His father-in-law blustered some more, “Beckett, you are insinuating—”
“That you didn’t provide anything close to what fathers should offer their children? I am. And if you hope to have any sort of a relationship with Grace, you’d better figure it out. Start with respect. Appreciate her and her qualities. I’ll give you a list if you like. Find it in your heart to love her. It’s easy.”
His father shuffled in place, looking everywhere but at him or Grace. He said, “Perhaps we should leave, George.”
“Right.” Langdon forced a thin smile.
They showed themselves out and when the door closed, Beckett released a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. He cautiously loosened his grip on Grace and looked into her face. “Are you okay? I wanted the designs to be a surprise. I planned to pick them up today and get them framed.”
“You love me?”
He knew his mouth dropped open and struggled to close it. Wrenching his thoughts into order and away from explaining how her designs came to end up in their fathers’ hands, he replayed her question. He told her the truth. “I love you, Grace. Insanely. So much that I can’t believe I could deny it for so long.”
“You said lots of sexy, exciting things when we dated. And then you didn’t say those anymore unless we were … having sex.”
Fuck. Why would this woman want his sorry ass? “I think I fell in love with you probably the second date we went on. In that little Italian restaurant when you wore that blue dress with the full skirt. I longed to put you in something that would show your slender body and those surprising curves so I didn’t have to struggle with my imagination. Except you already gave me a permanent hard-on. The same restaurant where that baby screamed and you were so nice to its mother when the rest of us wished she hadn’t brought the kid. I knew you were special. And I hadn’t even gotten to second base yet!”
He paced away, turning to stare at her. “I’m sure I didn’t say anything nice after we married. In fact, I know I refused to acknowledge that you loved me. I’ve tried to make up for that these past months by being honest about how I feel about you, but I wasn’t. Not totally.”
Her silver gaze searched his, staring into his soul. “Until now?”
“Until now. You told me you had nothing in your heart for me any longer. But I couldn’t give up hope, even if I was too shit scared to put myself out there. I’m saying it now. I love you, even if you can’t love me back. Forgiving me is enough. Staying with me and having our child is more than enough.”
“I never stopped loving you, Beckett. I thought I could do it, and maybe I could have if I moved out. And I wanted you to be happy, find someone else you weren’t forced to be with. But you asked me to stay.”
He couldn’t fill his lungs with enough air to traverse the distance between them, but he did it. Cupping his hands around her face, he said, “You make me happy. And if you’d left, I’d have followed. Got myself branded as a stalker. Fuck me, Grace, the terror and despair I felt the night you announced you were leaving me. I’d just convinced myself I’d be all noble and shit, apologize to you and trade on your feelings to start anew instead of owning my crap.”
Her bottom lip quivering, she said, “Tell me again.”
“I love you. Forever. I’ve never been more certain of anything now that I’ve come to realize you’re by far the most important person in my life.”
She sagged against him. “Thank you for standing beside me against our fathers. For understanding.”
Holding her close, he said, “Hey. I figured it out. And for all the other times ahead that I don’t, I’m sure you’ll help me.”
“I will.”
“C’mon. Let me feed you.”
Over a cup of tea—reheated coffee for him—he said, “Kamil went back home last night.”
“I thought that was today.”
“Apparently Charity showed him the door.”
She sipped her beverage and carefully set the cup down. “She knows what she wants. I guess that didn’t include Kamil. Was he … upset?”
“He was. And aware of the role reversal.”
“Ah. He’s used to doing the walking.”
“Maybe you can put a good word in for him.”
Shaking her head, she said, “I’m not getting involved. If Charity wants to talk about it, that’s fine. But otherwise, no. I’m hardly an expert on relationships.”
“Me neither,” he admitted. “But Kamil was instrumental in making me take stock and owning my shit.”
“You can’t curse around the baby.”
It was his turn to blink. As a distraction, it felt effective. “Grace. I guess I do curse.”
“Frequently.” She smiled into her cup as she lifted it to her lips.
“I’ll work on it. And Kamil and Charity will have to meet again, seeing as they’re godparents.” He figured he’d won that one.
Chapter Twelve
He walked her from the car, one arm around her waist, clutching a humongous pillow in his free hand. Now that she’d taken him back, he was free to put his hands on her at any time—whenever she welcomed his touch, and that was often.
“Tired?”
Her light laugh drew a smile. “I’ve spent the last couple of hours either sitting or lying down, Beckett. I’m feeling strangely energized and content, all at the same time.”
Birthing classes did loan themselves to the mothers-to-be reclining on floor mats, supported by their partners or a pillow. Taking some different positions to facilitate giving birth. He thought he had the breathing exercises down pat, pushing away the reason for them. Women might have been having babies since the beginning of time, but he wanted to spare this one even a hint of pain.
Drawing his hand across her belly, where the baby stretched her soft skin so taut, he reluctantly released her to open the front door. Ushering her inside, he tucked the pillow on a top shelf in the closet, emptied just for that purpose, and took her purse to hang up. “I’m surprised you aren’t tired, seeing as she wakes up when you try to sleep and vice versa.”
“You’re fascinated with seeing her move,” she said, teasing him, a light in her gray eyes.
