“Do you appreciate the expectant form so much then?” she questioned mischievously.
“Only when it is by my doing, moja žena.”
Peeling the clothing from her, Drago kissed his way along her exposed skin, raising gooseflesh beneath his heated breath.
“Go to our room, milovnik. I'll join you in a minute.”
She retreated, casting the remaining articles of her clothing to the floor as she went.
Drago turned on the gas fireplace to banish the late October chill from the house and followed the seductive trail. He burned with desire, his arousal in full evidence beneath the thin material of his pants as he entered their bedroom.
Lounging on her side with a pillow hugged in her arms, Grace's partially revealed nakedness drew him closer as a moth to flame. Easing onto the bed, Drago brushed the hair from her face, trailing kisses over her jawline. He progressed slowly, concerned that in her condition he may cause her discomfort. Teasing her flesh with his mouth, his hands possessed her, his touch commanding yet tender until she writhed with pleading whimpers for more. He groaned, feeling her hands tug his shirt over his head before they pushed him away. Waiting, Drago watched her rise to her knees, freeing his aching arousal from the confines of his clothing and running her hand over his length. He slanted his mouth over hers, grinding his body against her, growling as she edged him to the brink of his control.
He could wait no longer. Drago eased her knees apart, the thick head of his erection seeking entrance to her honeyed sheath.
“Gracie,” he ground out, “I want you, žena, so badly, but I don't want to hurt you or the baby.”
His dark eyes searched hers, the ache in his body made plain in his tortured expression, but he found only shining softness in her returning gaze.
“Lie back, love. All is well,” she assured him.
He did as she asked, thinking she meant to ease his body with her mouth, and he closed his eyes and cursed himself inwardly for his selfish desires when his wife was so encumbered with his child. Startling as she moved over him, his eyes flew open as her lips covered his and her lush body slid down his throbbing erection. Pleasure gripped him, and he could not stop his hips from thrusting upward to meet her sweet descent.
Her moans of encouragement silenced his fears, her body's rhythm leading him to follow. Grasping her hips, he held her from sinking fully onto him, thrusting into her from beneath when she cried out in need. Discovering a new sensuality in watching her claim his body, Drago gloried in her pleasure, feeling her tighten deliciously around his length as she climaxed. Grace tumbled into ecstasy, the waves of her fulfillment gripping him fiercely, milking his seed from him. He plunged into her, his growl drowning out her cooing cries as they surrendered to one another's love.
Later, in front of the roaring fire, Grace reclined against Drago's chest contentedly as he caressed her swollen belly. The familiar kicks and rolls of the child within her seemed completely natural to Grace in this late stage of her pregnancy, and she laughed affectionately at her husband's fascination with watching patiently for his or her next movement. His hands would create gentle pressure as he informed her, “I'm going to wake up the baby.”
“Let's see how you feel about it when the baby returns the favor by waking you up throughout the night,” she retorted.
His low rumble of mirth rippled through her.
“I will bear the revenge without complaint, I assure you. However, your father may not appreciate his fighter dozing off between sparring sessions.”
“No, I suppose not,” she giggled at the thought. “We do need to do some shopping, Drago. We are very ill prepared parents.”
Her teasing tone brought another chuckle from Drago's throat.
“Yes, žena. I stand shamed before you.”
He paused, the easy silence offering a quiet peace as they stared into the firelight.
“I always thought our child would be born in Slovakia,” he said, breaking the silence.
“I did too,” she murmured her agreement. “But I think God has used all that happened to give my father the gift of being near to welcome his first grandchild and form a connection he would have missed out on had we returned home.”
She covered his hand.
“Are you disappointed, love?”
The press of his lips near her ear sent a tingling down her spine.
“Nie, milovany. As long as our child is born safely, it would not matter to me if we were in Siberia.”
“Our child...We keep referring to our child. It's time we discuss a name for the baby,” she announced.
“Do you have any in mind, žena?”
“Well, if it is a girl, I would like you to consider Elleni, after my mother.”
“This is a good name. Elleni Sarai it will be. But I must confess to you, Grace, I believe you carry my son this time.”
“This time?” she exclaimed, laughing in feigned protest. “What makes you think there will be a next time?”
His seductive, gravelly voice at her ear bespoke his utter confidence in his reply.
“Because I cannot keep my hands off you, moja žena, and you wouldn't have it any other way.”
Mmm, you know me too well, husband. Perhaps I should be more mysterious in the future.”
Again he murmured in her ear.
“And what would you have me name our son?”
She quieted, considering her response.
“If we have a son, you should name him.”
* * *
Daily Drago gained strength and stamina, and by the nearing of Christmas month's mid-point, he was training at pre-fight capacity.
“Push yourself! Come on! One more rep,” Ike encouraged, hovering over the weight bench.
Arms shaking with strain, the Slovak lowered the bar and pressed it toward the ceiling a final time, the audible hiss of air rushing from his mouth.
“That's it. You got it up!”
The bar clanked heavily against the steel rack. A few heaving breaths later, Drago sat up, toweling the sweat from his head.
“Down some water, Drago, before we drill the bag.”
