Along Came Love

by Tracey Livesay

  “Hello.” A short stocky woman in cargo pants with a camera around her neck strode forward, her hand extended. “I’m Carrie Holland.”

  “Mike Black.” He admired her strong eye contact and firm grip. “Thank you for agreeing to see us.”

  “Yes, thank you. I’m a huge fan of your work,” India said. “I love how you’ve made art accessible.”

  There it was. That warm, charming nature she shared with everyone but him.

  A pleased expression glazed Carrie’s face and she smiled. “You’re a dear. That was my intention when I first started. There’s great beauty in the pregnant form.”

  Indi strode over to the framed portraits on the far wall. Pictures of all sizes, in differing tones—­color, black-­and-­white, sepia—­captured women in the later stages of their pregnancies, exuding an aura of sublime rapture visible to even the most jaded eye.

  She tapped an espresso-­colored wooden frame. “I’m not that far along.”

  Carrie narrowed her eyes. “What are you, three or four months?”

  “Fourteen weeks.”

  Carrie nodded. “Your first pregnancy?”

  “How did you know?”

  “I’ve been doing this a long time. One, you’re here for pictures and you haven’t started showing. Classic giveaway. Two, once a woman has a baby, it’s like muscle memory. As soon as her body recognizes she’s pregnant, her belly pops out.” She nodded at Indi’s midsection. “Too flat.”

  Mike flashed on a vision of Indi, her belly rounded with his child. He couldn’t wait until the reality supplanted his imagining.

  “I usually recommend pregnant women wait until they are thirty-­two to thirty-­six weeks along before being photographed,” Carrie said.

  He nodded. “I understand. But I wanted more than one photograph. I wanted the entire journey. We can come back every month or so throughout the pregnancy.”

  Indi turned on him. “Excuse me?”

  Carrie’s eyes brightened. “Yes! A progression. You know, it would be a good idea to wear the same outfit for each session, to better highlight the changes in your body. What clothes did you bring? We’ll want something that will accommodate your belly as it grows.”

  Shit. He raked a hand through his hair. He hadn’t thought to bring a change of clothes.

  Indi crossed her arms and jutted one hip. “Don’t look at me. I didn’t know we were coming here today.”

  Reading the consternation on his face, Carrie waved her hand. “It’s fine. I have several pieces in the changing room and they’re all freshly laundered. Look through them and pick what you like. Remember, you’ll want a garment that’ll adjust over the coming months.”

  Indi followed Carrie across the space, pausing to spear him with a look over her shoulder. He winked then exhaled a snort of amusement when she stuck out her tongue then sped to catch up to the photographer.

  Carrie came back a few minutes later and began arranging the area. “We’ll do two different setups. Let’s start next to the window. Natural light is something I can’t control and we lose more of it each second.”

  Mike mentally ran through the afternoon’s itinerary. He didn’t expect a miracle, but he hoped to generate the beginning of a thaw in Indi’s steadfast notion of giving their baby up for adoption. His chest vibrated an instant before his cell phone rang.

  Carrie ceased adjusting the height of the umbrella’s stand and lifted a brow.

  “I’ll silence the ringer.” He checked the caller ID. “After this call.”

  “The visual aids for your presentation just arrived,” his assistant, Evan, said, the clacking of keys prominent in the background.

  “Finally! It’s been two weeks.”

  “I’m going to call the team together. I can set the meeting for an hour from now. How’s three o’clock?” Evan’s voice was brisk, the question pro forma, Mike’s consent a foregone conclusion.

  This meeting with the department heads on moving into the digital entertainment space was important. He needed to have a strategy in place by the time TTL agreed to his proposal. Under normal circumstances, nothing would’ve delayed this discussion.

  Mike swung his gaze toward the changing room. But for the first time ever, there was something more important than business.

  More important than Computronix.

  “Set it for first thing Monday morning, 9:00 a.m.”

