
“Ah. I see.”
Beckett thought she did, indeed, and went ahead with the luggage to the dining room. “Grace is set up in here.”
The seamstress efficiently set out her tools of the trade and unveiled garment after garment. Even as samples, he knew quality tailoring and said so.
“Thank you. Your wife, that is, Grace and I have connected very positively.”
“Have you signed a contract?” He remembered he wasn’t suppos
ed to be front and center but it was too late and Grace seemed okay with it.
“I have. And an NDA, in fact.” She winked at Grace.
“I was following a business plan.” Grace bit her bottom lip and he wished he could ease her anxiety.
“Don’t apologize, dear. You want to protect that hard work. Why don’t you try on the first outfit? We’ll see how things fit and get Mr. Kilmer’s learned opinion.”
He and Theresa chatted as Grace changed into the sundress, stepping behind the trolley to do so. He established she had a small team working with her, capable of turning out at least the first batch of clothing.
“I have a tentative commitment from a small maternity boutique,” Grace advised, her voice muffled by the fabric she was tugging over her head.
“Mind the stitching,” Theresa said, before moving to help.
The dress fit beautifully and he could see it in varying sizes and at least three colors and patterns. He took advantage of the opportunity to set the straps properly on Grace’s shoulders and smoothed the material over her hips. Seduction 101. Cautiously invade her space and find ways to touch her—appropriately. Or something like that.
He might have pushed it a little with the hands on her hips deal, but aside from heightened color, she didn’t protest, and she felt so good.
They discussed fabric with the remainder of the outfits, beautifully cut slacks with a clever way to release the waistband to afford more room, and relaxed tops, shorts and matching tanks, floating nightgowns and cozy pajamas, a more formal dress, a coat, and a couple of jackets, and his favorite, a flirty bathing suit.
As with everything she tried on, he checked the fit and fall and enjoyed the feel of Grace’s smooth skin and burgeoning figure. Her breasts pushed against the material and the curve of her belly swelled sweetly against his hand. He resolved to gain her permission to feel their child grow on every possible occasion.
Love Changes Everything (Romance on the Go Book 0) Page 11
