Forever (Eternity #1)

by Allyson Young

  She stepped into the pants before answering him. “I probably can’t zip my jeans and my self esteem is challenged enough as it is.”

  He ate up the physical distance between them in one stride, whirling her to face him, gripping her shoulders, giving her a little shake, grimly pleased with the real emotion filling her eyes that caused her lips to part invitingly.

  “Stop the bullshit, Amy. You’re pregnant and beautiful. You’ll embrace it!” His cock swelled and filled, and he ground his pelvis against her, pulling her close. “Does that feel like you’ve lost your appeal?”

  It killed him to see her blank her expressive features again, veiling her eyes, visibly pulling away emotionally, doing her level best to ignore his arousal. Just as she ignored her own, her nipples hardening against his bare chest. “Telling me how to feel now, Dean? That’s beyond even your control.”

  He carefully released her, holding onto his temper and his desire, smoothing the rumpled fabric down over her arms. “Go sit at the counter. I’ll make breakfast as soon as I get dressed. Go now, Amy, before I paddle your ass and fuck you senseless.”

  She pushed past him, dropping her head, but not before he saw the tears standing in her eyes. Fuck. Was he driving her further away? He grimaced when he replayed his words in his head. Ass. Yanking his clothes on, he hustled out to the kitchen. Amy sat obediently at the counter, hands folded like a student in detention, staring downward. Dean went to make coffee.

  “Can you eat now? Eggs? Toast? Cereal?”

  A delicate shudder but she wouldn’t look at him. “Toast is fine.”

  Cracking a couple of eggs into the pan heating on the stove, he depressed the toaster button on four slices of brown bread and put out some butter and jam. He poured Amy a cup of coffee and set the cream beside the cup. When she made no move to touch it he sucked in air and forced a question. “Not drinking coffee?”

  “No.” Goddamn it. His palm itched to smack her ass and he rubbed it on his jeans, turning back to his eggs. Sliding them onto a plate he grabbed the toast and put two slices on a separate plate for her. She probably didn’t eat butter anymore either.

  “What can you drink?” There, that sounded civil. How had he thought this was going to be easy? Because where Amy’s concerned, your brain turns to mush.

  “Milk or tea, water, some juices.” Flat, distant comment.

  “I’ll make tea.”

  “Don’t bother.”

  “Do you want to pour some milk?”

  “You told me to sit. I’m sitting.”

  This was fucking insane. Holding onto his temper with his fingernails, Dean stalked to the fridge, retrieved the milk and poured his woman a tall glass. The clacking sound it made when it hit the counter in front of her belied his control. He returned to his breakfast and ate without further comment, aware of Amy breaking small pieces of toast off, chasing them with milk.

  He tried again with the sweet talk, desperate to connect with her, make her see reason. His reason, he accepted, reluctantly. “I’ll clean up, sweetheart. You do whatever and when I’m done, we’re going to talk.”

  She gave him a measured look before standing to head back to the bedroom. He heard the bathroom door shut with more force than necessary and breathed a sigh of relief. He could cope with anger better than her distant, exacting responses. The clean up complete, he made tea, an unfamiliar process, but one he hoped Amy might give him brownie points for. No surprise, she refused it when he called her into the living room, aware she’d exited the bathroom and was sulking in the bedroom.

  Dean waited for her to curl up in a chair, again as far away from him as she could manage before taking his own seat on the couch, and laid out the ground rules. Gone was the controlled, distant Amy. She’d framed his edicts pretty well. Nothing doing until they got through this rough patch. No Sandra. No Harold and Francine. Just them.

  “We’re going to hash this out, sweetheart. Without outside interference. Just you and me.” He thought that sounded fair and reasonable.

  “What’s the end game, Dean? Spell it out. You’re not my father.” She was back to distant Amy.

  “Ultimately? I see us married, preferably before you have the baby, with some changes in my business.”

  “You want to marry me? Marry someone you believed betrayed you, tried to take your business away. Someone who used sex to try and fool you?” Bitterness, underpinned with pain echoed in Amy’s voice. “Because of the child?”

