by Leanne Banks
Brock felt the twist in his gut tighten further. “Thank you for getting her here,” he said, then turned his attention to Elle. “How are you?”
She bit her lip. “Waiting on the ultrasound,” she said, her expression full of fear. “I wish I weren’t so clumsy,” she whispered, her eyes shiny with unshed tears.
Brock rushed to her side and took her hand in his. “I’ll make sure you’re okay,” he said.
“But what about the baby?” she asked, her voice breaking.
Roger cleared his throat. “We’ll be in the waiting room.”
“I feel so horrible,” Elle said. “What if my carelessness—”
He pressed his fingers over her lips. “You can’t think that,” he said.
A young woman dressed in white walked through the doorway. “Hello, I’m Dr. Shen.” She extended her hand to Elle and then to Brock. “I understand Mom took a tumble. Babies are amazingly resilient, so your little one is likely okay. Let’s check it out.”
The doctor squirted some gel on Elle’s belly and rubbed a device over her.
Brock watched as a jumble of a being appeared on the screen before them.
“Good, strong heartbeat right there,” Dr. Shen said, pointing to the flicker on the screen. She moved the device. “Everything looks good so far. Placenta’s intact.”
She removed the device and handed it to the nurse, then turned to Brock and Elle. “You might have some bruises tomorrow, but your baby is fine. Just be careful around stairs, okay?”
Elle gave a big nod of relief. “Very careful.”
The doctor scrawled her signature on the notebook screen. “You’re released. And we can give you a copy of the ultrasound video, if you’d like.”
“Thank you,” Elle said.
“Thanks,” Brock echoed. Elle looked at his face, which was full of wonder and awe. She understood. The heartbeat, the movement of the tiny legs and arms—it was overwhelming. And amazing.
The nurse wiped the gel off of Elle’s abdomen. “You can get dressed now,” she said.
Elle took an audible breath. “Sorry to bother you with this,” she murmured and moved to slide from the table.
Brock wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “You can’t be serious.”
Elle bit her lip. “I know you have other things to do.”
“There’s nothing more important,” he said. “Nothing.”
“It almost didn’t seem real before,” she said. “But it does now. We’re going to have a baby.”
He nodded and smiled. “Yes, we are.”
Two days later, Elle couldn’t stand her Brock-imposed exile from the outside world any longer. Now, she desperately needed to get out.
The housekeeper frowned as Elle put her hand on the doorknob of the front door. “You’re not going out, are you?” Anna said.
Elle turned to look at the caring woman. “Yes, I am. The doctor says it’s fine. I haven’t had any spotting. The ultrasound looked good. Some physical activity will be good for me.”
“Mr. Maddox won’t like it,” she said.
“Yes, well, he would just as soon see me wrapped in a cocoon until my due date. That’s not going to happen,” Elle said firmly.
“I can’t say I blame you, but you really did give us a scare. If Mr. Maddox should ask where you are, what should I tell him?”
Elle smiled. “Tell him I’m shopping for a shorter robe.”
The housekeeper chuckled. “Good for you. Let me call Roger. He can drive you.”
“Oh, that’s not necessary at all,” Elle protested.
The housekeeper shook her head. “Mr. Maddox would want you to go with a driver. It won’t take but a moment.”
Elle cooled her heels, then stepped into the town car and directed Roger to take her to an outlet.
“Outlet?” Roger echoed as if it were a foreign word. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather go downtown? That’s where the senior Mrs. Maddox always goes.”
“No, I love Nordstrom’s Rack,” she said, settling back in her seat.
Roger let her out at the front door and Elle walked into the busy store. She wandered through the lingerie section, admiring the silk gowns. She would be too large for them soon enough, she thought, sliding her hand over her belly. Finding a rack of robes, she flipped through the selection and pulled out a red one. “You’ll look like a giant, mutant cherry,” she muttered to herself.
