“Uh, you mean tried to beat me up.”
Male egos. She stifled a laugh. “Right,” she said, then sobered. “Anyway, and the next time we showed up at my house, my mother goes on the attack, verbally rather than physically.”
“You were the one who was hurt. I should have stepped in sooner.”
As if that would have made a difference. Her hands shaking, she set aside her water bottle. “No one can stop her when she’s on a roll like that.”
However, she needed to stop her mother in the future since there was no way she could allow Bonita to jeopardize this baby’s health. Anger stirred at what her mother’s tirade had nearly cost them.
He rested a hand on top of her clenched fist. “I don’t think this is a wise discussion for you to be having.”
“Think happy thoughts and all.” She forced even breaths in, out, in again.
“Exactly.” He raised her hand to his mouth and grazed a kiss across her knuckles, once, twice and again until her fist unfurled and the gold band on her thumb appeared again. “Tell me a happy childhood memory.”
She offered up the first thing that popped to mind. “My mother used to paint.
She would take her art supplies to the beach. Brittany and I could build sand castles and splash in the waves.”
“That’s a great memory.” He thumbed along the inside of her wrist as the limo pulled up to the iron gates outside his family home on the north end of the strip.
“I hadn’t thought about it in such a long time. The bad memories tend to overtake the good ones.” She eyed the opening gates, envisioning them closing behind her.
Closing her in with the manicured bushes and trees. “I guess you and I need to make sure those bad feelings between our families don’t overcome the good stuff we’re working on.”
He studied her as the limo rolled along the brick paved driveway, past a fountain with an angel in the center. “I agree, as long as thinking about that doesn’t stress you.”
“Hmm…If I was a Machiavellian type of person, I could really milk this to my advantage and pick the name I want.”
“As long as we don’t have to name the kid Parker, I think I can handle just about anything.”
Much-needed laughter rolled up and past her lips. She clapped a hand over her mouth. “I’ll think about names and get back to you.”
“Fair enough.” He winked on his way out of the limo.
Before she even reached the walkway, he swept her into his arms. She started to argue, but they’d already been down this route and he seemed insistent on carrying her. Today, at least, she had a valid reason to accept the ride without worry of losing control of the situation.
She looped her arms around his neck as he took the stone steps and wound his way through a columned courtyard to the front door. She barely had time to take in the warm honey-and-blue hues of his home since he introduced her to the staff in a quick flurry before heading toward the lengthy staircase with a deep mahogany railing curling around the foyer.
The long hall seemed narrower because of the framed artwork. Landscapes mingled with portraits of a heart-tugginglyyoung Jordan , as well as Emilio. Already, she could feel her eyes drifting closed as much as she wanted to stay awake and look around at this slice of family-centered heaven that was his home. Doggone it, these pregnancy near-narcoleptic moments seemed to hit her harder every day.
The world shifted, and she blinked awake again as he settled her in the middle of a towering four-poster bed. Jordan wafted the fluffy duvet over her with cocooning comfort—and then the first hints of claustrophobia. It only took her one sweep of the room to realize…
She wasn’t in his bed, but she was most definitely in his suite.
A week later, Jordan took the stairs in his house up to the second floor with anticipation. He had food and a present for Brooke, both of which he thought would lift her spirits.
No question, he enjoyed having her under his roof more than even he’d anticipated.
He’d brought her here because it was the right thing to do for her and the child.
He hadn’t expected it to be so right for him, too.
Especially after living alone for such a long time, sometimes at the hotel, sometimes here. The bachelor life had suited his career aspirations well. He’d envisioned there being more of a pinch in adding her to his routine. Instead, the past days had been entertaining, spent sharing meals, talking, learning the fundamentals about each other. Her favorite color, food, music.
Pink—no surprise.
Chili—for now. Subject to hormonal change.
Oldies and soft rock—he had a concert in mind for when she was on her feet again.
He hoped that would be soon, for the baby’s safety as well as her sanity. He couldn’t miss the restlessness growing in Brooke with each passing day. He’d done his best to keep her occupied, sending in contractors to renovate a bedroom into a nursery when she wasn’t tackling some work from her office. He hadn’t met a woman yet who wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of a bottomless budget for decorating.
Except Brooke didn’t seem the least bit thrilled tonight, lying on the sofa in the sitting area between their rooms. She appeared downright irritable staring at her feet propped on a pillow at the other end of the sofa. Her fax machine hummed quietly on the far side of the room even though she didn’t so much as glance at the papers spewing out in her work area.
He stepped into the room, rested the wrapped package against the couch and placed the carryout container on the coffee table—none of which elicited any reaction from her. “Brooke? Don’t you want supper from Emilio’s? There’s a container of chili in here with your name on it.” Even the mention of one of her favorite foods didn’t change the weariness on her face. “We can order something else, if you’re having a different craving.”
She shook her head. “No. That’s fine. Thanks.”
He swept aside the pillow and rested her feet in his lap. He savored the chance to touch her, look at her. Her simple red cotton dress clung to the luscious curves of her br**sts and to her stomach, the increasing swell a reminder of how little time he had left to cement things between them. He’d always hoped for a marriage like his parents’, and this pregnancy had prevented him from finding that with Brooke.
Yet. He could still hope they would find that magic, but only if they both tried.
As much as he wanted to tunnel his hands under her dress for unfettered access to her, he limited himself to stroking no higher than her knees. Two minutes into the massage, she still hadn’t relaxed.