Fresh flowers by the bed wafted sweet scents and an idea his way. He reached past her to snag an orchid from the vase. She’d told him once that she no longer suffered from morning sickness, so he figured it was safe to approach her.
Jordan sketched the flower along her jaw. “Are you awake?”
“Little bit.” She inhaled with a low hum of appreciation.
Nuzzling her ear, he grazed the flower along her arm, teasing the inside of her elbow. “Wanna be more so?”
She mumbled something half-intelligible. He grazed the flower around her breasts until she peered over her shoulder at him with sultry sleepy eyes. He recalled well that same expression as he stared back at her on top of him when they’d explored more of the positions that best accommodated her pregnancy.
He grinned back at her. “I was thinking we could start working on another of those inventive positions.”
She tried to roll to face him, but he kept her trapped in place with his legs.
“Don’t I get to touch you?”
“We can touch very soon, beautiful, very soon.” His throbbing body echoed the sentiment.
Jordan skimmed the flower lower, along her stomach, over her hip to the very top of her thigh. She wriggled with eagerness. At the glide of her hair against his chest, he almost dropped the orchid.
She snatched the flower from him. “Enough. More.”
He couldn’t help but smile at her contradictory words. Her intent, though, he understood. He slid his fingers between the juncture of her thighs, teasing the core of her and finding her ready for him. She arched against his fingers with that sweet whimper of hers that made him want more—more of her, more time to explore all of those positions. Even the less inventive ones as long as she was the woman under him.
She grabbed his wrist to halt his play, her fingernails stabbing into his skin and not distracting him in the least from what he wanted. “Jordan, either you finish or let me take over.”
No misunderstanding that.
Jordan hooked a hand under her knee for just the right angle to slide inside her. Her damp heat clamped around him in time with his own groan. He buried his face in her silky hair, making the most of the advantageous position to stroke her breasts, so full and apparently sensitive if her writhing response offered any indication.
Their gentle rocking set the sheet slithering to the floor, the brush of chilly morning air doing little to cool the sweat beading on his body. The sunrise slanted through the blinds to play along the creamy expanse of her skin. He set his teeth to hold back the driving need to finish. He would wait for her, watch for signals of her nearing satisfaction.
And yes, his focused attention paid off. Her skin began to flush, her head arching back as she panted faster, faster still …
She gasped out a litany of need as she came apart, taking him along with her in a mind-blowing explosion of sensation. His forehead fell to her shoulder, his eyes closed while he simply felt. Her. All around him, against him. Aftershocks rocked through her so hard she shook in his arms, finally settling with a sated sigh.
As he stroked a hand through her hair, he thought again of how much he enjoyed how she made her needs heard in bed. If he could just get her to be as communicative about her thoughts. Because while she’d been physically responsive, he couldn’t miss that this time she’d held something back. She’d shuttered her eyes from him at the last minute as if closing herself off from him.
He was losing ground at a time when he should be gaining. What the hell had gone wrong?
More importantly, he needed a plan to get back on track with planting his engagement ring on her finger.
Sunday night, Brooke forced her feet to climb the steps toward her mother’s front door, Jordan only an inch from her side. She couldn’t decide which was worse—facing her mother or going back through the gate past the snap-happy reporters intent on snagging photos.
She gripped Jordan’s elbow tighter for support. As much as she’d been shaken by making love with him again and even feared how easily he could steal her willpower, she couldn’t help wishing they’d been able to stay in the Bahamas a while longer. But she’d promised Brittany they would go over last-minute wedding plans tonight.
The decorated door loomed, bracketed by ornate porch lamps and twinkling garland.
“Hey, beautiful?” Pausing on the top step, he stroked her cheek, thumb grazing her lips with the tempting familiarity of lovers. “You look like you’re heading to the gallows. We can always turn around and leave right now.”
Mother or the media? Tough choice. But there were others to consider.
