Baby Maker

by P. Dangelico

  Dane shifts in his seat, leaning back. “No.” He smiles stiffly.

  She giggles. “Playing hard to get?”

  His head tilts, cynicism written in his phony expression of amusement. I know what’s coming next, he’s gearing up for his country boy routine.

  “I’m in love, darlin’. Love, love, love. I aim to be her husband and I’m a one-woman kinda guy. She’s life for me. Get it?”

  Love? My knees almost buckle.

  “I’m just looking for a little fun. Nothing more,” she fake whines.

  I watch with rapt attention as the blonde walks her fingers up his thigh. His hand shoots out and wraps around her slender wrist, stopping her progress to his groin. It’s then I notice the big rock she’s wearing, so large it’s hanging off to the side of her hand.

  “I said no,” he grinds out, his jaw ready to crumble under the pressure.

  I know this man. I know what’s in his heart. I know what’s in his soul. I didn’t need proof of his devotion, but I’m not going to lie, it feels damn good to witness.

  He scoffs, eyes narrowed at her. “You know, it’s women like you that made me lose faith in all women.”

  “Then why get married? It’s obvious you’re not the marrying type,” she says in a voice that screams let’s stop talking and get naked. “No offense.”

  Pushing her off, he stands. Legs squared, body rigid, he looks even bigger, his anger fueling a growth spurt.

  “’Cause she restored it. And you’re right about me not being the marrying type. I’ve never even been remotely tempted until I met her.” He yanks the makeup bib from around his neck and throws it down on the chair.

  I step into the doorway and they both turn to face me. At any other time in my life I would’ve been mildly uncomfortable standing before this attractive woman sporting the pooch, the demented hair, and the ratty sweatshirt. But not today, not anymore. Because today the man she was trying to seduce is staring at me with such undisguised lust and longing on his gorgeous freaking face that it makes me want to weep. As a matter of fact, here come the tears.

  The blonde, whoever she is, puts two and two together and lowers her eyes in guilt. “Excuse me,” she mutters, scooting past me and out of his dressing room.

  The world suddenly gets small, only him and me and the love between us. The air crackling with anticipation, with the promise of something magical.

  I’m a pragmatist, always have been. I’m not prone to bouts of whimsy. I don’t harbor any romantic notions. But this moment…I’m pretty sure it’s moments such as this one that incited Rumi, and Neruda, and Helen Fielding to write.

  The weight of Dane’s stare keeps me anchored in place while he slowly walks toward me.

  “It’s true. All of it.” The rasp. The rasp is back. “I’m not playin’ with you anymore. This Mexican standoff ends right now.” His hand slashes through the air. “I’m crazy about you. I’m thirty-five years old and I…” He sucks in a breath, hand over his heart, nostrils flaring. “I’m in love for the first time in my life. I’ve…I’ve never felt like thiii––”

  I launch myself, hooking my arms around his neck, my legs around his waist, holding back nothing. There’s no way I can wait another minute to hug him and kiss him and shower him with love. There’s no man more deserving.

  While his hands grip my ass, squeezing and pressing me against the growing bulge under his trousers, I sink my hands in his hair and kiss him with everything I’ve got. For being the man I never could’ve imagined he could be. For being everything I want and need. For being mine and only mine.

  “I’m thirty-four years old and I’m in love for the first time in my life…” I manage to say, voice cracking. “And I’m crazy about you too.”

  The tension drains out of his body. He kisses me then. Soft and sweet. So sweet.

  “I can carry the load, Dane. I can do it all by myself––”

  “I know you can, baby,” he murmurs close to my lips. Dane’s thumb gently runs across my cheek, wiping away the last of my tears. “You’re my Wonder Woman.”

  “But I don’t want to,” I’m quick to add. “I really don’t want to.”

  “And you don’t have to. Let me carry your load.”

  If it were at all possible for me to love this man any more right now, I would. Which it isn’t. Not when he already owns all of me. Every hope and desire, every fear and insecurity. I’ve turned them all over to him, to remain in his safekeeping for as long as he wants them. And I hope it’s forever.

  “Okay,” I say, exhaling all the worry I’ve been carrying since the moment he proposed. “And I’ll carry some of yours.”

  “That’s a great plan,” he replies, his deep voice loaded with dry amusement. “We’ll carry each other’s loads.”

  Laughter rises up, as it always does when I’m with him. Because he’s taught me to find joy where I never saw any before. To be present in the moment. I don’t want to miss anything…not when I’m having the time of my life.

  He grins, wide, bright and full of hope. His lips are about a hair’s breadth from pressing against mine when he stops. “I love you. I love you so much, Stel. Will you marry me?”

  “Yes,” I say holding his precious face in my hands. “Even though it’ll make me sound like a porn star, I’d be honored to be your Mrs. Wylder. No hyphens necessary.”

  A dark-blond eyebrow arches wickedly. “Speaking of which, let’s go home and practice.”

  “Don’t you have to shoot your segment?”

  “I’m not cut out to sit behind a desk.”

  “Then I’d love nothing more.” My fingers rake through his stubborn hair. He breathes in deeply, his lashes fluttering. “Except you, baby,” I happily admit. “I love you the most.”

  “Glad that’s settled. Now be still while I kiss you.”

  And I do as I’m told. Because this man is worth it.

