Their Nine-Month Surprise

by Laurel Greer

  “Very much.” Throat thickening, he swallowed. “Our daughter, throwing elbows.”

  She laughed and nestled closer to him. The scent of cherries and chocolate curled into his nostrils. He loved that smell. Wanted it on his sheets indefinitely.

  His body responded, groin thickening. He sneaked his hand down until his fingers teased the top of her mound through the fabric of her dress.

  The wiggle in response had him hard as a rock. “Delay dinner, then?”

  “Definitely.”

  * * *

  Now that Marisol had released the pressure valve with a good cry, other priorities were making themselves known. Mainly how Lachlan’s hand would really be put to much better use a few inches lower instead of resting just above the money spot. And over her clothes, no less. That needed to change.

  She took his hand and used it to nudge her dress up. Heat trailed in the wake of the skimming touch. She sucked in a breath.

  He chuckled. “I see where you’re going with this.”

  “Yeah? Do you want further direction, or can you take it from here?”

  His thumb rested along the edge of her underwear, right in the crook between thigh and pleasure. “Let’s go with column B.”

  “Mmm, I’m a big fan of either.”

  With a single fingertip, he explored and teased, setting her aflame as he dipped in and around the stretchy lace. “These are pretty. But they’re really in the way.”

  He eased them down, and she kicked them off. Tilting back against him, she opened her legs wider.

  The message was obviously clear, because he stroked her sensitive flesh, tracing swirls.

  Her hips rose off the bed and she moaned. Sweet Mary. This man, he helped her forget everything, distilled life down to a simple but complex knot of need and love.

  And when he thrust a finger deep into her wet heat, she went over the edge. She rode his hand, rode the pleasure, the release.

  His lips pressed softly along the edge of her ear. “Do you want to make love this way? Or do you want to be on top?”

  Having him at her back, supporting her and cherishing her, filled her soul as much as quenching her desire. His hard length pressed against her ass, promising more of the ecstasy still lingering in her veins.

  “Yeah, let’s try this way,” she said.

  He stroked her sex again, sending a wave of anticipation through her. “You feel ready.”

  “I am ready.”

  He reached between them and fumbled with his belt buckle. He shoved down his pants and boxers. His arousal singed her skin, a brand at her back. He stroked her inner thigh, nudging her to widen. With a swift, gentle thrust, he filled her.

  Limited a little by the position, she tilted her hips to let him in deeper. Wow, the angle. Pleasure blossomed through her core. “Lach, that’s—You’re—Oh, sweet...”

  Groaning, he cupped one of her breasts, toying with her nipple through her bra and dress.

  “I didn’t even undress you properly.” Amusement layered over a hint of embarrassment in his voice. He set a slow, sensuous rhythm that had her struggling to follow his words. “Badly done on my part.”

  “As long as you keep doing that—” she covered his hand over her breast, tightening the caress “—I’ll forgive you for anything.”

  He froze for a second, then sped up, rocking them together. His hand skimmed over her belly, and she shivered when he reached the raised hem of her dress and the bare flesh below. Torn between tipping toward his body and his hand, she groaned.

  “Don’t tease me,” she panted. She hooked her foot over his leg and arched backward.

  “Fine line between teasing and pleasure, sunshine.” He touched her mound, slicked his fingers between her folds. Being full of him, and having him graze her tender arousal, broke the dam within her.

  She swore, moaned his name, ground back and clamped his hand between her thighs, stealing every last moment of bliss. He thrust long, finding his own satisfaction with a shout.

  Aftershocks pulsed in her limbs, and she went limp, letting her raised leg flop to the mattress. “Lachlan.”

  He murmured something crude against her hair, then stroked her hip. “Damn, that was... We’re too good at this. Must be why we got lucky, made a baby.”

  No, we were just stupid and didn’t follow the damned directions on the condom box. But she couldn’t bring herself to correct him.

  Because he was right. They were lucky.