“And feeling her, but that’s another excuse to feel you.”
She sashayed away, toward the stairs, and he soaked in that sexy walk, delighting in her confidence that she had his complete attention. From behind, aside from a fuller ass, she didn’t look pregnant at all, until seen from the front or side.
Their child featured prominently, weighing down his wife’s slender frame, her breasts full and rounded above the bulge at her midsection. He wasn’t sure what he studied more often. Her face had filled out a little, detracting from her waif-like appearance, her mouth soft with what he was certain was contentment, as she’d said. Maybe satisfaction.
“Where are you going?”
Pausing at the foot of the stairs, she threw him a look over her shoulder that made him instantly react, hardening for her. “I might be a little tired. I was thinking I’d take a nap.”
He was tired too. It just came over him, and he hustled in her wake. “I’ll help.”
“Thank you, Beckett.” Her sweet voice was full of laughter.
The silky top caught on the roughened skin of his fingers as he lifted it over her head and tossed it on the bench at the foot of the bed. Her bra, pale pink and appearing insubstantial, somehow restrained and supported her breasts. He popped the clasp and replaced the support with his hands, cupping the heavy mounds.
Grace moaned deep in her throat and tipped her head back, her eyes drifting shut. She worried at her bottom lip and he leaned in to kiss her. “Nervous?”
“Sensitive.”
“Hmmm. I’ll be gentle.” He moved his mouth to her nipple, laving it into a harder point, enjoying her pleasure-filled whimpers.
Her fingers worked through his hair, pressing him closer, their child embraced between them, and he ministered to her other breast. Lifting his head, he then gathered
her up and carried her the short distance to their bed. He picked her up her at any opportunity, having learned how it made her feel, and she bestowed a sultry smile on him.
She tilted her hips to facilitate the removal of the clothing covering her lower body and he stared down at her, her breasts rising with each breath, their tips reddened and still damp from his mouth. The rounded shape of her belly rested above her mound, framed by her milky thighs.
“You’re so pale,” he said. “Perfect.”
She blinked up at him, eyes hazy with need. “I was cautious in the sun. Hurry.”
There was no embarrassment reflected in either her demeanor or words of late, open and confident before his gaze and he held that fact as precious as any treasure. He’d never abuse it. Stripping off his own clothes, he nearly preened before her heated stare, glad his appearance appealed to her as much as hers did to him.
He sprawled over her, careful not to have her take too much of his weight, rubbing his nose against hers. “How do you want it, sweetheart?”
It had become a game of choices of late—lady’s choice—depending on Grace’s comfort. She murmured, “On top.”
He obligingly rolled over and she followed, somehow flipping to her side before he could help, despite her center of gravity being out of whack. She slipped to the edge of the mattress and to the floor, kneeling in the same motion.
Lifting up on his elbows, her stare tracking the muscles in his abdomen, he said, “You don’t have to do that.”
“I have a craving.” One silky brow arched and she shook her hair back.
No sane man ever refused that offer and he hitched closer, his knees folding over the edge as Grace nestled between them. She looked fucking gorgeous and he said so, without the profanity.
She ran her cheek over his thigh, her breath stirring against his skin and his cock jumped, begging for attention. Flicking her tongue over the crease where his leg joined his body, she steadily drove him insane, especially when one small hand came up to cradle his sac.
“Grace. Please.”
Lifting her head, she regarded him with amusement colored with passion. “Anticipation, Beck. Remember.”
Tit for tat. He remembered and laid back with a groan, resolving to enjoy the experience. Grace wouldn’t be rushed. After an eternity of exploring the flesh all around where he craved it the most, she drew the flat of that tortuous tongue up the underside of his cock to flirt with the tip before engulfing him. Her lips closed tightly and she pressed downward and back up to ever increasing depths until he felt the back of her throat.
He somehow didn’t move, didn’t jerk his hips or grab her hair and take over, leaving her to her own devices, dying from the torment. He couldn’t contain his groans of enjoyment and clenched his fists in the bedding to keep from coming.
When he knew he was about to lose control, he eased her away. “I want to make love with you, sweetheart.”
A radiant smile lifted the corners of her swollen mouth and she leaned into his hold as he lifted her to her feet and lowered her on him. Her knees pressing beside his thighs, she took him inside, his girth stretching her wide on that tiny gasp she always made when he entered her. The one that stroked his male ego.
He kept his hands on her hips to ensure she didn’t go too deep, restraining himself at the same time. She rode him in tiny increments, much in the same way her mouth had lovingly encompassed his cock, trusting him with her safety.
It was her favorite position of late, allowing her to come on her own terms, and he watched her face as she dropped her head back, her torso lifting, her hair a cloud around her shoulders.
She stilled and clenched around him, a tiny moan announcing her climax. He let himself follow, riding the wave, his cock milked by the ripples of her channel.
As she slumped forward, he caught her close and held her as he softened, their bodies cooling as their breath slowed. “Ready for that nap now?’
“Mmmm.”
Taking that for a yes, he stood with her in his arms and swiveled to lower her down, shoving back the covers with one hand, something he’d become accomplished at. Multitasking, Grace called it. “Sweet dreams.”