Drago followed orders, smiling to himself. Allen Eisenhower was the epitome of a boot camp drill sergeant, but the man had a talent for producing men of iron. Doing as the man wanted was the surest way to be at the top of his game. And Souva was waiting.
Jogging to the heavy bag, Drago dropped to the mat and began the cycle. Twenty push-ups, then up on his feet to kick the bag on one of the three strike zones, drop back to the mat, up-kick twice, roll through and begin again. Eight times he completed the process, then he maneuvered the obstacle course which ran the length of the room on the left of the bag's alcove. Heaving the fifty pound medicine ball overhead five times, he dropped it to the mat and sprinted the twenty-five meters to the opposite end.
Ike clicked the stopwatch and barked, “Go,” beginning two minutes of heavy punching on another bag.
Upon hearing the signal to stop, Drago hiked his knees to his chest in a series of burst jumps before sprawling to the mat. The entire cyclical event was repeated time and again, and Drago's muscles burned with a desire for reprieve.
Denying the pain, the fatigue, he relentlessly urged his body to give one more jump, one more kick, one more minute, until Ike's hand clasped his shoulder.
“That's a wrap, Zadrovec, Run through a cool down and hit the shower.”
Soaked in sweat, Drago hopped on the treadmill. A jog commenced, slowing to a brisk walk at five minutes, and slowing further over the final five. Humming with energy, his body flooded with endorphins, Drago headed for the locker room.
A shower was going to feel fantastic.
Carson was dressing as Drago entered, and the men acknowledged one another with a nod. Peeling the sodden t-shirt and shorts from his body, Drago stepped into the shower stall's cooling spray, letting the jetted water massage his weary muscles in gratitude before his hurried lather and rinse. He was ready to go home. Tonight
, he and Grace were going to set up the crib in the newly renovated nursery and put up the Christmas tree.
A mere week or two from now, we will welcome our son, but I must not spoil the surprise.
The visit to Dr. Haviland the week before had been most enlightening. Grace had a routine sonogram at the hospital the previous week, and Dr. Haviland had requested a DVD copy.
“Be warned you two. If you watch the DVD, the baby's sex is revealed at the bottom of the screen, so if you don't want to know, don't watch!”
Amusement had twinkled in his old eyes.
“There's a fine temptation for you to wrestle with.”
Drago hadn't wrestled a minute before knowing his answer. He would watch it, of course. But Grace had other ideas. She didn't want to ruin the surprise of the moment, and because of that, he indulged her with purchases of yellow, white, and green for the nursery when what he wanted was to shout from the roof tops.
It's a boy!
And order a wrestling singlet in infant small.
In fact, he held two secrets in his heart, the other being his son's name. No matter how she pressed him, he told her in no uncertain terms that he would only reveal his name if the occasion called for it. He knew the suspense drove her to distraction, and he was enjoying it.
Turning off the faucet, he reached to the hook only to discover that he had forgotten to grab a towel.
“Carson,” he called, “Are you still here?”
“Yep. What do you need?”
“Can you grab me a towel?”
“Sure thing,” Carson called back.
One, then two minutes passed, and Drago wondered if Khaler had forgotten him. He heard the door open, and Carson appeared with a stack of towels.
“Sorry about that. The shelf was bare. That Aiden fellow forgot to stock the towels up.”
“Aiden forgets a great deal of his responsibilities,” Drago noted dryly. “It causes me to wonder how long the man will remain in Anto's employ.”
Carson roared with laughter.
“Be careful. If Anto cans him, he'll be offering Grace her old job back. Then he'll be running a daycare instead of a mixed martial arts gym.”
Drago laughed at the spectacle his mind envisioned.
“Perhaps you are right, Carson. I'll keep quiet.”
Strangely, Drago found himself appreciating Carson's presence as of late.
“Carson, what will you be doing for the holiday?”
Carson cast his glance off to the side.
“Well, I've got everything ready for Christmas morning. It'll just be Kady and me.”
“You have no family nearby?” Drago asked in surprise.
The snort of mock laughter tumbled from Carson.
“My parents are spending Christmas with friends in St. Croix. They're not exactly, let us say, baby oriented people.”
Drago truly felt sorry for the man.
“Why don't you spend the holiday with us? I know Guy would be glad to have you with us.”
“Thank you. Really. It would be nice to spend Christmas day with friends.”
Drago could see that his offer affected the man greatly.
“Church service is at ten o'clock in the morning, and from there we will go to Guy's home. I guess we'll see you there?”
A sheepish grin lit Carson's face.
“Me? In a church? The walls may fall in. Are you sure about this?”
“Without a doubt, Khaler.”
Drago grinned and slapped Carson on the back.
* * *
The sky had been bright, the air cold and crisp through the afternoon, but as evening wore on, low, gray clouds began to cover the stars.
“There!” Grace exclaimed with a smug smile. “The tree is perfect.”
Drago, reclining on the sofa, appraised the tree and its trimmings.
“It looks good...even for an artificial tree,” he admitted.
“I knew it would! I wanted to get it up before the baby comes, but a real tree may not have lasted until Orthodox Christmas,” she beamed.
A few raps on the door preceded Guy's entering the house.