  “Not just because of the child, sweetheart, although I want him. I’m thrilled about him. I want to marry you because I want you beside me for the rest of our lives.” The words echoed in the room, a passionate statement and a plea.

  “Until the next time.” Her words were nearly whispered but so full of pain and acceptance they filled the room.

  Dean wearily pushed a hand through his hair, again noting the unruly length. “I didn’t expect you to take me at my word, Amy.” Although he’d stupidly hoped. “But I’ve put it out there. It’s up to you now to learn to accept it, because you’re mine, and we’re going to be parents not too far in the future.”

  “I’m to accept it. Just like that.” Her eyes were nearly black with rage and indignation, lips tight, face flushed.

  “I’ll be doing my best to convince you, sweetheart. We’re gonna spend time together, talk. I’m making time for this because you’re important to me. I’ll make it up to you.”

  “Good of you to take time out of your busy schedule, Dean. Good of you to tell me how my life is going to play out. Well, you can think again, rethink your plan. Last I checked you can’t marry someone without their consent. And keeping me here is going to get old fast.

  “There’s doctor’s appointments to consider, never mind the fact that I’ll go stir crazy and my emotional state will affect my baby. And you aren’t enough for me, boyo. Not nearly. I need friends, people I enjoy spending time with.” It went without saying Amy was furious, vibrating with her rage. And she stabbed him with her words in precisely the right places, too. She was indeed the better loser.

  “Fuck, Amy. I didn’t mean it like that. I have to make sure the business runs okay because it impacts on us. You. You come first. I’ll make arrangements for you to see a physician, and you’ll come to find I’ll meet your needs. Your emotional state is your choice.”

  ****

  Amy got up and went into the bedroom wishing she had the strength to throw something heavy and hard right at Dean’s fucking head. But she was drained once again, exhausted and worn down. He’d thought of everything, her jailer and the love of her life. He said he wanted her, regretted his behavior that day, wanted her forever and was happy about the child. The complete package. But he didn’t love her, didn’t voice it, and there would be a next time. Maybe not right away, but it would happen, and Dean would turn on her. Well, so be it. He wasn’t going to let her go, would find her if she left again, and running while pregnant wasn’t a plan. The baby deserved better.

  Lying down on the unmade bed, curling onto her side, hands tucked beneath her cheek, Amy worked out some ground rules of her own. She’d stay, and take care of herself, deliver Junior—Dean was probably right about the gender. When wasn’t he right? Then return to her old life. With one exception. She wasn’t having sex with him. He wasn’t going to use her sexuality to undermine her intention to fall out of love with him. Surely, if she built enough physical distance, the emotional attachment would fade or morph into something different. Maybe a kind of friendship. For Junior’s sake.

  Tears spilled out, pouring over the bridge of her nose, to join the deluge on the opposite cheek, slipping across her temple to soak her hair, dampen the pillow. The bed dipped and a big hand gently rubbed her back. “Sorry, Amy. But that’s the way it has to be.”

  Pulling one hand out from under her head, Amy scrubbed at the tears, using her knuckles. She rolled to her back and squirmed up to sit against the headboard, locking gazes with Dean, not three feet away. His face was tende
r, the skin over his cheekbones no longer so tightly stretched, sculpted mouth softened, his eyes luminous. The damage her nails had caused to his face was scabbed over but she tried not to look at the scratches—she regretted lapsing into such stupid violence. She decided.

  “I’ll stay willingly. I won’t give you any trouble. We’ll try for a new relationship for the baby’s sake. But I won’t marry you and I won’t have sex with you.”

  He studied her, not missing a nuance, typical Dean, and nodded. “We should marry for the baby’s sake, but that’s your choice. He’ll have my name regardless. As for the sex, time will tell.”

  “You aren’t listening, Dean. Listen for once in your arrogant life. Force me and I’ll hate you. It won’t be good. Take it to other women. All I ask is that you be discreet, for your child’s sake.”

  Moving with that deceptive speed he had, he gripped her biceps and hauled her so their faces almost touched. “There won’t be other women, Amy. And no other men for you, either. We are going to work this out.”