  * * *

  Rap rap.

  Marisol blinked, registering Lachlan’s empty side of the bed. Right. He’d muttered something in her ear about taking Fudge out for a run after the last time she’d gotten up to use the washroom.

  Rap rap rap.

  Had he forgotten his key? Or was Mrs. Rafferty dropping by to make sure they were watering the petunias?

  Wincing as her hips pulled with morning stiffness, she tied her thigh-length summer robe over her tank top and the pair of pajama bottoms she’d borrowed from Lachlan, and walked down the hall and the stairs to the front entrance. Electrical jolts snapped through her pelvis as she navigated the steps.

  “Ow,” she muttered. God, stairs sucked.

  Another knock rang out, and she turned the knob. “Yeah, yeah, I’m moving as fast as I can. Did you forget your—”

  Oh. Not Lachlan. A middle-aged couple stood on the stoop. The woman was the spitting image of Maggie, except her blond hair was longer and pinned in a sleek French twist. Her crisp, sleeveless red dress hung on her slender frame. Clearly designer made. Or custom, going off the clothes of the man next to her. His gray summer suit screamed bespoke.

  He had light brown hair and Lachlan’s eyes.

  She did a double take. No, not the same. Lachlan’s eyes danced with life and humor, and this man’s brown irises looked like they hadn’t sparkled in decades.

  “Um, hello. You must be Lachlan’s parents.” She smoothed a hand down her robe. Her cheeks heated.

  “You’re living with him?” his mother said, mouth screwed in a sour bud.

  He hadn’t told them they’d moved in together? But...

  No. Be calm. He’s not close to them. From what he and Maggie had implied, the relationship was downright antagonistic, in fact. But without actual instructions, she was flying blind, and she seriously doubted he’d want her to leave them out on the porch.

  “Yes. Um, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Marisol. Come in?”

  “Sure,” Mr. Reid said, broaching the landing as Marisol stood to the side and held the door open. “Might as well see what my money’s paying for.”

  Marisol blinked in confusion. His money? That couldn’t be right.

  But Lachlan’s finances weren’t her concern, so she followed his parents up the stairs, gripping the railing for support. Good lord. She’d never felt less graceful in her life, and compared to Lachlan’s elegant mother... Quite the first impression she was making.

  “Can I get you anything? Lachlan just moved in—well, me, too,” she corrected. “But I could get you tea or coffee.”

  “You don’t need to get to work?” Mr. Reid asked as he ran a hand along the back of the couch her brother had told them to bring over from the apartment. Mrs. Reid stood in the center of the sparsely appointed living room, scowling at the framed, vintage ski advertisements Lachlan had hung yesterday.

  “I—” She took a deep breath. “I’m only working six hours a day until the baby’s born. So I’m heading in later this morning.”

  He glanced at her stomach. “Not that it’s a reason to be less productive, but you look like you should have given birth two weeks ago.”

  “But—” Irritation erased any patience she might have clung to. If one more person made a comment about her pregnancy, she’d lose it. But this man doing it, showing zero interest in the fact she was carrying his gran
ddaughter, didn’t raise her ire. Sadness washed over her. Lach wasn’t kidding when he’d called his father an asshole.

  She straightened. “You’re going to be a grandfather, and that’s all you’re going to say?”

  “I never was much for babies,” he said, voice blasé.

  Marisol’s jaw dropped, and she looked over at Lachlan’s mother, who had pulled out her cell phone and was studying the screen. A wave of gratitude rushed through her for her own parents, who couldn’t wait for the baby to be born, even though they didn’t live close by. They’d have to do grandparent double duty—her daughter sure wasn’t going to get much affection from this pair.

  And Lachlan, growing up with this? Her heart ached for him, and she wanted him to be back from his run so she could hug him and assure him that his parents being pricks didn’t need to affect his life anymore.

