Along Came Love

by Tracey Livesay

  Wrinkles rippled across her unblemished forehead. “This is the room I woke up in.” She pointed to the corner. “My shoes are over there.”

  He’d never tire of looking at her, her face animated with every emotion she experienced. His palms itched to stroke her creamy skin.

  “You may not remember, but your room wasn’t ready. After the whole throwing-­up-­in-­our-­front-­yard incident, I carried you in here.”

  “Right.” She bit her lip, her light brown gaze sliding from his. “I’m sorry.”

  “Stop it. You have nothing to apologize for. Esme made up your room while you were resting. I moved your bags over there. Guess I forgot about the shoes,” he said, attempting to make her smile.

  It worked, briefly.

  Indi trailed her fingers along the dark wood edge of the dresser, rearranged a vignette of vases. “Your mother knows.”

  “Knows what?”

  She glanced at him from beneath her lashes. “That I’m pregnant.”

  The air whooshed from his lungs. “You told her?”

  “Of course not!” She shifted a container of twisted bamboo. “She guessed. Said she’d been sick the same way with you.”

  “I can’t believe she hasn’t come after me.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Or told my father.”

  Indi shook her head, her braids spilling over her shoulders. “She doesn’t know you’re the father, just that I’m pregnant.”

  “Huh.” He expected to feel relief, but disappointment? “What did she say?”

  A soft smile graced those kissable lips as she straightened the pile of artistically arranged books. “She was really sweet about it. I told her a little about my upbringing and she said with this baby I’m creating my own family.”

  Indi had just met his mother, yet she’d shared a part of herself few others knew. His mother and the mother of his unborn child. Two amazing women.

  She placed both hands on her belly. “I’d never thought of it that way before.”

  For a moment he allowed himself to unravel the tangled, complicated conflict of this situation and imagine he and Indi were just a ­couple who planned to raise their child together. He smiled at the unexpected sense of peace that shrouded him.

  “She also invited me to the gala.”

  He halted in the act of putting on a shirt, his head surfacing through the collar of his crewneck tee. “Of course you’re going to the gala.”

  She shifted, jamming a hand on her hip. “You never said anything.”

  Shirt finally on, he smoothed down the fabric and glanced up in time to notice her staring at his covered chest as she made a sound of protest in her throat.

  He raised both brows. Like what you saw? “I didn’t think it was necessary. Why else would I bring you?”

  She flushed and tightened her jaw. No! “To keep an eye on me. I’m prepared to stay here while you share this with your family.”

  “You’re carrying the next generation of Blacks.” He surrendered to the urge, penetrating her personal space and placing a hand on her stomach. “You are family.”

  This close, her aroma carried more notes of mint that its usual vanilla. But it still fit. Somehow scents seemed one-­dimensional until mixed with her essence and turned into an alluring fragrance.

  “The baby is. I’m not,” she whispered.

  He reached forward, laced his fingers through hers. “Don’t do that.”

  Her moist lips parted and her lashes fluttered. “Do what?”

  Her voice was breathy. Unbelievably erotic. Blood rushed to his aching cock.

  “Put distance between us.” He skimmed his fingers up her bare arms, the rise of her flesh a testament to his effect. Palming her cheek, he stared into her eyes. “It won’t work.”

  When their lips met, she moaned, her hands fisting in the fabric at his waist. The softness of her breasts pushed against his chest, the heat between her thighs pulsed against his straining cock. And still it wasn’t enough. Angling his head, he devoured her, his tongue sweeping into the hot recesses of her mouth, staking a claim, giving and receiving pleasure. He wanted all of her. More than that, he wanted her to crave him, until all her thoughts of leaving died on the vine before they could be nurtured.

  She’d tried. Had walked away when he’d been in no condition to stop her. The existence of Nugget brought them together again, entwining their lives forever. And God help him, he didn’t possess the strength to let her go a second time, even when reliable counsel cautioned that he must.

  They broke apart, his body seconds away from ceding to desire’s assurance that air was less important than her kiss. He inhaled, taking in a lungful, and then leaned his forehead against hers. God, he loved her bottom lip. He brushed his thumb over it and, as he’d known she would, she scorched its pad with the tip of her tongue.

  It was always like this between them. Hot. Explosive. Complete.

  How could the woman who was wrong for him make him feel so right?

  His pulse thrashed loudly, as if to smother the burgeoning thought. She’d said they weren’t family, but they could be.

  They could raise Nugget together.

  The thought was enough to jerk him out of her embrace. He took a step back, shoved appeasing hands through his hair.

  She shook her head, her pupils dilated. “You’ve got to stop doing that. It’s not fair to me or Skylar.”

  Indi was right. He’d never kidded himself that his relationship with Skylar was a love match. Hell, she’d confessed as much before she left. He thought they’d make a good team and their companies would both benefit from his idea.

  But Indi and Nugget were game changers. And he was being drawn toward them and the life they could build together. Was that even possible, especially when Indi was dead set against it? Surely a trip around the world wasn’t worth abdicating participation in her own child’s life? They didn’t have to get married, but they could both be involved in raising him.