  She said nothing, forcing her eyes to stay open when he took her mouth, insistently, his tongue tracing the seam of her lips until she opened for him. But she somehow remained aloof and he finally released her, his face now dark with suppressed emotion. “I’m going to see Randy, arrange a few things. You’ll forgive me if I ask you to stay in the condo today. Until we test out this new relationship.”

  “Trust, Dean,” she managed. “Remember? This will be a little test. I’m going to see Sandra. I’ll be sure to keep you apprised of my every move.”

  His movements jerky, Dean tucked his shirt into his pants, then crossed to the dresser. A set of keys sailed to land beside her, and he walked from the room. She heard him in the den, and he returned with her purse. “Your Audi is in the garage. We’ll be finding you a safer mode of transportation. But if you are so determined to see Sandra…”

  “There’s a van in Santa Rosa. Paid for. I’ll—”

  “I’ll send someone if you’re intent on having the fucking thing. Leave the address. Be back for dinner.” The front door slammed. Amy slumped back and sighed. Now there was nothing but to get on with it. Except another storm of tears overtook her, this time, curiously, because Dean gave in so easily. God save her from the vagaries of pregnancy hormones.

  Rising from the bed, she went into the bathroom to wash her face, applying some concealer to mask the dark flags beneath her eyes. Mascara would probably be a bust today, although some blush was in order—her pallor was marked. All of her things were exactly where she had left them. She drew the brush through her hair and tossed it on the counter. She’d drive straight to Sandra’s, she decided, wouldn’t call first. If Sandra wasn’t home, at least she’d be out in the world and could cope with the disappointment there, instead of in this place she was again to call home. The one Dean threw her out of, and would again, no matter how he protested. The acidic taste of acrimony assailed her once again, but she pushed it down. Made her bed. Time to lie in it. She pulled Bogs from the garbage bag and carefully set him on the corner of the night stand by her side of the bed, the one true thing in her life besides Sandra.

  ****

  “Amy! Oh my God, girl! Get in here!” Sandra dragged her into the house, pausing only to close and lock the door behind her. “Are you okay? Are you back to stay?”

  Thanking her foresight not to wear eye makeup, Amy sobbed into her friend’s arms, the grief and confusion pouring out in veritable rivers. Sandra led her to the kitchen and got her settled on a chair, ripping a wad of tissues from the box on the counter. Amy grabbed them and mopped at her face. She had to quit doing this to Sandra.

  “Hey. It’s okay. It’s all right, honey. Please, Amy.” Sandra’s soothing utterances slowly penetrated, and Amy began to calm down. The other woman patted her hand and got up to pull a couple of bottles of water out of the fridge, offering one after twisting off the cap.

  “He found out I was pregnant and tracked me down.”

  “I didn’t tell him, Amy. He knew when he came to see me.”

  “I know, Sandra. I left the damn test box in the trash and old eagle-eye ferreted it out. Probably had to take the garbage out himself.” Okay, that sounded petty, but still… Where the hell was Lois? Amy decided she wasn’t picking up after Dean, or cleaning his house. If he’d fired Lois then he’d need to find a replacement.

  “He was looking for you long before he found out about the baby.”

  “Uh huh. Dean never has a problem in admitting he was wrong and then fixes it. Or does his version of fixing. He made me come home with him. I felt like I had no choice because of how it could turn out for Harold and Francine.” And because he said please, and that he was sorry, and wanted to make amends, and I’m still a pushover where he’s concerned because I love him. No, she wasn’t going there.

  Sandra regarded her, features marked with worry.

  Amy continued, “And what if he doesn’t learn from this particular mistake? What if I don’t trust him making amends?”

  “So that’s it. You figure he’ll—”

  “Look at his track record. We had it good, better than anything either of us dreamed of. But he turned on me anyhow.”

  “And you’re not into giving second chances.”

  Amy slammed the bottle down on the table, the plastic sides flexing under her clenched fingers. The water gushed up and over the top, running down over her hand, soaking the fabric at her wrist. Sandra jumped up for a towel.