Her cell phone rang and she saw Brock’s number on her caller ID. Wincing, she answered. “Hello?”
“What are you doing at Nordstrom’s Rack?”
“Buying a short robe,” she said. “I assume your spies informed you?”
“Roger told me you insisted on going to an outlet,” Brock said. “I can afford to get you a robe and anything else you need, for God’s sake. You don’t have to watch your pennies. And you sure as hell don’t need to be shopping at outlets.”
“But I like shopping in outlets. It’s like hunting is for men. Bagging the one with the biggest rack in one shot.”
Silence followed. “I’ve never heard it described that way.”
“Well, I’m glad to know I’ve provided you with a new analogy,” she said. “Maybe you can use it for a campaign.”
“Hmm. That’s not a bad idea.”
“Shh. Better not tell me. I’m the enemy,” she couldn’t help saying.
Brock gave a heavy sigh. “You’re not the enemy.”
“Bet you’d never let me in the office again,” she said.
“Sure I would,” he said. “Just not right away. Dinner at home?” he asked, clearly changing the subject.
“If we must,” she said.
“You hate it there,” he concluded.
“It’s so—” she searched for the right word “—full.”
“I know,” he said. “Maybe we could get rid of some of the clutter.”
“How do you think your mother would feel about that?”
“It’s possible she wouldn’t even notice.”
Elle snorted, then tried to cough to cover it. “I don’t think so.”
“Well, start with one room downstairs. Take it over and redo it the way you want. Put the old stuff in storage.”
Elle felt a trickle of excitement. “This might work.”
“Of course it will work,” he said. “It was my suggestion.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re so arrogant.”
“That never stopped you before,” he said.
She sucked in a quick breath. “No,” she whispered. “It didn’t.”
“What do your want for dinner tonight?”
What she wanted more than anything was a quiet dinner in Brock’s apartment at the office. But she knew that wasn’t possible. He wouldn’t let her near the office yet. She felt a deep sense of loss. They’d shared so many private memories there. “I’d like some good old American cooking tonight,” she said, thinking of one of the few places they’d actually gone to together—a diner with a delicious defiance against the carb-hating trend of the day.
“Mashed potatoes,” he said, and she heard the smile in his voice. “The Four Square Diner. Don’t spend too much time at the outlets. I’ll call later to firm up a time,” he said and hung up.
Elle glanced at the sexy leopard-printed sheath hanging on the end of the rack. She wondered if she would ever be able to inspire Brock’s primal urges again.
After a jam-packed day, Brock stood to greet Elle at The Four Square Diner. He studied her face. “You overdid it today,” he said. “You’re tired.”
She brushed her lips against his cheek. “Thank you. You look gorgeous, too,” she said and sat down.
He couldn’t keep his lips from twitching. “You’re supposed to stay rested.”
She picked up the menu from the table. “There’s a difference between rested and going into a coma. How was your afternoon?”
“Good. The campaign for the Prentice account is going smoothly,” he said.
“Great. How do you li
ke your new assistant?”
“He isn’t you,” Brock said.
She nearly dropped her menu. “You have a male assistant?” she asked, surprised.
“Careful,” Brock said. “You’re edging toward sexist.”
“The whole advertising business is sexist,” she said dismissively. “I wasn’t aware you’d ever had a male assistant.”
“I haven’t,” Brock said. “But this one is competent.”
“It might also negate any criticisms about your marriage to me,” she said. “Good strategy.”
Brock met her gaze, giving nothing away. The waitress arrived and took their order. After she left, Brock returned his attention to Elle. “What did you buy today?”
“Odds and ends,” she said, wondering how much of an embarrassment he considered her to be. She’d often thought her grandfather had considered her an embarrassment until he’d found a use for her.
“What odds? What ends?” he asked. “Just tell me you bought a new robe that you won’t trip over.”
She smiled. “Yes, I did, along with a few other things. Do you have plans for this weekend?”
