“No.” She twisted in her spot on the carpet to face him. “I’ll never be able to sleep until I get this out of my head.” She took a deep breath. “I want the baby. I really, really do. Like so much it scares me.”
“Yes,” he agreed, ears perked.
“I never wanted to be a single parent, but I will.” She put a hand on her stomach. “I didn’t even know about this kid three hours ago and I already love it more than anything. How is that possible?”
He felt the same.
“But that’s not what I’m trying to say. You might not want to be a dad, so I understand if you don’t want any part of this.”
“Georgia—”
She continued to speak, at the rapid-fire pace that indicated nervousness. “But I’ll stay on Corra if you want to be involved. If we could stay here until the baby is born, that’d be good. I’m sure I’ll need the help, but I can move out if you want. I don’t want you to feel like I trapped you. I didn’t have much of a father and it sucks not having one, but I’d rather the kid’s dad be fully invested rather than disappearing—”
“Georgia.” He sank to the floor in front of her and took her hands. “You carry my heart and now you carry my kit. There is nowhere you could go where I wouldn’t follow. I will be by your side until the light leaves me.”
“This was supposed to be temporary. No strings attached.”
“No one said that but you.” He placed a kiss on her forehead, the only part of her face not covered in the pale green lotion. “This has never been temporary for me and not for you, either. Not for some time, I think.”
She blinked, her eyes glossy. He suspected she might cry but she took a deep breath and looked away. “I can stay?”
“If you leave, I will follow.” With a finger under her chin, he guided her gaze back toward him. “I hope you find my face pleasing, because you will see it every morning and every evening until the end of our days.”
“I suppose the house is big enough for all of us.”
She did not understand him, either purposely or he failed to express his intentions.
“Georgia, I want you for my mate,” he said.
“Don’t say things you don’t mean.”
“I do not know how to make it plainer. You are my mate, Georgia Phillips.”
“I’m not—”
“You are.” He kissed her lips, softly just to quiet her reflexive denial. “You have been since the moment you walked off that shuttle. I do not care what brought you here. I am sorry for the pain it caused you, but I am not sorry that it has led you to me. There is no one else who fills me with joy. There is no one else I want to spend my days with and no one else I want to pull my leg.”
She snorted, the laugh thick, and her eyes watered. “Jesus Christ, Talen. Go easy on a girl.” She pressed her index fingers to the corners of her eyes. “I’m naked, covered in green goop and a rash.”
“You are lovely.”
“You’re such a liar.” Her lips twitched at the corner.
“We’ve already established I’m a terrible actor,” he said. “The green goop complements your eyes. They are like the buds of spring.”
That earned him a proper smile. His chest swelled with happiness to the point he felt he would burst.
“Someone promised me breakfast and didn’t produce. Feed me,” she said.
He set the tray between them and they had a picnic in front of the fire.
“When do you want to tell the rest of the family?” he asked. Honestly, he did not trust himself to keep the kit a secret for long. Excitement fizzed and bubbled inside him. He wanted to tell his brother. He wanted to witness Bright’s shrewd, all-knowing gaze soften for a moment at the news of a kit. Even Charl would lower his defenses for a moment and clap Talen on the back.
“I think Bright already suspects,” Georgia said. “I barfed on a market day. That must have been morning sickness.”
“When you are ready, but not too long. You’ve already established that my acting abilities leave much to be desired.”
“Not too long,” she said.
“And marriage? Will you be my mate?”
She studied the fire, the light casting shadows on her face. “I’m not saying no,” she said at last, “but give me some time.”
Chapter 14
Georgia
G,
Don’t you dare have that baby without me.
-Freema
* * *
After two days, the general misery of constantly itching abated and her skin cleared somewhat. Angry red patches still graced her hands and arms. She applied the anti-itch cream in a thick layer, pushing up the sleeves of her sweater while the cream dried.
The steroids made sleep impossible. Exhaustion had a tight grip on her but even when she lay down in her comfortable bed, she couldn’t sleep.
The enforced bedrest was worse than the itching and the sleeplessness. Having nothing to do but watch films or read sounded delightful, but nothing held her interest. Her mind kept drifting to the baby—the kit.
First impression: fear. She wasn’t a grown-up or responsible and under no circumstances should she be allowed to be in charge of another person, especially an infant.
Second impression: excitement. This wasn’t the plan. It was an accident, chance, luck, and a fluke.
And she liked it.
So that’s where she was, deciding that the pregnancy was scary but good. Lots of expecting mothers probably felt the same. She and Talen still had lots of decisions to make, but she had a client meeting. The baby drama could wait.
Georgia opened the door to her office in the servant’s quarters, slapped the control panel to turn on the lights, and shouted, “Oh shit!”
As if by magic, Talen thundered down the narrow stairs. “What? What has happened? Are you injured?”
She held her hand out like it was poisonous, because it was. “Did anyone clean the office? I didn’t tell you I went in there, but I did to make the tree topper. Shit. I re-exposed myself.” More itching. More angry red splotches on her hands.
“Do not panic. We will handle this,” he said, and she believed him.