  “I’m sorry, Amy. I warned him about getting caught between you and his business, being forced to make a choice.”

  “What are you talking about? Whose side are you on?”

  “Yours, honey. Yours. Dean is everything to you and you know it. I understand you’re scared but I’ve been thinking about it.” Sandra hardly looked her age, just two years older than Amy, her face wise with wisdom belying her years, gained from experiences Amy could only guess at. “You love him, and he loves you, whether he can tell you or not. And there’s the baby to think about. You might want to consider grabbing onto this new opportunity with both hands, Amy. For however long it lasts. Nothing lasts forever. We both know that. Live it. Or follow your path and live half a life. I know he forced you to come home, and that sucks, but it’s what the man knows, imposing his will. And he thought he was doing the right thing.”

  “I don’t know, Sandra. It hurt so much. I can’t take it again.”

  “You can. If you have to, you can. But you need to make your choice. All I’m asking is that you consider everything very carefully. Make the right choice.” Sandra got up and threw the rag into the sink. “I have to get ready for work. Evening shift. I’ll call you tomorrow. I’m so happy you’re back.”

  Amy couldn’t stand the undecipherable emotions coloring her friend’s words. Shit. “Sandra? You all right?”

  “Yup. Just need some time and I have to work. I’ll call you.”

  Amy initiated the hug this time around, and went out to her car. No place to go, no one she really wanted to see, although at some point she’d have to face Andrea and the other women, who would all know she’d run away, and then come home with her tail between her legs. Kind of.

  She decided to go shopping and postpone that inevitable meeting for as long as she could. If Dean was going to keep her, then she’d spend a little of the money from the sale of the car she was presently driving. The curious irony made her laugh, and then want to cry again, but first she needed to make a call.

  “Restaway Inn.”

  “Harold?”

  “Amy! Honey, are you okay? Joyce told us you had a family emergency.”

  “Uh, about that, Harold. My boyfriend paid a visit and—”

  “Do you need the police? Where are you? Give me an address.” Harold sounded freaking scary.

  “I’m fine, Harold. Really.” As fine as a woman could be who agreed to live with a man who’d fucked her over, to have his baby, while forgoing the fringe benefits of amazing sex. All
while she tried to fall out of love with the father of her baby and the giver of said amazing sex. “I’ll come back to visit in awhile. I promise. I’m so sorry I left before you came home.”

  “S’okay, Amy. As long as you’re okay. You sound shaky.”

  “I’m safe and fine. Maybe not my ideal hope in life, but neither was running away.”

  “How’s the baby?”

  “Uh…”

  “Can’t live so close and work together without us noticing, honey. Although Francine put it together first. Still not feeling great, first thing?”

  “No, but that will pass soon, apparently. At least according to informed sources on the ’Net.”

  “The wireless deal was inspired, Amy. You come see us whenever you want. And you call.”

  She promised, tucking her phone back into her bag. The closest mall was only a few blocks away, and retail therapy would keep her from thinking too much.

  ****

  Dean slouched on the couch, feet on the coffee table, nursing a beer, ostensibly watching the game, but his attention was fixed on the door. When he got home, he knew Amy was out because the car was gone. He was still disappointed to find the condo empty, although her grassy scent permeated every room, refreshing the bouquet of a month ago. He heard the slamming of car doors and vaguely, male and female voices. He was at the door with no memory of setting his boots on the floor or pulling his ass off the couch.

  “Thanks, Enrico. ’Preciate it.” The sound of Amy’s voice floated through the open door, followed by the rush of light footsteps on the stairs. The little smile playing around her lips vanished the instant she laid eyes on him, and she slowed her pace. He reached out a hand for the numerous bags dangling from either wrist.

  He wouldn’t say it, but the last hour had been hell, wondering if she was coming home or once again fleeing from him. Trust. The meeting with Randy had been barely a distraction, and Dean had little memory of what transpired, the decisions made, but assumed one of them did. Thank God for Randy. “You run into Enrico?”