“We skipped the dinner part of the evening.” She repressed a shudder at the thought of sitting for a meal with all that dissension stirring as tangibly as her roiling stomach. “The least we can do is show up for dessert since I promised Brittany. It’s not like I can exactly hide from my family forever.”
“You’re not alone facing them anymore.”
A sad smile tugged at her lips and heart. “A blessing and a curse.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Thanks.”
Contrition nipped. She shouldn’t take out her bad mood on him. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that the way it—”
His thumb tapped her mouth closed. “You don’t have to be the peacemaker with me. I’m a big boy. I realize it won’t be easy winning your relatives over. Thing is, I’m persistent and determined.”
His words along with the unrelenting glint in his eyes sent a mix of reassurance and apprehension down her spine. “They’re my family. I can handle it. Let’s just concentrate on keeping things as quick and low-key as possible.”
“As you said, they’re your family. You call the shots.”
As long as she didn’t try to send him packing. Then he always stepped in with more pressure for time. Well, she’d wanted to use this time to get to know each other. This driven part of him, however, she’d known from the start. What was she looking to learn by agreeing to these dates?
She wanted to know the man and Jordan kept his inner self well cloaked behind charm and smiles.
A raised voice from inside pierced through the door. Her mother was on a roll about something, not that it took much to set Bonita off anymore.
Brooke braced a palm against the stucco wall to steady herself. She should have expected this. Were her mother’s drinking and outbursts worse? Or were her own nerves simply edgier because of the pregnancy?
Jordan’s hand fell from her face to grab her elbow. “Forget it. Let’s blow this pop stand.”
Brooke actually considered taking his suggestion until the door swung open. Brittany stood framed in the open portal. Eyes wide and frantic, she grabbed her sister by the wrist and hauled. Seemed like everyone was looking for a lifeline.
“See, Mother?” Brittany tugged her over the threshold, delicate diamond bangles jingling on her arm. “Brooke is here after all.”
Her mother swayed in the archway between the living room and the hall with a crystal tumbler that could have been iced tea. Not that it ever turned out to be something so innocuous.
Her normally perfectly coiffed black hair fluffed in disarray around her face, the streaks of gray more visible than usual. For years, Lissette had helped Bonita keep up at least an air of togetherness. Apparently even their housekeeper couldn’t withstand Bonita’s binges that seemed to grow longer each month since her husband’s death.
“Well, daughter dear, better late than never. Where were you and your … What are we supposed to call him? You’re not engaged, and boyfriend doesn’t sound right.” She stumbled forward to lean on Brittany, her fingers clenching the glass and showing off a chipped manicure. “Isn’t the current phrase baby daddy? Or do I have that backward, Brooke? You’re the baby mama.”
Jordan slid an arm around Brooke’s waist, his jaw tight as he ushered her into the hallway. “Mrs. Garrison, Brooke and I are the parents of your grandchild.”
“Of course I know that.” She waved her drink in the
air, sloshing some over the side to spill on the marble floor. “All of South Beach knows, thanks to that horrible media sensationalizing having children out of wedlock.”
Bonita was in full form tonight. Even Jordan winced over the last comment.
Her siblings trickled from the living room into the hall with wary steps, all but Parker who plowed forward. “Mother, I think perhaps it’s time for us to call it a night—”
Bonita passed her glass to her son. “Fine, here. Take it. This one’s tepid anyway.” She stumbled toward the stairs.
Brooke heaved a sigh of relief she heard echoed by everyone else.
Then Bonita turned, her eyes surprisingly lucid—and venomous. “It’s not that I blame you, Brooke. You simply followed the pattern set by your father. Your siblings already proved that. Brittany has always run wild. And Stephen didn’t even know he had a child until she was three.”
Stephen parted through the press of siblings and joined Parker. “Mother, you’re going too far tonight.” He advanced toward his brother’s side, both men grasping one of Bonita’s arms to escort her with a practiced synchronicity that stung Brooke clean through. “Parker and I will help you up the stairs, and Lissette can settle you into bed.”