He led her upstairs to the scullery adjacent to the kitchen and carefully washed her hands. He patted the skin dry and applied a layer of the prescription cream.
“Let that absorb. I will clean all the surfaces in the office.” He grabbed a container of cleanser and disposable towels. “Is there anything else you touched?”
“The banister on the stairs. The light switch in the hall.” She sat at the worn kitchen table, her arm extended, and palm turned upward, inordinately angry with herself. She knew better. Had she taken a moment to think, she’d be organizing price quotes and not being such a useless lump.
“I don’t like that look. Stop thinking negatively about yourself,” Quil said, settling into the chair next to her. He plucked a bright green citrus fruit from a bowl and pierced it with a claw. The tang of citrus filled the air. “It does no one any good.”
“You don’t know what I’m thinking.”
“Right now, you’re berating yourself because, in all that has happened in the last forty-eight hours, you forgot to clean a lamp or a tablet. Am I right?”
“A doorknob.”
“Slice?” He offered her a segment of the green fruit. She took a piece, knowing it looked like a lime but had a much sweeter, mellow flavor.
“So, have you considered baby names? Because I’d humbly suggest that Tranquility is an admirable name for an infant, especially for tired parents who desire sleep. I’d be honored, of course, and flattered.”
Georgia dropped her half-eaten piece of fruit. “How did you know? Talen swore he wouldn’t tell.”
“Relax. He has not broken your confidence.” Quil popped a segment into his mouth and chewed slowly, drawing out the moment. The man lived to make drama. She really hated him at times. “Who do you think picked up your medications? The pieces were not difficult to assemble.”
“So, you know.” Which meant that Fiona knew, which meant everyone in the house and the surrounding countryside knew.
“In all fairness, Bright had her suspicions weeks ago.”
“Yeah. I told her it was impossible,” she said.
“I’d make some thinly veiled comment about family vigor and tenacity, but why bother? Self-flattery is so vulgar.”
“But you love it.”
He grinned. “I adore it and I adore you.”
She sat up straight in the chair, easing herself back.
“Not like that.” He waved a hand. “You stink of Talen. While it’s nice you smell like family, you also smell a bit too much like my brother. My admiration is strictly chaste.”
“Pro-tip, don’t go telling ladies that they stink. It’s like you have zero people skills.” She took another piece of the offered fruit, juice dripping down her fingers.
“May I touch your abdomen?”
She wiped her hand on her pants. “Okay, but don’t make it weird.”
“An uncle cannot express interest or joy in a kit?”
“That’s what I’m talking about. That’s making it weird.”
He grinned and crouched down beside her chair. Cautiously, he placed a hand on her belly, over the sweater. He leaned in, much as Talen did the first night, and pressed his face to the knit fabric. “Hello, kit. I am your uncle and I cannot wait to meet you.”
Georgia balled up her hands, resisting the urge to place a hand on Quil’s head. For a moment, she believed she fell through some portal into an alternate dimension. This was what she had wanted months ago, Quil at her stomach, cooing to her unborn baby. This could have been their baby, their life, but Quil fucked it up, and everything about it felt wrong, like trying to shove her feet into too-small shoes.
“I don’t like you,” she said.
His tail thumped against the chair and her leg. “Despite your bitter exterior, I like you.”
“I’m serious. If we were married, if we had stayed married, I don’t think we’d have gotten along.” So much of his irreverent, self-aggrandizing personality rubbed her the wrong way. He was tolerable as an acquaintance, but he grated on her nerves. “We’d make each other crazy.”
“And not in a good way,” he said.
“No, so that’s why I’m glad you fucked everything up, Quil. Thank you.”
He buried his face into her soft belly, hiding his pleased grin. After a moment, he stood. “I still think Tranquility is an admirable name, and a fine expression of your thanks.”
“Oh, fuck off,” she replied, grinning. “I haven’t even thought of baby names.”
“Would you consider family names? We’ve had an Evanescence in nearly every generation.”
“No, absolutely not.”
“Discretion? I believe we had a great aunt who caused quite the scandal—”
“I think baby names is something I should discuss with Talen, not the crazy uncle.”
He nodded. “I will send you a list. See? I am already very helpful. I will be a good uncle.”
Georgia had no doubt in her mind that he’d be the fun uncle.
“Is he trying to convince you to name the kit after himself?” Talen asked, ascending the stairs.
“He’s giving me horrible suggestions so that Tranquility sounds like a good idea,” she answered.
“And human names are better? Mildred. Sound mildewy. Bob.” Quil over-pronounced it, sound popping on the B. “That is not a name. That is a motion. I will help. You’ll love my name suggestions. Just wait and see.”
“What do you know of the zasten?”
“A coming of age ritual to mark the transition from youth to adulthood,” Georgia said, reciting the words she memorized that afternoon.
She escorted the human woman, holding a toddler on her hip, and the Tal female adolescent through the foyer into the conservatory. The adolescent was all long limbs and angles, her head swiveling as she took in the ornate details of the room.
“You did your research.” The woman had a British accent, softened by her time on Corra.