  Nor would it impact their daughter. There was plenty of love coming the baby’s way, with or without these people. But still, how could they not be interested in their grandchild? “You can’t mean that. Not really.”

  “Talk to me once the kid’s old enough to go to law school. Maybe it’ll be smarter than my own children and will want to take over the family firm.”

  “Dad!”

  Marisol startled at Lachlan’s voice. She turned to face him. He stood at the top of the stairs. His eyes flashed with temper and his hands gripped Fudge’s leash. The dog strained, seemingly torn between getting to Marisol and glaring at what she perceived as intruders.

  Lachlan didn’t seem too eager to call off the dog. He was still breathing heavily from his run. His sweaty shirt molded to his chest. Which, despite the awkward company, she could still appreciate. Those muscles were probably 65 percent responsible for her being weeks away from giving birth.

  “I didn’t hear you come in,” she said, closing the space between them and laying a calming hand on Fudge’s soft head.

  “You left the door open, sunshine,” he said, closing the space between them. He kissed her forehead and slung an arm around the middle of her back. He leaned to her ear. “What did he say to you? Besides the bit about law school? You’re pale.”

  “Nothing that needs to be repeated,” she murmured back. “Just enough for me to understand that he’s not marking the baby’s due date on the calendar.”

  The corners of his mouth tugged down.

  “Lachlan.” She’d do anything to erase that sadness. She stood on her toes and kissed him. Salt from his sweat stung her mouth. “I love you.”

  He dropped his forehead to hers for a moment, then sucked in a breath.

  “I don’t get why you’re here,” he said to his parents.

  His dad looked around the room. “Enh, I paid the rent on this place, didn’t I? Thought I’d come see it, and then you can run me through your plans for the expansion. I want good return on my investment.”

  Investment? Marisol blinked. Lachlan had funded his business through savings, grants and a bank loan, so why would his dad be loaning him money, calling himself an investor?

  Unless he lied. Had he lied just like her ex, borrowing from places and digging himself further into the hole?

  Nausea lurched in her belly.

  “What does he mean?” She dug her fingers into Lachlan’s forearm.

  Lachlan cringed, his mouth slackening.

  “Oh, so you haven’t shared that with her. Not that close, are you?” His dad laughed. “First smart thing you’ve done in months, son.”

  Marisol’s face went numb. Lach’s arm muscles were concrete under her grasp, his expression walled off. What the hell was going on? She needed to know, but not in front of these stiff people, in front of his dad, who was nodding at Lachlan in the only display of fatherly pride she’d seen since the Reids arrived. She yanked him down the hall, moving faster than she had since the baby dropped.

  “Slow down, Marisol.”

  “No damned way.” She ushered him into the bedroom and crossed her arms. Her heart threatened to beat out of her chest. “What did he mean, investment?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lachlan held up his hands as Marisol stared him down, her eyes flashing green fire.

  “I just wanted to reduce your stress...” he protested.

  Weak, Reid. Weak.

  “Making unilateral decisions does not reduce my stress, especially from someone who’s been preaching teamwork to me.”

  An understatement. He’d worked himself into a no-win situation. No way to lie. But honesty would lose her, too. Goddamn it. Why had he kept this from her?

  Except, had there been another way to keep her in his life and go forward with the expansion? “You didn’t want me to compromise, but when that grant flopped, I didn’t see another way to secure financing. Stella wasn’t willing, and the bank was tapped out.”

  “So you made a deal with the proverbial devil? For the baby?”

  “And you. I wanted it all, Marisol. And this was the only way to do it.”

  She wrung her hands. “You didn’t talk to me.”

  “I didn’t want you to worry.”

  “No, you thought I’d say no. You knew I’d be sensitive about money because of me and the baby, both from the perspective of having to borrow more and having to borrow from your parents, who you clearly don’t want to be associated with.”

  He swallowed the self-protective urge to minimize, tell a half-truth. “Yeah, some of that, too.”