Brock shrugged. “The usual,” he said. “Work.”
She nodded. “There’s always that.”
She noticed him lift his hand to a man across the room. She recognized the man as one of Brock’s executives, Logan Emerson. The man nodded at Brock, glanced at her, then looked away. She’d always had an odd feeling about Logan. Brock hadn’t discussed his hiring with her and she’d always wondered at Brock’s motivation for bringing him into such a high-profile position at Maddox. Logan had never seemed to fit in.
“How’s he doing with the other account reps now?” she asked.
“Fine,” Brock said. “I’ve altered his duties a bit in the last few days. I think that will work out better.”
“Oh, really?” she asked. “What will he be doing?”
“I’ve assigned him to work more closely with personnel and computer security,” he said as their meal arrived.
“Wow,” she said. “That’s a big switch from sales.”
He nodded but didn’t make any further comment and a possibility occurred to her. “Computer security,” she mused. “He always seemed better suited for security. So quiet, so determined to stay in the background—he could be a private investigator.”
Brock’s jaw twitched, but he still added nothing. It suddenly hit her. “He is a private investigator,” she said. “Was he the one who told you about me?”
Brock stabbed his fork into his meatloaf. “And if he was?” he asked her.
She bit her lip, feeling her appetite for the open-faced turkey sandwich disappear. She adjusted her paper napkin. “That’s why you wouldn’t talk about him with me,” she said. “Did you already suspect me?”
Brock set down his fork. “You were the last person I suspected,” he said, his eyes as turbulent as a stormy sea.
She felt a twist of guilt and looked away. “I was almost relieved when you found out,” she confessed in a low voice. “Being pregnant made it even worse. If it hadn’t been for my mother needing the experimental treatments—”
“What?” he asked, his voice hoarse. “What experimental treatments?”
She finally met his gaze. “I wasn’t sure if Logan might have known something about my mother’s illness,” she said. “My mother is taking experimental treatments that are very expensive. There’s no way she or I could afford them, and insurance wouldn’t cover them.”
“Are you saying that Athos agreed to pay for your mother’s treatments as long as you spied on me?”
A lump formed in her throat. “Yes, he did. I’m ashamed of it, but I didn’t feel as if I had any other choice. I couldn’t risk losing her. She’s all I’ve ever had.”
The sound of stainless steel clanging against plates and the conversation of the other diners was a roar compared to the absolute silence between them.
“Why didn’t you tell me your mother was sick?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I didn’t want to.” She closed her eyes, thinking back to the times she’d shared with Brock. “I didn’t want my time with you tainted with any of my problems. Those moments we shared together—it was like you and I were on a private island and nothing or no one could trespass.” She opened her eyes and took a deep breath. “Afterward, I had my work and you had yours, but that time together was precious. It had to be protected.”
Brock reached across the table, his hand covering hers. “I can take care of your mother’s medical treatments.”
She immediately shook her head, swallowing a quick taste of bitterness at the havoc her grandfather had created in her life. “No,” she said. “Let him pay. It’s the least he can do for all the trouble he has caused.”
Brock’s gaze gentled. “You’re lucky you have such a good relationship with your mother,” he said. “I admire your devotion to her.”
Five
After a long shower, Elle wrapped a towel around herself and ran the blow dryer through her hair. She would clip the tags off her new robe in just a moment, she promised herself, looking forward to the luxurious sensation of silk over her skin. She suspected there’d be no sensual pleasures in her near future. They were, after all, sleeping in separate rooms.
Closing her eyes and mind to her thoughts, she concentrated on the warm air dancing through her hair and over her shoulders. A few seconds passed and she opened her eyes, finding Brock standing in front of her, bare-chested with a small tray in one of his hands.
Startled, she dropped the dryer. “Oh, my,” she said, bending down to turn it off. As she leaned forward, her towel dropped to her waist. Swearing under her breath, she lifted it to cover her chest and stood.