  Indi sighed, the sound weighty and weary. She gathered her braids, lifted them, and placed them over one shoulder. “It’s important to you to handle your responsibilities and I know keeping Nugget is part of that. But I’m not. This isn’t a two-­for-­one offer. If I give the baby to you, I’m still leaving.”

  Irritation boiled his blood. Despite his earlier warning, she was trying to push him away.

  Maybe you should let her.

  Clearly, her proximity was having an unforeseen effect on his objectives. He’d seesawed from requesting that Indi let him raise Nugget instead of putting him up for adoption to entertaining thoughts of the three of them. Together. As a family.

  Was he losing his mind? Maybe it was his integrity. Just a few days ago, he’d intended to propose to Skylar. But now, between his burgeoning feelings for Indi and Skylar’s refusal to return his calls or texts, that scenario seemed to be fading faster than footprints in the sand at high tide.

  They both needed some distance. It was probably best to go along with her attempts to disengage.

  For now.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Much better, thank God. Your mother made me tea and toast.”

  She looked better—­the simple act of not throwing up was a huge improvement—­but the smudges under her eyes and the imperceptible droop to her relieved smile was a testament to her long day.

  “What would you like to do tomorrow?”

  Fuck golf. What would he rather do, spend the day with his father at the country club or hang with the irresistible woman carrying his child?

  Guess he meant distance in the metaphorical sense.

  “I don’t have anything to wear to the celebration.”

  He rubbed his hands together. “We’ll go shopping.”

  “Your mother said she’d take me.”

  Try again, honey. “Do you mind
if I tag along?”

  “If you want to.”

  “I do.” He fingered a braid. “You’re always doing something different with your hair. It was long and loose at the engagement party, curly at the wedding, and now braids.”

  She shrugged. “Hair is just another way to express myself. Like an accessory. I don’t feel the need to keep it one way.”

  All the styles flattered her. And he liked the variety.

  “I didn’t mean to barge in,” she said, moving away from him, her braids sliding across his palm. “Where’s my room?”

  Determination rippled in his chest. He didn’t want her to go, ached for more time in her company. “We can hang out a little. Wanna watch some TV?”

  She snorted. “No thanks. If I recall correctly, our ideas about quality TV differ greatly.”

  He exhibited a little mock outrage. “There’s nothing wrong with The Capture.”

  “Unless you’re the rare person who fails to find animals hunting and killing their prey entertaining.”

  “I only watched that one episode with you. And to be fair, I’d started it while you were taking a bath. At least it’s better than the medical show where the doctor finds time to perform cutting-­edge surgeries in between sex with the chief of staff and fighting off the zombie apocalypse.”

  She pointed at him. “That show has won awards.”

  “Probably because the judges lost valuable brain cells every time they screened it.” Blood flowing, he grabbed the remote and pointed it toward the forty-­eight-­inch flat screen HDTV mounted on the wall. This was his Indi: passionate, opinionated, engaged. He couldn’t handle her indifference. “I know something we’ll both enjoy.”

  A minute later, the introduction to Battle of the Cake appeared on the screen.

  “Yes!” Indi climbed on the bed and settled back against the mound of pillows his mother insisted on displaying, though he relegated most of them to the floor before he went to sleep. She groaned. “My kingdom for a slice of cake.”

  “You don’t have a kingdom and you can barely keep any food down.”

  He received a throw pillow in the face for telling the truth.

  During their weekend, when they’d taken a breather, they’d played a fun game to determine who’d control the remote. He’d liked his chances—­he was known for his willpower—­but she’d executed this move with her finger and he’d been spent. Literally. His punishment for failing to outlast her? A Clockwork Orange-­type viewing of a show where four expert bakers battled to see who could build the best cake creation based on a theme.

  Cake, for god’s sake!

  Ten minutes in, he’d been hooked. He didn’t care about the baking, but he’d been enthralled by the strategy involved in deciding what to make in the time allowed, the structural engineering of building cakes that towered over four feet, and the competitive nature of chefs who were at the top of their game.

  But the best part? Watching Indi watch the show.

  Her comments were more entertaining than the competition itself.

  “That cake is too big. You won’t be able to carry it to the structure!”

  “There’s not enough time for fondant—­switch to butter­cream!”

  “Do these ­people even watch the show before they come on? You can’t use artificial flavor extract, the judges will notice it!”

  Starting the episode, he tossed the remote on the mattress and followed it, basking in her shrieks of laughter as she tumbled sideways. When she righted herself, he headed toward his favorite viewing spot: her lap. Before he laid his head down, he hesitated. “Is it okay?”

  “To lay your head here? I think so. The doctor didn’t caution against it.”

  Maybe she didn’t, but he wasn’t willing to take the chance.

  “Google it,” she said, pausing the image on the TV.

  Locating his bag, he reached into the side pocket and pulled out his customized HPC. He hooked it behind his ear and powered it on.