Bonita slapped his arm away and took a step toward Brooke. “Watch yourself, young lady, or the genes will win out.”
Brooke tried to force words free to stop the poison spewing from her mother’s mouth, but it was all she could do to stay steady on her feet. It was mortifying enough to have Jordan view her family’s awful secret, much less live it. She wouldn’t disgrace herself by calling for a chair and footstool right now.
Brooke inhaled slowly, exhaled through her lips. She’d read in those pregnancy books about relaxation techniques. She found a focal point—the custom-made jeweled star topping the Christmas tree. She stared and breathed, and slowly her mother’s diatribe faded to a dull blob of sounds.
Distantly she heard Jordan’s voice, low, steady, with a steely edge of anger. Brooke wanted to tell her mother she would be wise to heed that steel. But the focal point wasn’t staying still anymore. The darn thing was rising, and the room was growing dark.
In a brief moment of clarity, Brooke realized she was passing out just as she heard Jordan shout and felt the solid comfort of his arms catching her before she hit the floor.
So this was what fear felt like.
Jordan Jefferies had never experienced it before now, but sitting in the hospital waiting area, not knowing what was wrong with Brooke and their child, scared the hell out of him. Brooke had regained consciousness quickly enough in the car, but stayed groggy during the interminable drive to the E.R. to meet up with her obstetrician.
At least the Garrison crowd had gone stone silent since they’d all arrived at the hospital. Smart move.
Her siblings and their significant others sat along the sofas. Bonita occupied a chair by a coffeepot. The alcohol would have to work its way out of her system. For now, they had a wide-awake drunk on their hands, who at least had enough sense to shut her foul mouth.
He restrained his anger for the upset she’d caused Brooke. One look at her sent his blood simmering. How dare she talk to Brooke the way she had?
Brooke was a strong, confident force in the work world. He’d seen that in action when the Garrisons had rolled out their Sands Condominium Development project. She’d turned it into the most successful South Beach property that year, selling every last unit for record-breaking prices. He found it hard to reconcile the strength of her obvious business acumen with the softer side she gave her family.
The buzz of a pager yanked his attention back to the present. All three Garrison men reached to check their devices.
Parker winced. “Mine. Sorry. From my receptionist. Business will just have to wait.”
Parker Garrison actually putting off business? A shocker, but one Jordan was too preoccupied to wonder at right now.
The double doors swished open and the doctor emerged, a woman around fifty who, thank God, had sharp eyes he would trust in a boardroom. They’d only briefly exchanged greetings before Brooke had been swept away into an E.R. examining room.
The doctor nodded to Parker Garrison’s pregnant wife, Anna, before turning to the whole group. “Brooke is stable. The baby appears to be fine.”
Appears? He stepped closer to the obstetrician, wanting, needing more details, damn it. “I’m Jordan Jefferies. We didn’t have a chance to speak when Brooke came in, but I’m her fiancé and the baby’s father.”
The woman nodded. “You’re still not technically a relative, but Brooke has given me the go-ahead to speak with you. She knew you would be worried, that her whole family would be concerned.”
Worried? Understatement of the year. It was all he could do not to blast through those double doors to be with her.
Brittany drew up alongside him, her brothers standing behind her in a wall of support, for once united against something beside him. “And what’s the diagnosis?”
The physician stuffed her hands into her lab coat. “Brooke’s blood pressure is elevated, enough so that I’m ordering an overnight stay in the hospital.”
His mind raced with options. None of them good. “Are you saying she has preeclampsia?”
Brittany reached out a hand to both him and Emilio at the same moment. Jordan wasn’t sure if she was steadying herself or offering comfort, but he damn well couldn’t bring himself to pull away.
His mind raced down daunting paths, thanks to the pregnancy and delivery books he’d read over the past week. Women who developed preeclampsia could have seizures or die. Babies could be deprived of air and nutrients to the placenta and be born with low birth weight and other complications.