  “Sir?” Bewilderment clouded Evan’s tone, as if Mike had informed the younger man that Thursday didn’t follow Wednesday or money did in fact grow on trees.

  “Set the meeting for Monday. It’s the weekend.”

  “I know. I’m surprised you noticed.”

  “Well, I did. We already worked this morning. After you send out notices for the meeting on Monday, go home.”

  He held up the phone, made a production of silencing the ringer, and slid it back into his pocket.

  Carrie smiled, nodded her thanks, and asked, “What’s her favorite color?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Indi. What’s her favorite color?”

  “I don’t know.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Why?”

  She shrugged. “Just mulling over possibilities for her backdrop.”

  As the other woman pulled down an assortment of textured and themed screens, Mike pondered the ramifications of her question. Why should he know her favorite color? Those little details emerged as ­people spent time together: they learned each other’s favorite food, what kind of music they liked, their favorite movie. It’s not like he and Indi had been in a relationship. Hell, conversation hadn’t been top of mind during that weekend . . .

  “This is your house?” she’d asked, her head thrown back, her eyes scanning their surroundings.

  “Yes,” he’d said, his eyes fixated on the graceful curve of her neck, the lean smoothness of her torso.

  She’d straddled his lap, her frothy bridesmaid’s dress gathered around her waist, her bare thighs bracketing his trouser-­covered hips. He shifted, the hardwood floors beneath him softer than the erection he’d ceased trying to rein in.

  “Yours personally? Not the company’s?”

  He loved watching her mouth form words. “No, it’s mine.”

  “Did you just move in?”

  “Hey, what’s with all the questions?” He gave in to the longing that had plagued him from the moment he’d first set eyes on her and stroked his thumb along her plump, kissable bottom lip. “I have other plans for that pretty mouth.”

  Her lashes dropped to half-­mast and her glistening pink tongue darted out to lave the pad of his finger.

  When he growled and leaned in to taste her, she angled away from him and tilted her head to the side, the wavy strands of her hair tickling the part of his chest bared by his opened dress shirt.

  “It’s a nice house, very neat and tidy. But it doesn’t look lived in. The walls are still the generic builder-­grade cream.”

  Teasing could go both ways and he wasn’t the only one smarting from the attraction sizzling between them. He hadn’t imagined her hands tracing the length of his cock during their earlier make-­out session.

  He pulled her close and bit her earlobe, sucking it into his mouth to soothe the sting. “What’s your favorite color?”

  She shivered. “Why?”

  “Because I’ll paint the walls any goddamn color you want if we can stop discussing my woeful skills as an interior designer and get back to what we were just doing.”

  “Poor baby.” She laughed, the sound so sexy the hair on his arms stood at attention. “I don’t have one.”

  His tongue traced the delicate shell of her inner ear. “One what?”

  She pushed against his shoulders. “A favorite color! There are an infinite number of colors in the world. Why limit myself to one?”

  He
found her healthy appetite for life heady as it was so different from his deliberate, measured approach.

  She wiggled her ass against him. “Are you ready?”

  His fingers dug into her hips and he pressed her down on his rock-­hard erection. “All day, every day.”

  Palming his face, she slid her fingers through the hair curling above his ears and slanted his head to the side. His eyes closed as her tongue stroked the side of his neck, the wet caress an arousing abrasion against his skin and the perfect adhesion for the cool sprinkle of salt.

  He grabbed a slice of lemon from the pile on the coffee table—­next to the shot glasses brimming with tequila—­and placed it in his mouth, the flesh of the fruit facing her.

  She stared into his eyes and his heart expanded in his chest. She rubbed her nose against his once, twice, then parted her lips, bent her head, and licked the salt away from his skin. His cock heaved against his pants, hating the barriers keeping it from its target.

  She reached for a small glass, pounded the shot, and sucked the lemon from between his lips, tossing the debauched rind over her shoulder.

  Fucking yeah, that was hot!