“Is anybody in there?” Guy called from the foyer.
The thud of his boots hitting the tile floor reached Grace's ears, and she called back to him.
“You're staying awhile then?”
“Do you have something hot for an old man's insides?”
“Of course,” she returned.
“Then, yes,” he laughed.
“What brings you out at this time of night?” Drago asked.
It was after nine o'clock, and it was odd for him to come at such an hour. Guy sat on the edge of the sofa beside Drago.
“Have you heard the weather forecast?”
Drago rarely turned on the television, believing that in staring at it, one wasted precious time, a conviction shared by his wife. Other than to occasionally get the news, the sleek, black box remained hidden behind the doors of the cherry-stained cabinet in the corner.
“I have not.”
“Put the television on. The news will be on soon,” Guy stated. “I heard snow, lots of it, is coming our way.”
The band of blue at the bottom of the screen announced the winter weather advisory, and the men read with interest as Grace returned with steaming mugs.
“An ice storm tonight, then heavy snow beginning tomorrow. Looks like I've got my work cut out for me when I finish this,” Guy said seriously, taking up the mug. “I'll have to get the barn set for the animals before the bad weather sets in.”
“I'll give you a hand,” Drago offered.
“Thanks. I'll need it. With ice coming, we'd better get the kerosene heaters ready. Likely, if it's as bad as they're predicting, the power will be knocked out. You can light the gas fireplaces manually, but the kitchen doesn't have one.”
“Isn't there a generator in the garage also?” Drago wondered, thinking that he had seen one before.
“There is. We'll need to pick up some gasoline. Better to be safe than sorry. With the heat taken care of and the gas stove, we'll be fine even without power. Grace, do you need anything from the store while we go for kerosene and gasoline?”
“No, Dad. Drago and I went earlier. Now I see why the shelves were so bare!”
They finished their drinks in the cozy guest house before Guy and Drago headed out.
“I'll be back after we finish the barn, Grace,” Drago told her. “If you're tired, don't wait up for me.”
“Wake me when you get in, okay?” she requested, knowing she would be in bed long before he returned.
“I will, žena.”
* * *
Rain pelted the windows and roof relentlessly as the night passed, turning to icy pellets in the early morning hours. Drago had returned, wet and frozen to the bone, but satisfied.
They were prepared to weather the winter storm.
After a scalding shower, he slipped into bed and wrapped himself around his wife.
“Milovany, I am home,” he whispered into the darkness, but Grace was sound asleep.
Shortly afterward, Drago was as well.
Hours later, Drago awakened to find himself alone in the bed. Donning a thermal shirt and sweatpants, he went in search of Grace, the aroma of bacon leading him to the kitchen.
“I cannot believe I'm up before the alarm this morning,” he said in astonishment.
“You're not,” Grace quipped. “There's no gym for you or anybody today. Actually, there's no anything. My Dad called earlier. I thought I'd let you sleep.”
“Anto canceled?”
His brow arched in disbelief.
“Take a look outside, if you can. I couldn't get the storm door open. There must be two inches of ice on everything,” she laughed. “I can't believe the power is still on.”
The news droned from the television in the living room, drawing Drago to learn what was to come as Grace continued to prepare breakfast.
“Grace!” he beckoned her, “Come in, hurr
y!”
The weatherman gravely advised that no one go out as a State of Emergency had been declared. Many homes had lost power, and roads were impassable, iced over. Sleet rained over the Atlantic coast, effectively shutting down much of New Jersey and eastern Pennsylvania, and would continue a few hours more. But the real problem was that behind this storm was another. Blizzard conditions were predicted to assault the area by early afternoon, and snow fall totals were expected to reach well over twenty-four inches by Monday morning, forty-eight hours away.
Drago sat, stunned, as reports of Philadelphia's devastation under the heavy ice flashed across the screen. Much of the city was without power, leaving over half a million people without heat.
Thank you, God, for watching over us. Please help those people, he prayed.
The sobering reality of how blessed he was to be warm, dry, and safe, prompted him to pull Grace close as they waited for more information. Her face was ashen as she saw the reality of the storm's devastation.
After a few minutes, she urged, “Come on. Let's eat. I don't want to watch anymore.”
They lost power an hour later, the wind screeching around the house and across the fields in a violent wail, driving the snow in its gusting path. From the warmth of the log home nestled well within the boundaries of Antolini property, Drago stared out the kitchen window in awe of nature's power. Not able to see the treeline in the distance through the whirling frenzy, he simply watched the white curtain of snow shift direction in the wild wind for a time.
Pushing his chair back from the table, he stretched.
“I'm going to fill the generator in case we need it later.”
“While you do that, I think I'll take a nap,” Grace said. “After all that work last night, I'm beat today.”
He kissed the top of her head.
“I won't be long.”
Chapter 20
From the sofa, Drago followed the news updates on the storm from his phone, which was half dead. Tucking it away to save the battery, he noticed his wife shuffling out from the bedroom.
“Did you sleep well?”
She yawned.
“Yes. But I don't think I moved the entire time. My back is killing me.”
“Come over here, moja žena. I'll massage it.”
Claiming The Prize Page 22