  “They’re so cool,” Indi breathed, her awe of the device that had catapulted his company to the top of the tech industry apparent.

  He smiled. “Have you used one?”

  “The last time I stayed with Chelsea. The day before the wedding it was glued to her ear.”

  Before he knew what he was doing, he told her, “We’re working on a new version.”

  “Really? That seems fast. The HPC just came out.”

  “It’s been a year. We’ve got to keep growing. Now, you can’t share what I’m about to tell you with anyone.”

  “Ooh, does this call for a super-­secret, double-­dare pinkie swear?”

  He flattened his lips. Was this a good idea? He hadn’t even told his father, but he was about to share classified Computronix information with a woman who acted like they were getting ready to share secrets at a slumber party.

  “Indi.”

  “Okay, okay. I promise I won’t tell anyone what you’re about to tell me.”

  “Thank you. We’re beta testing a new device that will allow you to use the HPC with a screen or monitor. Even though the whole point of the HPC was to make full computing completely portable, a lot of ­people still want to focus on something concrete instead of the air.”

  She listened intently and nodded her head. “I can see that.”

  “So we’ve created this cube that will not only stream the HPC’s data digitally, but will also deliver media over the internet without involving a cable company.”

  “That would be great for cord nevers, like me.”

  “Exactly!”

  “Does this have anything to do with your relationship with Skylar? ThomTexteL owns cable companies, right?”

  He should learn never to underestimate her intelligence. He wanted to answer her question, but he didn’t want to reintroduce Skylar into their time together. Not after he’d gotten her to stay. He settled for a brief, business-­like response. “We’re looking into acquiring the exclusive rights to their cable channels.”

  “So you could screen them through the cube? That would be huge for Computronix. I can’t believe a tech company hasn’t thought of providing their own exclusive digital content yet.”

  “We have. Like with the HPC, we want to be the first to get it to market.”

  She bit her lip. “That makes it a very important deal.”

  He didn’t trust the soft, contemplative tone of her voice.

  “Enough of that. Back to our search.” Within seconds he’d typed in the request. “At fifteen weeks, the baby is small and very well protected within your uterus. Slight pressure is okay, as long as it’s comfortable for the mother.”

  When she didn’t respond, he tapped her arm. “Hey.”

  “Right. Baby small and well protected. Sounds like we’re good to go.” She patted her lap.

  Relieved, he powered down the device. “It said Nugget is the size of a lemon. Should we change his name?”

  She laughed. “No, you goof.”

  “You’re the one referring to our unborn child as a lump of metal and I’m a goof?” He tossed the HPC on the dresser and crawled back up the bed. “Tell me if it gets uncomfortable.”

  “I will.”

  He pressed play on the remote and the show continued. A brief kiss to her belly then he shifted and gingerly placed his head on her upper thigh. That episode ended and another one began.

  Contentment.

  That feeling, and her fingers combing through his hair, were the last sensations he remembered as he drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter Seventeen

  IT WAS, QUITE possibly, the perfect way to wake up.

  There wasn’t a panicked reanimation or a startled jolt to consciousness. Instead, awareness came to Indi slowly and peacefully and with it, the realization that the comforting presence which had invaded her dreams
and wrapped her in a cocoon of protection came from the warm, solid body pressed against her back.

  Indi had fallen asleep somewhere between episodes three and four of Battle of the Cake. When she’d awakened in the middle of the night, needing the bathroom, she’d been nestled against Mike’s broad chest. She’d debated heading to her room, but she still didn’t know where it was located. In the end, she’d slid back into the bed, turning her back to him. A moment later, a strong arm had pulled her close to him and she’d been unable to resist the heat of his body.

  Mike’s breathing was even, his chest rising and falling steadily. With one of his muscled arms still curved around her waist and his hand flat against her lower belly, she felt safe and protected in a manner she’d never before experienced but one she’d always craved.

  She feared of moving an inch, believing any action would shatter the gossamer-­thin tranquility of the moment. And she needed to remain in his embrace for as long as possible, soaking it all in, imprinting it in her memory, before she dragged herself away and began rebuilding her armor, one layer at a time. So as the sky gradually lightened and a new morning dawned bright and hopeful, she lay there and marveled at the feel of his soft cotton shirt against her cheek and neck, at the exquisitely rough sensation of his jean-­clad thigh pressed between the bare skin of her legs.

  She couldn’t allow herself to get more involved in his life. She shouldn’t be sharing late night confidences with Barbara or agreeing to spend any more time than was necessary in his company. It was starting to feel real—­like they were an actual ­couple—­and she could never allow that. It’s the reason she’d left him after their weekend together. It would be so easy to pretend that they could be a family and raise Nugget together. But with continued proximity, how long would it take before he realized she wasn’t the right woman for him? Before he realized he’d made a terrible mistake?

  The distressing thought overrode her caution and she shifted against the mattress. Mike’s arm flexed against her.

  Crap. So much for stealing away.

  “Good morning,” he said, his voice a husky caress against the side of her neck.

  She shivered. “Good morning.”