  He was in so much trouble. . .

  Okay, so he knew she didn’t have a favorite color. No big deal. It didn’t negate any of his earlier thoughts because he also knew Skylar’s favorite color. It was . . . um . . .

  He exhaled loudly. Shit.

  The changing room door opened and Indi emerged.

  His breath abandoned his body.

  Carrie clasped her hands together and pressed her joined index fingers against her lower lip. “Great choice. I love that ivory organza skirt. It sparkles against your complexion.”

  Indi had taken the skirt and pulled it up so it resembled a strapless dress. A slit parted the fabric right above her navel and she held it closed with one hand. Her braids fell in a cascade around her shoulders to trail along her breasts.

  Beautiful.

  “Let’s start with some natural shots. Nothing too difficult, nothing too pose-­y. The position you like the best will be the one we’ll use each time you come in. That’ll make the progression more pronounced, more noticeable. And trust me, as you get bigger, your center of gravity will shift. We’ll save the contortions for the stand-­alone pictures, okay?”

  Indi nodded, her hand tightening in the semi-­sheer fabric until her knuckles blended with the material.

  “Good.” Carrie led her to the area she’d set up on the left. “I want you to stand here with your profile to me.”

  Indi released the dress and it flowed around her to end at her calves. She shrugged her shoulders and shuffled her feet, bright pink toes winking up at him with the movement.

  A muffled click of the shutter.

  “Nice. Give me a soft smile.”

  Indi’s cheeks twitched.

  Whirr. Click.

  “Now, look down and touch your belly.”

  Indi’s chin dropped to her chest and she slapped a hand on her stomach.

  He winced. He was sure that wasn’t what Carrie wanted. Indi looked less like an expectant mother and more like someone in digestive distress.

  “You’re so tense,” Carrie told her. “Loosen up. Relax your shoulders. This is supposed to be fun.”

  Whirr. Click.

  “Your stomach doesn’t have cooties. Touch it. Caress it.”

  If he didn’t know better, he’d think she didn’t like having her picture taken, but during the photo shoot at the wedding, she’d laughed and danced, her body swaying to music only she could hear. “Okay, let’s go with serious. Solemn.”

  Whirr. Click.

  “Come on, relax. There’s life in there. Show me the wonder, the awe.”

  The more Carrie talked, the tenser Indi became until she resembled a statue one fissure away from crumbling. Still the photographer persisted.

  “You’ve created something beautiful. She’ll love you and depend on you—­”

  Indi’s lips trembled and her skin took on an ashen pallor.

  This wasn’t working.

  He interrupted. “Can you give us a moment?”

  Carrie sighed. “Take your time. You paid for it.”

  She took her camera and exited through another door, leaving them alone.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I can’t do this,” Indi whispered, her shoulders slumping forward, her body caving in.

  He resisted the urge to bare his teeth and snarl her into submission. Why was convincing this one woman to do what he wanted so difficult?

  “Yes you can. You just need to—­”

  Her eyes flashed. “If you tell me to relax I will fucking stab you!”

  He stiffened. Whoa. Those sites weren’t kidding about the surging hormones.

  She brought her thumbs up to massage her temples. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do. But I’m not them,” she said, flinging a hand to indicate the portraits on the wall. “Those women were excited about their condition. They probably had nurseries and wardrobes and couldn’t wait until they brought their babies home. That’s not what’s happening here. I have to give Nugget away and nothing you do will change that. Going through this charade will only make it harder when the time comes.”

  Nothing he did would change the situation? This wasn’t the first time he’d heard that particular sentiment. It didn’t stop him then, it wouldn’t stop him now.

  “Indi, look at me.” When her defeated gaze met his, he continued. “You had choices. You chose to give him life. Honor that decision. Are you going to spend the next five and half months shuffling through the world, pushing your friends and family away? Do you think that’s healthy for him? For you? Be happy. And when he’s born, you’ll know you’ve done everything you can to start him on the path to a good life. As for these pictures”—­he cupped her shoulders and squeezed—­“you don’t ever have to see them, but I’ll want them.” His chest tightened as he placed a hand on her belly. “I want to remember this.”