  She sat gingerly on the edge of the bed. A breath shuddered from her lungs. “I—I can’t trust you if you’re going to hide big things, Lachlan. I can’t be with someone who’s going to lie about money. You knew I didn’t want you to alter your business plans. And is there any other way to define you taking a loan from your parents? Everything you’ve told me about them points to a bad situation, where they’ll expect things in return from you, things you’ll resent.”

  “Yeah, but it’s a necessity.”

  “I didn’t want this to change your life.” Her misery made his chest ache.

  And he couldn’t help the disbelief rising to meet it. For someone who studied psychology, she sure didn’t acknowledge her own compartmentalization around this. “Okay, how could a baby not change my life? And the loan was my way of keeping all the balls in the air.”

  “But it meant hiding something from me, and going back on something fundamental to you. Something you’re clearly not happy about.”

  His jaw locked, and he forced it to relax. “I didn’t like keeping secrets. But borrowing the money? I’m fine with it.”

  Or he would be, once he paid his parents off.

  “You’re lying again.”

  “Marisol... This was the best I could come up with.”

  “The best was supposed to be us, being open, letting each other help. It can’t be a one-way street. I did that before—me being the giver, not being honest about my needs. And it was a disaster.”

  “This isn’t the same—”

  “I can’t deal with this this week. I have limited time enough, none to spend on being up in my emotions.” She got her suitcase from the cupboard and put it on the bed.

  “You’re leaving?” His stomach soured. “We can work through this—”

  But the words he’d been saying to her for a couple of months didn’t feel as convincing this time.

  “Not today, we can’t.”

  “Marisol, the baby’s due in three weeks. You can’t just walk out...”

  She threw her dresses into the suitcase. “I have to.”

  “I get I screwed up. But I don’t want you to be alone—”

  “It’s easier when I’m alone.”

  He reeled from the gut punch.

  “I’ll wait until your parents are gone. Then I’ll head back to my place.”

  “But Zach and I were going to move the nur
sery furniture over.”

  “I’ll call him and tell him we’re waiting.”

  “For how long?” he croaked.

  She wiped a hand along her wet cheeks, but when he motioned to comfort her, she backed away, clutching a stack of T-shirts to her chest. “When I figure out if I can trust you again.”

  * * *

  “You’re an idiot.” Maggie finished administering anesthesia to the Jack Russell terrier lying between them on the hydraulic operating table, then reached up to smack Lachlan on the back of his head. “Why weren’t you honest?”

  “Waste of a perfectly good glove,” he said, raising a brow at her hand.

  Maggie growled, tearing off the blue latex and throwing it in the waste disposal. She yanked on another glove. “Haven’t you been lied to enough by Mom and Dad to know how much of a problem it is?”

  “Thought you didn’t think relationships were worth it,” he grumbled, avoiding the truth nestled in her question.

  “I don’t. But you started one with the mother of your child, so fix it.” She pointed a syringe at him.

  “Could we have this conversation when you’re not holding a sharp implement?” He busied himself clipping and disinfecting the dog’s rear leg. The terrier was a leaper, and had managed to land the wrong way while catching a Frisbee. She had a fractured tibia to show for her efforts. Lucky for the dog, Maggie was a wizard with external fixation.

  Prior to being put under, the wounded dog’s eyes had flashed with panic.

  Like Marisol when she’d faced down his parents. Wounded. Panicked.

  And his parents might have been the catalyst, but he was the cause. Lying to her about money was way too close to her ex-husband’s actions for comfort. He knew she was particularly fragile because of that experience. And he’d still thought he knew best and made the exact wrong decision.

  Bending his head, he gripped the edge of the operating table and resisted the urge to flip over the tray of the pins and struts they’d use to immobilize the dog’s limb. “I’m no better than they are, Maggie. Telling myself I could make a relationship work as long as I was a team player—clearly, I don’t know a functioning partnership from a damned hole in my head.”