The doctor relaxed her official stance and gave Jordan a sympathetic look. “Dad, stop thinking ahead and imagining those worst-case scenarios. Her problem hasn’t progressed to preeclampsia as of now. We’ve caught this early, which is a hopeful sign. But this is definitely a warning that her body is under stress.”
Stress had caused this? Of course. He’d seen firsthand the toll taken on her from family confrontation. No wonder the evening had sent her blood pressure skyrocketing.
Jordan’s jaw clamped tight. This wasn’t the time or place to confront Bonita Garrison, but he planned to put himself between Brooke and her family in the future. If Brooke wouldn’t protect herself from them, he damn well would. “What do I need to do for her?”
“For now, I want Brooke on bed rest for a couple of weeks, low-key living and a special diet.” She gave his arm another pat. “Hang in there, Dad, you can come back to her room and see her in about five minutes. She’s been asking for you.”
Brooke wanted to see him? Thank God he wouldn’t have to figure out how to angle his way into the place where he needed to be most right now. Relief rattled through him so intensely, he barely noticed the doctor leaving and Bonita sobbing her way toward the ladies’ bathroom.
Five minutes and he could see Brooke. Jordan swallowed hard and wondered how one willowy woman and a barely formed baby could knock the ground out from under him in a way nothing else had before.
He didn’t like this feeling one damn bit.
When he looked up from the ugly tile floor, he realized that he wasn’t alone. Emilio stood silently on one side. And what the hell? Parker waited on the other, his black eye from their fight still not fully faded.
Jordan stared at the line of Garrison offspring and while they unquestionably loved Brooke, he didn’t trust they could keep her safe from Bonita’s talons. There was only one way he could make sure Brooke had total peace and her every need met. “I’m taking Brooke home with me.”
Her brother Adam quirked a brow. “Isn’t that for her to decide?”
Jordan planted his feet and his resolve. “Like any of you would handle the situation differently if you were in my shoes.”
He watched her three brothers wince with chagrin, then resolution as they glanced at the
women beside them. Her brothers might be his adversaries in the Jefferies-Garrison war for power, but they certainly shared the same drive.
Emilio grinned. “Good luck convincing her without upsetting her, bro.”
And thank God for brothers who could wrench a much-needed laugh out at just the right time. Emilio gave him a quick, hard hug and stepped away to comfort his fiancée, leaving Parker still standing beside him.
“You care about my sister,” Parker said, the words sounding more like a statement than a question.
Jordan gave a simple nod. More and more every day. More than he’d expected or knew how to take in.
Parker sighed long, hard. “Okay, then. We’ll gather up Mother and head out. Let Brooke know how worried we are for her and the baby.”
Jordan glanced toward the ladies’ restroom with no sign of Bonita yet. Still he kept his voice low, but level. “About Bonita. Normally I make it a point to stay out of other people’s family affairs, but Brooke and our child are my family now.”
Parker frowned. “Your point?”
This wouldn’t be easy to say or hear, but after a night like this, he couldn’t keep quiet. Especially when Brooke needed his help. “It seems to me that hiding the liquor bottles isn’t working anymore.”
Jordan waited for the explosion, a fist or at the very least a bark to mind his own business. Yet none came.
Only a heavy resolution in the air as the eldest Garrison nodded. “I’ll look into inpatient rehab clinics first thing in the morning.”
No victory here. Just a hard truth. Jordan kept his silence.
Parker sagged back against the wall. “I’m certain the brothers will be on board to join me in an intervention for Mother. Brittany’s probably going to want to stay with Brooke.” He looked back at his siblings and all nodded in agreement, Brittany swiping at a tear streaking down her face. Parker turned back to Jordan. “We’ll let you know how it goes.”
A few short words exchanged, but enough. They’d been adversaries for a long time. Working together didn’t—and wouldn’t—come easy. But given Emilio’s marriage and this baby, their families would have to get along.
The #1 Bestsellers Collection 2011 Page 51