  She looked up at him, tears pooling in her eyes. A surge of tenderness rippled through his body, overwhelming him.

  He trailed a finger down her dewy smooth cheek and kissed her forehead. “No matter what happens, I’ll take care of both of you.”

  Whirr. Click.

  “Beautiful.” Carrie’s voice was filled with reverence.

  They both looked up.

  “I don’t know what you were thinking,” Carrie said, camera resting against the side of her neck, lens facing skyward, “but that look on your face, his hand touching . . . It was perfect. That’s it. That’s the pose.”

  Chapter Ten

  MIKE OPENED THE door of the car and held out his hand to help Indi emerge. She stood and stretched, needing the exertion after the thirty-­mile drive from the city to suburbia.

  Compared to the urban photography studio, the banality of the shopping center with its mix of upscale and traditional retail stores was a bit underwhelming.

  “So this is our destination?”

  She’d been furious with Mike, annoyed that he’d put her in a position of memorializing the thing she was barely tolerating, but he’d made an interesting point. She’d been acting as if Nugget was consigned to a prison. She had decided to give him life. Was it his fault she couldn’t be a mother to him? Should he be made to suffer the poison of her bad feelings?

  She wasn’t sure she’d ever get to the point of celebrating, but she could try to be positive, to give Nugget the good vibes he needed. And since Mike appeared to be making an effort, she would, too. It was the least she could do considering what he’d done for her over the past few days.

  The corner of his mouth quirked. “My life isn’t all glitz and glamour. I can do regular ­people, too.”

  Indi glanced at the Towne Center’s directory, helpfully provid
ed on a digital kiosk. bebe. L’OCCITANE. Athleta. “If you think ‘regular ­people’ shop at these stores, we need to have a serious talk.”

  “What about the bookstore? Bookstores are ‘regular ­people.’ ”

  Say what now? “We came all this way to go to a bookstore?”

  “Do you have a problem with bookstores?”

  Was he kidding? Her smile expired before it could fully form. No, he looked serious. Actually, worried was more accurate, tiny lines forming between his blond brows. If he felt this strongly about them, he probably wouldn’t like her answer.

  “In theory? No. But in practice? I travel too much to purchase books in print.” She held up her basic smartphone. “I have about a hundred books on here.”

  He took her phone and gawked at it like it was an ancient artifact. “I didn’t know ­people still carried these. Can you text with this? Take pictures?”

  She snatched it back. “Yes.”

  “Remind me to get you a Computronix phone tomorrow.”

  “I don’t need a new phone. This one is just fine.” A whiff of a thought. “You’re not buying me a bookstore, are you?”

  “Hell, no. What would give you that idea?”

  “I don’t know. I never claimed to understand the buying habits of ­people who make twenty-­six billion dollars in three months.”

  His features tightened. “Will you ever let me live that down?”

  She tilted her head. “Maybe. But no time soon.”

  “Come on.” He pressed a hand to the small of her back and led her into the store.

  Dark wooden bookshelves, colorful covers, and table displays dotted the landscape. Bright fluorescent lighting bounced off fixtures, only to be absorbed into the navy blue carpet and the smell of coffee and baked goods both tempted and repulsed her. Considering the late afternoon hour on a weekend, the store was teeming with bodies, surprising Indi. What didn’t surprise her was the customers’ reactions to Mike. Necks twisted as they passed, like dominoes in motion.

  The regular ­people knew gorgeous when it graced them with its presence.

  A navy suit hugged his body like an affectionate lover. He’d removed his tie at the photography studio; now his white shirt lay open at the throat, giving him a coolly elegant air. Seriously, he could be a walking brand ambassador for Tom Ford.