Her lids lifted in a languid movement he never tired of seeing. His sated wife. “Love you.”
“Love you back.”
Moving quietly to the bathroom, he studied himself in the mirror, searching for the father he knew he could be. Worthy of their child’s mother. Thinking he recognized him, he cleaned up and found some pajama pants to pull on. Hardly what a CEO wore on the job, but he made his own rules—to suit what Grace needed, grateful he had the freedom to choose.
It wouldn’t be too many more weeks before she gave birth to their child, most probably a little girl with her mother’s sweet temperament and mass of hair. Maybe with his eyes, although Grace’s silvery gray orbs would be just fine, too. He wasn’t as anxious with Grace this far along, but the labor and delivery would be another mountain to climb, feeling his wife’s moods as keenly as he did now. He could admit to dreading that part for her sake.
He was totally prepared however, book smart, and would face and overcome whatever came next.
Chapter Thirteen
She’d felt crappy all day, not really sick, but out of sorts. Vague aches and pains and an upset stomach. The baby was effaced and far less active, yet there was no other sign she was ready to enter the world. Where were those famed Braxton-Hicks contractions so she could get a taste of what was to come? All the books in the world and the classes couldn’t really explain, although in Beckett’s vivid imagination, apparently they did.
Despite the changes to her body and the discomfort, Grace wanted to remain pregnant. Sure, her belly resembled a ripe watermelon and preceded her like a reputation, making it a trial to tie her shoes and creating a challenge to sleep comfortably, but carrying a child seemed representative of the wonderful change in her marriage. Maybe she wasn’t ready to embrace yet another change.
Beckett was a wonderful husband, his habit of leaving wet towels on the floor, notwithstanding. He continued to manage the business primarily from home while she worked on the floor above. They saw one another at meals—and any other time they simply wanted to connect. Her face flushed when she thought of the frequent sexual trysts, christening most every room in the house.
Her sexual appetite hadn’t waned and Dr. Gibson repeatedly reassured her husband it was safe, even healthy. That was a bonus in being pregnant and she wanted sex all the time. Well, maybe she wasn’t interested in anything today. In fact, she thought she’d lie down for a while.
“Sweetheart?” Beckett bounded up the stairs, intercepting her on the way to the master bedroom. He halted. “Are you done for the day?”
He’d quit fussing to a large a degree, stopped demanding what was wrong when she so much as sighed, was entranced when he could actually feel the baby moving, and often poring over the sonogram pictures. She caught him squinting at them, trying to determine the sex, alternately shopping for a boy and then a girl.
When she teased him, he’d laugh it off. “It’ll keep for our next.”
When he’d said he was all in, he’d meant it. She was taking it one baby at a time. She answered his question, “I’m doing the final approvals on the spring line.”
It was crazy how well her clothing had done, but she was staying small and keeping to boutiques run by women like her—entrepreneurs.
At some point, she’d look at the bulk market but didn’t feel confident, not even with Beckett’s support and her father’s fabrics. That man had dialed back his attitude over the past months and they’d forged an uneasy truce. But, unlike her husband, he never assumed responsibility for the way he’d treated her and she’d never trust him with her child. It didn’t help that he hinted she’d gotten her talent from him.
“Theresa still hiring staff?”
“A few.” She stopped dead, her breath catching as her entire lower body seemed to seize.
“Hey.�
� Beckett stepped to her side. “What’s going on?”
A rush of heated fluid raced down her thighs and for a moment she was transported back to that horrible other time, but a quick glance verified it wasn’t that at all. “My water broke.”
“Your due date is a week away.”
Resting a hand on the wall, she said, “Are we going to argue dates when this baby has picked hers?”
“Fuck. I mean, damn.” He’d cleaned up his language for the most part but clearly, this wasn’t one of those times. “Here, let’s get you to the bathroom.”
With economical movements, belied by the wild look in his eyes, he scooped her up and bore her there. She accepted his help in removing her soiled clothing and smiled when he pressed a kiss on her belly. “Give Dad a moment,” he muttered.
He had her quickly dressed in one of her own creations, a swingy dress with its own built-in bra, and a pair of underwear that he dithered over.
“Let’s go, Beckett,” she urged, her back suddenly aching and her belly clenching.
Her case under his arm, he wrapped the other around her waist to help her down the steps, where she braced herself on his side to toe into her shoes. All the while, he kept muttering about schedules and lists. He blurted, “Wait. My phone.”
After retrieving it from the den, he returned to guide her out of the house and toward the car, stopping while she breathed through what was obviously a non-Braxton-Hicks contraction. She hoped other lessons from prenatal class soon kicked in. The classes Beckett attended with her and reviewed with her ad nauseum. Now, she was glad he paid such attention.
“You might have been off on your dates,” he announced, climbing in on the driver’s side after he’d gotten her settled and seat belted in.
“Or baby’s tired of waiting,” she managed, rethinking this whole giving birth thing. Wasn’t it supposed to be a gradual process? Give her some time to adjust and work up to the main event?
Love Changes Everything (Romance on the Go Book 0) Page 14
