by Reese Ryan
He honestly hadn’t drawn her a bath as a prelude to taking her to bed. He’d done it because it was something she missed. And after their long drive from Nashville and the delicious meal she’d made for them, it was his way of showing his appreciation.
But he couldn’t tear his gaze away from her lips. Couldn’t stop wanting her.
With one hand, she still clutched the towel around her. With the other, she grabbed his shirt and pulled him closer as she lifted onto her toes.
He leaned down and claimed her mouth with a hungry, raw kiss, his tongue gliding along hers.
His arms slipped around her waist, though he was careful of her belly, which was pressed against him.
Sloane let the towel slip to the floor, and his hands glided along her silky, smooth skin. He caressed the curve at the small of her back, gripped her firm bottom.
He’d appreciated the undulating curves of her fit body six months ago. But now her curves were fuller—her belly firm and round, her hips and bottom wider than they were before. And her full breasts with their darkened peaks and larger areolae were the most sensual things he’d ever seen.
The remarkable changes to her body made her sexier. Every one of those changes, and the babies growing inside her, had stemmed from the seed he’d planted six months before.
Nothing he’d ever done had made him feel more powerful than this. Knowing he’d started life inside her.
She tugged his shirt free from his pants, and her hands roamed his bare chest. Her thumb flicked his nipple, making him painfully hard.
He groaned against her mouth.
“I want you.” Her warm breath skittered against his skin.
“You know I want you, Sloane, but you’re hormonal.” He’d spent the plane ride between Florida and Nashville reading about what to expect during pregnancy. “I don’t want to do anything you’ll regret in the morning.”
Her eyes twinkled, and one edge of her mouth turned up in a naughty smile that did wicked things to his body.
“I promise you, I won’t regret it.” She broke away from him and headed toward the bedroom, calling over her shoulder. “And neither will you.”
The last vestige of his control snapped when she turned and strode into his bedroom wearing nothing but the ink on her brown skin. She sat on the edge of his bed, one leg crossed over the other.
“I’m the only one naked. There’s something very wrong with this picture.” Her dark eyes flashed.
He couldn’t disagree.
Benji stripped out of his clothing, titillated by Sloane’s obvious admiration as she watched him.
He stepped forward, following her as she scooted up the bed and lay on her back, drinking in his hungry gaze.
Benji kissed Sloane before trailing kisses down her neck and chest. He worshipped the hard, fat brown peaks, laving them with his tongue as she writhed beneath him. He palmed the heavy globes, sucking on her beaded tips until she moaned with pleasure.
He kissed his way down her body and over her belly. There was honestly nothing sexier than Sloane Sutton in all her pregnant glory.
Benji kissed her mound, shielded by a patch of dark curls. He tasted her, reveling in her scent and her escalating whimpers as he teased her with his tongue.
She rested her hands on either side of his head and moved against his mouth. He gripped her thighs, opening her wide as he varied the speed, pressure and placement of his tongue. Sloane’s body tensed, then she cried out his name. Her body trembled and her core pulsed.
The sight was enough to make a weaker man come undone.
He climbed up beside Sloane and held her with her back pressed against his chest. Benji buried his nose in her damp hair, losing himself in the warmth and fragrance of her soft skin. He inhaled the notes of lavender, bergamot and frankincense.
“You’ve always been beautiful, Sloane, but never more than you are right now.” He kissed her ear, resting one hand above her belly and the other below it on the other side.
“Funny, because I feel like a double-wide trailer.” She laughed, placing her hands over his. “But I do appreciate your willingness to pretend otherwise.”
“I’ve never lied to you, Sloane. So trust me when I tell you that your body is amazing.”
She turned to face him. “Really?”
“Really.” He kissed her.
“Good.” She climbed on top of him, planting her hands on his chest. “Because I need to feel you inside me, Benji.”
His palm rested on the tattoo on her hip as she guided him to her entrance. Her eyes fluttered, and her breath hitched as she sank down, taking him deeper.
The sensation of being buried in her wet heat sent waves of electricity up his spine. They moved together, their pace building, until they’d both found their release.
He held her in his arms, hoping this was the first step to convincing her to stay.
Five
Benji rolled over and threw one arm across his face to shield it from the sunlight creeping in through the window. It had been a month since Sloane had moved in. He loved sharing his home with her and having her in his bed at night. But each night, after he’d fallen asleep, Sloane returned to her own bed. No matter how many times he’d invited her to stay.
There was a knock at his bedroom door. “Benj, can I come in?”
It was a funny question, when he’d never wanted her to leave his bed in the first place.
“Yeah,” he grumbled. He turned onto his stomach and calculated how many more minutes of sleep he could squeeze in before his 9:00 a.m. business call. “Come in.”
She practically waddled into the room, her full stomach visible before he caught a glimpse of her lovely face. Her odd expression alarmed him.
He sat up quickly, wiping the sleep from his eyes. “Is everything okay?”
“I’m fine.” She pressed a hand to her forehead. “But there’s a guy here who claims to be trying out for a chef position.”