  Epilogue

  Stella

  I hear, “Hmm,” coupled with a deep exhale. Big hands squeeze my boobs, which are ridiculously swollen and sensitive. I bite my bottom lip and breathe through it, preparing myself for what comes next. A hard, long object rubs up against my butt.

  “Dane, wake up.”

  More masculine grunting. The hand moves down…down…down…his fingers brush back and forth between my legs and now I’m sweating and panting. I don’t want to be turned on. I don’t have time to be turned on. This is the big day and there’s lots to do. Those same busy fingers exploring between my legs push down my underwear.

  “Mashmmmummfff.”

  “Dane––wake up.”

  “Wuuu?”

  “Are you awake?”

  “Hmm, am now.”

  “You almost impaled me in your sleep again.”

  “Mmm, I did?” Those fingers get busy again and a soft kiss mysteriously lands on my neck. I chuckle and he scoots closer, rolling his hips against my butt. The man has many talents but lying isn’t one of them.

  “We can’t. We don’t have time.”

  “Gimme two minute and I’ll make it worth your precious time.”

  “I don’t know how you ever passed math. Your idea of two minutes is closer to twenty.”

  “So you don’t want me to do this?” the sexy manipulator intones. I gasp and press harder into what his skilled hands are doing. “Or this?”

  “Stop talking and hurry up, damn you.”

  “Maaaa!”

  Bang bang bang. The knob of our locked bedroom door rattles. Yeah, we read all those parenting books that tell you not to do that. Then we threw them all in the trash and came up with our own rulebook

  “Nicholas put his boogers on me again!” a seven-year-old shouts.

  “Fuuuuuuck,” my husband whisper-growls.

  “No, I didn’t! He’s lying, Ma!! And…shut up. I’m tellin’. Mommy! Jacob spilled juice on the couch!” says the six-year-old.

  “Fuuuuck,” I whisper growl back.

  “Mommy, Nicholas hit me!”
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br />   “That’s enough!” comes booming from the man lying next to me.

  “I’ll be out in a minute. I’m getting dressed.” It won’t be a minute, not even close.

  We lie to the kids a lot. I know, you’re not supposed to do that either, but you try dealing with my boys. True to his word, Dane spawned a couple of hell raiser. Although in his defense they are terribly cute and sweet when they’re tired.

  Dane rubs my swollen belly. Then he leans down and kisses it. “Lord, I know you and I don’t talk much but I beg you––show a man some mercy and let this one be a girl. I’ll do anything, God, anything.”

  “Feels like a boy, babe.” Gold-flecked hazel eyes lift to meet mine. At the pained expression, I add, “I’m sorry.”

  “Let’s think positive. And if my prayers aren’t answered we can always…” He sighs tiredly. “I dunno…quietly put him up for adoption? Maybe we can do a baby swap with a nice couple livin’ in China.”

  “Mooommmy!” More rattling of the knob.

  “Maybe not…it could be construed as an act of war,” my husband groans. And then I laugh, deep belly laughing, as I’m prone to do around him.

  Time has only made him better, distilled all his wonderful qualities. He found balance in his new careers, splitting his time between running the foundation and as a football analyst for the networks. The desk didn’t work, but he’s television gold reporting from the sidelines.

  As for me, I found everything I needed in the people I love, in the nonprofit I founded, in helping people that were once like me and my family––in desperate need.

  I brush the hair out of his eyes. “Are you nervous?”

  He smiles back at me, and shakes his head. The Gladiators are retiring his number today, the gold jacket calling from the near future.

  “Is it like being knighted? Do I call you Sir, now?”

  “Only in bed.”

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you,” I murmur, sinking my fingers into his thick hair and pulling his lips to mine.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  I’d like to know who came up with the idiom “falling in love.” Falling implies losing your stride, stumbling, crashing. When in fact it you don’t fall at all, you grow in it. And I had grown. I’ve become a better person for it. A better mother, a better mate, a better me. Growing in love with Dane Wylder is the single most important thing I’ve done in my life.

  We didn’t need marriage to keep us together––the love that thrives between us would’ve carried us well into old age––but that certificate is a testament to the choices we’ve made. I carry his name proudly. I choose him. And I’d do it again every day for the rest of our lives.

  Acknowledgments

  Releasing a book and getting it in the hands of readers takes a small nation of people. I’ve come to believe it’s easier to actually write one than it is to market it.

  For this reason and others, I have a few people to thank. To the lovely bloggers who were with me from the start—Carol of Beauty and the Beastley Books, Francoise’s Reading Corner, Veronika’s Reader Feeder, and Sissy’s Romance Book Review thank you from the bottom of my heart for all your support and kind words. You guys rock.

  Nina Grinstead, publicist extraordinaire and fairy godmother…you had me at hello. I can breathe easy about the future.

  Chanpreet Singh, my stubborn guardian angel, I am forever in your debt for introducing me to my fairy godmother.

  Najla Qamber, I thank you for being the most patient woman on the planet––and for my beautiful covers.

  And a great big thank you to the readers who took a chance on a no name author in a sea of choice. Without you, this wouldn’t be nearly as much fun.

  And yes, co-parenting websites and forums are very much a real thing.

  xo Paola

  About the Author

  P. Dangelico loves romance in all forms, pulp, the NY Jets, and to while away the day at the barn (apparently she does her best thinking shoveling horse poop). What she’s not enamored with is referring to herself in the third person and social media. Although she was born in Milan Italy, she’s been Jersey Strong since she turned six.

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  www.pdangelico.com