“Just the basics. If you explain to me what you need for your event, we’ll make it happen,” Georgia said.
“Kalini! I found it.” Another adolescent, this one male, dashed through the foyer, waving a plush doll.
“Thank you, Dare.” Kalini gave the plush doll to the child, who happily jammed it into his mouth.
The baby was a human-Tal hybrid with pale stripes and the trademark Tal ears and tail.
“He’s adorable,” Georgia said, unable to help herself.
“She, actually. Felicity.” As if sensing she was the center of attention, she buried her face against her mother. “She’s a bit bashful.”
“How old?”
“Eighteen months.”
Georgia felt herself go all gooey for the baby, for what she and Talen had made.
“You look familiar,” Dare said, addressing Georgia. “Did Aunt Amity yell at you at the café?”
“Your aunt is the madwoman who runs the café?” That had been such a spectacle. She had politely requested not to have cilantro in her dish because it tasted like soap to her and received a lecture about understanding the complex flavors and how dare she question a professional chef. Yeah. Good times.
“She yells at everyone. Don’t be embarrassed,” he said. “Are you looking for a cook? I have experience and I’ve worked with Aunt Amity for a long time. No matter who you have running your kitchen, I guarantee I’ll be able to work with them, no problem. Dare Isteimlas, by the way.” He held out a hand.
Her first impression had been wrong. This was not an adolescent, but a young adult who had not entirely grown into his frame. He was tall, on the lanky side, but he would fill out in a few years. “I wasn’t planning to interview today, sorry.”
“That’s not a no.”
“Dare. Enough.” Kalini handed him Felicity. “Make yourself useful and watch your sister.”
Georgia continued the tour. They went through the conservatory, past Quil elbow-deep in dirt, through the formal dining room and the unfinished terrace, admired the snowy landscape, and finished at the ballroom.
With the subflooring exposed and the plaster walls unfinished, Georgia realized her mistake. She should have finished with the conservatory, as it was the most impressive space in the house. “I know it looks rough, but the major work has already been completed. We’ve completely upgraded our electrical and environmental system. The subflooring was replaced but once the plaster is patched and finished, the new flooring will be installed. Everything is right on schedule and it’ll be ready for your event.”
“Seems a bit grand,” Kalini said.
“How many people do you expect?” She already knew. Kalini had already contacted her, expressing worry that even though her family was small, they had to invite all her and her husband’s coworkers, Clarity’s friends, and neighbors. The crowd would simply be too large for their home. The event was practically in the bag, but still, Georgia worried. This would be their first hosted event and it had to go smoothly, starting with assuring them that the ballroom would have a floor.
“This is perfect!” Clarity clapped her hands together. “Can we use the terrace?”
“Weather permitting.” And if the stonework got patched. She’d bump that up on the to-do list. “The far windows can be folded open, so you’d have direct access to the terrace.”
Kalini sighed. “Her heart’s already in it. Are you sure all this will be finished in time?”
“Work is scheduled to be finished next week, so yes.” She fudged the dates. The work should be finished in ten days, barring a disaster. “Would you like to review the menu? We have a very talented cook who makes wonderful desserts.”
“I’m afraid we have a chef in the family. She’ll make our lives miserable unless we let her cater. Will that be an issue?”
“Not at all.” Catering the event would have been good practice for the kitchen, but p
erhaps it would be best to just focus on the basics of hosting the event. Tables and chairs needed to be arranged, as well as serving the food and drinks.
“What do you require as a deposit?” Kalini asked.
Fantastic. Her first booking.
Chapter 15
Georgia
Georgia quietly turned the lock to the library door. Talen sat on worn wood treads of the staircase to the upper level, like he pulled down a book and immediately fell into the story. He was oblivious to her and her very short skirt, and the rest of the world.
For some reason, he did not wear a shirt and she heartily approved. The discarded garment sat on the floor, near the fireplace.
He was too handsome. He was all muscle and bulk, sitting with his elbows on his knees and a book cradled in his large hands. It just wasn’t fair that the universe made someone that good-looking and that intelligent.
“Ahem.” She cleared her throat dramatically.
He lifted his head. “What are you wearing?”
She plucked at the buttons at the front of her white blouse, exposing the pale pink bra underneath, before hiding her hands behind her back, which thrust her chest forward. Demurely, she twisted the tip of one of her shoes against the floor.
“I’ve been bad,” she said.
Talen snapped the book closed with one hand. “What have you done?”
“I don’t want to tell you.” She licked her lips, aware that his eyes tracked the motion.
“You do or you would not be here.” He stood, bare feet padding down the steps, and his thighs flexing and straining his trousers.
“I took a book from the restricted section,” she breathed.
He paused, brow furrowed. “You are welcome to any book in my collection. It is not impressive by any means, but nothing is restricted.”
She pressed a finger to her bottom lip and blinked her eyes. “It was a naughty book.”
“Is something in your eyes?”
She fisted the front of her shirt, tugging it down to expose the bra. “It had pictures. They made me feel funny.”
Pulled by the Tail: Celestial Mates Page 17