“Shit.” Benji looked at his watch. He’d forgotten that he’d set up an appointment with a personal chef. He was supposed to be cooking them breakfast right now. “His name is Marcellus. Can you show him in and tell him to get started?”
A loud clang came from the kitchen.
“Sounds like he’s already setting up.” Her tone and expression registered annoyance.
“Something wrong?”
“No, of course not.” The twist of her mouth contradicted her words.
“Remember our deal. You be straight with me, and I promise to do the same.” Benji patted the bed beside him and stretched while she tried to find a position that was comfortable. “So what’s with the face? You don’t like Marcellus?”
“I don’t have any reason not to like him. I don’t know him. Which is why it’s kind of weird to have him in my...our kitchen, cooking my breakfast.”
He chuckled. “You don’t share the same opinion about Caitlin coming in twice a week to tidy up and do the laundry.”
“True,” she conceded. “But having someone else clean the bathrooms and fold the laundry doesn’t feel like an assault on my domestic skills.”
“You’re insulted that I hired Marcellus? I thought you’d be thrilled.”
“Tell me the truth. Is my cooking that bad? I mean, I know I probably lean a little too heavily on the chicken surprise casserole, but it’s good, isn’t it?”
“It’s delicious, babe. It’s just not much of a surprise anymore.” He chuckled, pulling her into his arms and kissing her cheek. “I just thought it was important that we add some variety to our diet. Make sure that you and the twins are getting some balanced nutrition.”
“You’re right. I’ve got a dozen cookbooks. I can find something else to cook.”
“I’ve watched you in the kitchen cooking. You get tired and your back hurts from standing.” He rubbed her back, a
nd she practically cooed with pleasure and melted against him. He kissed her ear, then her jaw. “Let me do this for you.” He added with a big smile, “For us.”
“Ha, ha, ha.” She punched him in the gut. “Fine. I’ll eat Marcellus’s cooking. But I don’t have to like it.”
“Fair enough. And if you don’t, we’ll send him packing. But give him a fair chance. Say...two weeks?”
“Okay.” She shuffled toward the door.
“Where are you going?” He caught her hand in his, hoping to talk her into sleeping in with him for a few more minutes.
“If we’re having company for breakfast, I’d like to look a little less like a disaster.” She indicated the peanut-butter-and-jelly stain on her robe.
“Speaking of company... Blake and Savannah have been trying to get us to come to dinner for the past two weeks. Savannah’s starting to think you don’t like her.”
“I don’t dislike her. I just don’t know that I’m ready to be paraded through town like the resident harlot.”
“You’re not being fair, Sloane. Give them a chance. I don’t think folks here are nearly as judgmental as you believe.”
“I’ll consider it.” Sloane shrugged. “Have you decided when we’ll get started on the twins’ room?”
Home improvement wasn’t his gift. And what was the point of being a billionaire if you still had to do all of the tasks you hated yourself? But Sloane didn’t see it that way. She wanted the twins’ room to be special and bear their personal touch.
“Which reminds me...” He reached into the bedside stand and dug out his wallet. “There’s a new interior decorator in town. She’s looking to build her portfolio and she has some really great ideas for the twins’ room.” He handed her a business card.
Sloane’s expression sank as she studied the card. “I know you don’t think I can paint the room myself, which I totally could, by the way.”
“What part of ‘no strenuous activity’ are you not getting, Sloane Sutton?”
“You didn’t seem to mind last night when I was on top.”
Her defiant gaze made him want to both spank her and toss her onto the bed and make love to her. Right now, he wasn’t sure which feeling was more dominant.
Benji climbed out of bed, determined to keep his cool. “You’re not painting the room and I suck at stuff like that. Cole is sending over one of his guys as soon as he can.”
“I know this won’t be your permanent home, but the twins will be in that room for at least a year. It’s where they’ll begin their lives. I want it to be special.”
“Of course you do, and it will be, I promise.” He picked up his phone and opened his calendar. His schedule was clear for the afternoon. “Tell you what. Why don’t we do some shopping for Beau and Bailey this afternoon? We’ll drive into Gatlinburg and go to the mall. When we get back, Marcellus will have dinner ready.”
“Okay.” She didn’t look nearly as thrilled about the prospect as he’d hoped, but at least she wasn’t talking about painting anymore.
* * *
Sloane sat on the floor in the middle of what would eventually become the twins’ room. She looked around at the shiplap walls and the window that overlooked a pretty wooded area.
Benji had the movers remove the guest bed and store it in a shed out back. The twins’ cribs, still in their boxes, rested against the wall. Sloane put more of the adorable little graphic onesies on hangers and hung them in the closet. All of the clothing on the left side of the closet was for Bailey, all of the clothing on the right for Beau. A growing stash of baby toys, furniture and other items lined the floor of the closet. Pairs of little shoes were on the shelf above.
Sloane sat in the chair in the center of the closet. Benji had insisted she keep it there after she made the mistake of sitting on the carpeted floor, sorting clothes, and then required his help to get up.