“I knocked,” he said, his gaze sliding across her towel-covered body.
“I didn’t hear you,” she said, sensing awareness twist and turn between them. She felt heat rush to her face.
“I was downstairs and the housekeeper thought you might like some juice and cookies,” he said.
Elle smiled and took the small tray from him. Still holding on to her towel, she carefully set it on the dresser. “That was nice. She’s so sweet, but she fusses over me more than my mother.”
“Maybe because you’re so busy taking care of your mother,” he said.
“Maybe,” she said, too aware of his presence so close to her. She knew his body intimately. At the moment, he wore a pair of pajama bottoms that dipped below his ripped abs and belly button. She remembered sliding her hands over his wide shoulders while he kissed her deeply. It was all too easy to recall the sexy gasp he made when she touched him intimately.
“Elle,” Brock said. “What are you thinking right now?”
She bit her lip and looked away. “Nothing important. Nothing worth—”
He touched her arm and her denial stuck in her throat. It had been two weeks since they’d been intimate, and God help her, she’d missed him. Even through the morning sickness. She’d missed being with him, away from everything and everyone else.
“I can’t believe you still want me,” she whispered.
He pulled her toward him and the sensation of his strong chest against her nearly buckled her knees. She deliberately stiffened them.
“Why not?” he asked. He skimmed his hand down to the small of her back and pressed her into him.
The obvious strength of his arousal shocked her. She searched his gaze for clues to his emotions. “But after what I did,” she said. “How could—”
He moved his other hand up to the back of her head, sliding his fingers through her hair, tilting her head so that her mouth was completely accessible to him. “Let’s not overthink it.”
He lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her possessively. Should she be asking for more than sex? she wondered. Maybe not, she thought as his tongue slid past her lips and caressed hers. Maybe he was right. Maybe she should stop thinking and concentrate on feeling. What did she have to lose?
Dropping the towel, she lifted her hands to the back of his neck and surrendered to the moment.
Brock gave a low, barely audible growl and pushed the towel to the floor. When her bare breasts pressed against his chest, she sighed. He groaned. He slid one of his hands over her nipple and she gasped, feeling a correlating electricity between her legs.
“Problem?” he asked, rubbing his lips over hers.
“I’m more sensitive since I’m—” He rubbed her nipple again and she sucked in another breath as she felt herself grow swollen.
“Should I stop?”
“Oh, please, no,” she said, surprised at the speed of her arousal.
“Is this safe for you?” he asked, going completely still. “For the baby?”
She nodded. “The doctor said—” She licked her lips. “He said we can do anything we did before.”
Brock swore under his breath and lifted his hands to her face. “Damn my soul, but I’ve missed you,” he said and took her mouth in a sensual, ferocious kiss that matched the way she felt about him.
With each second that passed, she felt her temperature rise, her heart beat faster. She wanted more, so much more. Squeezing the muscles of his arms and drawing his tongue into her mouth, she couldn’t keep still. She wriggled against him and he slid his leg between hers, lifting it high between her thighs, rubbing her where she was already wet and aching.
She slid her hands down over his ribs to his flat abdomen and pushed her fingers beneath the waistband of his drawstring pants. Brock lifted his hand to her breasts, flicking his thumbs over her nipples.
The sensation made her dizzy. She pushed his pants over his hips, wanting more of him, craving ultimate closeness.
“It’s too fast,” he muttered as she closed her hand over his shaft.
“Not for me,” she said.
“Oh, Elle,” he said, picking her up in his arms and carrying her into his bedroom. He set her on his big bed and pushed his pants the rest of the way down. His gaze fixed on hers.
“You don’t know how many times I’ve dreamed about having you in my bed here,” he muttered and slid his hand between her thighs, finding her secret wetness. His mouth dipped to hers, his tongue taunting and exploring the same way his fingers were teasing her femininity, making her breathless and almost shockingly needy for him.
