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It's News to Her

Page 17

by Helen R. Myers


  “Oh, I can feel it. It’s been hard for her, even though Henry has been gone fifteen months now.” Hunter stroked his chest. “Sounds like you’re going to have a full waiting room to help you pace.”

  He slid her a speaking glance, and she knew why. While they had taken natural childbirth lessons together, he was the worrywart where the delivery was concerned. She thought the easiest thing would be for him not to go through it. He was having none of that.

  “I can sweat blood for you and coach, thank you very much,” he’d said.

  As they exited the building, the autumn-night air whirled around them, tugging at their clothes and hair and peppering them with leaves off the trees that lined the street. Hunter felt the excitement of the city and took a deep breath, finding this time of year energizing. Spotting Lane and Phil waiting for them, she began a penguin pantomime. Both men struggled to keep a straight face.

  “Evening, ma’am,” Phil drawled.

  “Good to see you in fine spirits, Mrs. Rivers,” Lane said, one eye on her and one eye on passersby.

  And then they were on their way. This was a new limousine, the latest in construction, gimmicks and security. Hunter didn’t want to know what it cost. What she did know was that Cord had ordered it because she would be riding in it with him. The best part was that once the door was shut, he put up the window and curtain between them and the front seat and reached for her.

  His first kiss after they’d been apart for more than a day almost always brought tears to her eyes. She knew those periods were as tough on him as they were on her. She did a whole visual inventory to make sure he wasn’t hiding any shaving or paper cuts and that his eyes weren’t beyond bloodshot from sleepless nights.

  “Did all of your meetings go well?” she asked.

  Cord slid his hand inside her light coat and caressed her belly. “I can’t remember. I ditched them from my mind the minute we headed for the airport.” Then he leaned over to croon at her tummy. “Hey, Little You. Are you giving your mommy too much of a hard time?”

  “He’s already a gifted handler, like his daddy,” Hunter said. “I’m probably ruining his DNA. He sleeps when I’m in meetings and on the air. If I’m on the phone with a politician who’s trying to blow me off with bureaucratic doublespeak, he rubs his foot against the inside of my belly as though saying, ‘Chill, Mommy. He only won his election by 400 votes.’”

  Watching her, his smile beatific, Cord slid his hand upward to cover her breast. “You can’t blame him for loving the sound of your voice. So do I.”

  Hunter heard, but then didn’t hear because his caresses were doing what they always did to her. She leaned her forehead against his and sighed in pleasure. “I miss you that way, too. Maybe we can share that bubble bath?” she entreated.

  Cord groaned and locked his mouth to hers to let her know how much he appreciated that thought. “You remember what the doctor said. That part of things is on hold until your sixth week check-up after delivery.” But that didn’t keep him from lowering his mouth to her breast. Then he slid his hand under her skirt and between her thighs. “We’ve done all right improvising, haven’t we?” he rasped. “It’s all good.”

  It was and the best part was that every day their love deepened. “It’s all good,” she began to reassure him, then her breath caught. “Or—oh! Not?”

  Cord was immediately alert. “What is it? Hunter?”

  When the cramp finally eased, Hunter started to laugh breathlessly. “I guess no bubble bath for me tonight.”

  He froze, looked down to her belly and back up at her bemused face. “It’s begun?”

  “I’ve been having subtle contractions for a while. They’re not bad yet, but the one I just had tells me that’s about to change.”

  “Darling.” He framed her face with his and kissed her soundly. Then he leaned forward to rip open the curtains and lower the window. “Gentlemen, there needs to be a slight adjustment to our destination.

  “Hospital?” Lane asked, glancing back at Hunter.

  Phil was already observing her in the rearview mirror. “Hospital.”

  Two hours and fifty minutes later, Brendan Harding Rivers joined their happiness. Cord noted that he had both of his parents’ lush, dark hair, his mother’s warm, brown eyes and his daddy’s nose and mouth. Cord couldn’t stop looking at him—or exhausted but radiant Hunter.

  “I can’t believe you did this,” he said, not willing to let go of her hand or to stop staring at Brendan in Hunter’s arms. He’d even made it through delivery without passing out cold and embarrassing Hunter.

  “I detest the overuse of amazing, but isn’t he just?” Hunter whispered.

  “The beginning of a new dynasty.”

  “Dynasty! That’s news to me,” Hunter said with some worry. “He might not want to be in our business. He might want to invent things or heal people.”

  “Look at that mouth—he’s already trying to talk.” But Cord wasn’t about to upset Hunter. Next to her heart, she’d just given him the greatest gift of all. “Thank you, my love.”

  “Thank you,” Hunter replied, stroking his cheek. “I so hate that you’ll have to go home to an empty loft tonight.”

  “Are you kidding?” he scoffed. “I’m not letting either of you out of my sight. I’m going to stay right in that chair over there…when I’m not walking down to the nursery to check on this little guy.”

  After a soft laugh, she asked, “Will you think to remember to make a few important phone calls to waiting family, too?”

  Kissing her softly, he murmured, “That I can do.”

  ISBN: 978-1-4592-0806-3

  IT’S NEWS TO HER

  Copyright © 2011 by Helen R. Myers

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario M3B 3K9, Canada.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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