She’d been living with Benji in the cabin for the past six weeks. They’d eaten breakfast and dinner together every day, and thanks to Marcellus’s mouthwatering culinary skills, she didn’t have to cook or do the dishes. Sloane didn’t have to do any major cleaning, thanks to Caitlin. And she’d had time to binge-watch all of the shows she’d missed when she was working crazy hours for the past few years. She should be a completely content lady of leisure.
Then why was she bored out of her mind?
The babies would be here soon enough, and they’d keep her busy. Her mother had reminded her often enough how “lucky” she was to be with a man who “was swimming in cash” and adored her and their unborn babies. As if she’d hit the lotto.
But she wasn’t “with” Benji. True, they lived together temporarily. And they’d slept together frequently. But she’d always returned to her own bed. They weren’t a couple, and this wasn’t a fairy tale. When the calendar turned on the twins’ first birthday, they would go their separate ways.
She wasn’t like her mother. She wouldn’t rely on one man or another to take care of her and the twins. Sloane had made it on her own just fine before. Once she could find another job, she’d do it again.
A tightness gripped her and she gasped. She rubbed her hand in a circle on her abdomen.
The discomfort was unlike anything she’d felt before.
“No need to be alarmed.” She whispered the words under her breath.
It was probably just more Braxton Hicks contractions. She hadn’t felt them in a while. Not since Benji had appointed himself her personal water and nutrition dictator. Still, she glanced at her fitness watch. She needed to make note of the time, just in case it happened again.
She got up and moved back into the twins’ room, opened a box of diapers and began stacking them in the pretty changing table they’d purchased the week before.
The walls still hadn’t been painted, nor had the cribs been assembled. But the room was slowly beginning to take shape. Besides, they still had more than a month to get everything done.
Another bout of pain racked her, taking her breath and nearly making her drop to her knees. She stumbled forward, her weight on the changing station as she gathered herself. She looked at her watch. It’d been a little over ten minutes since the last one. Her new OB, Dr. Miller, had advised her to call him if she had four or more contractions in an hour—a possible indication of preterm labor, which could be dangerous for her and the babies. If the contractions continued at this rate, she’d call Dr. Miller, just to be safe.
She inhaled deeply, her eyes drifting closed, and slowly released her breath. As she did, she tried hard to let go of the tension and stress that built in her chest.
Sloane put aside the diapers she’d been stacking and went to the kitchen to get a glass of water. She poured the glass and downed it, quickly pouring another for herself. She checked her watch. Just a few more seconds and she’d know whether the contractions were coming at a consistent clip.
She howled, dropping the glass, which crashed to the floor and shattered. Her eyes watered from the intensity of the contraction.
Sloane drew in a long, slow breath through her nose and released it.
Benji had flown to New York for a meeting and was scheduled to be back later in the day. He’d suggested that her mother stay with her during his three-day trip. Or that she stay at Blake and Savannah’s house in his absence. But she’d grown tired of being fussed over and treated like she was incapable of doing anything for herself.
It was just three days and she wasn’t expected to deliver for another six weeks, at around thirty-eight weeks. Only, she was beginning to wonder if the twins had gotten the memo.
Sloane held her belly as she moved to the sofa, thankful for the private, in-home childbirth coaching Benji had insisted that they go through.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.
No need to call the doctor and alarm everyone until she was sure there was just cause
.
She closed her eyes, lay back on the sofa and kept breathing, wishing that Benji was there to hold her hand and assure her everything would be all right.
But as the pain moved through her, something felt very wrong.
* * *
Benji sprinted through the tiny local airport to his waiting car as fast as his legs would carry him. Marcellus had called to tell him that Sloane was experiencing preterm labor and he was taking her to the hospital.
He should never have left her alone, regardless of what she said. It was his job to protect her and the twins, and he was failing. He only hoped that his failure hadn’t put Sloane or the twins in jeopardy.
He shouldn’t have taken no for an answer. He should’ve either insisted that her mother come and stay with her or packed her up and carted her to Blake and Savannah’s place, even if he’d had to carry her, kicking and screaming.
It was a mistake he wouldn’t make again.
The rubber on his tires peeled as he took off for the hospital.
* * *
Sloane’s skin was flushed, and it felt like it was one hundred degrees in her hospital room, thanks to the magnesium sulfate being pumped into her veins via the IV stuck in her arm.
She was little more than thirty-two weeks. Her doctor was determined to hold off delivery as long as safely possible, to give the twins more time to develop. Which was why she was also being given steroids to help develop their little lungs, in the event that the magnesium couldn’t slow the preterm labor enough.
She was agitated and cranky. Most of all she was terrified. More for the babies than for herself. If something happened to either of them, she’d never forgive herself. Benji wouldn’t forgive her, either.
How many times had he reminded her to keep her cell phone charged? And hadn’t he insisted that she shouldn’t be alone? She hadn’t listened. She’d thought Benji was overreacting. Being melodramatic. But he’d been right all along.
Thank goodness Marcellus had come to prepare dinner for her, despite her insistence that it wasn’t necessary.
The twins weren’t even born yet and she was proving to be an incompetent parent.
