TWENTY
The universe was conspiring against him. There wasn’t any other explanation for why three times Jeff had gotten Darcy into his bed, and three times he’d woken up alone.
Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he rolled onto his back and stretched across an expanse of sheets better suited to two than one.
He’d get up earlier tomorrow because he was determined to have Darcy in his bed, every way possible. He hadn’t thought it could get any better than having her coming apart for him in this space that was his alone. But after the passion had been sated and they lay together with Darcy tucked into the shelter of his body—for once not going anywhere...the rhythm of her breath slowing until she was asleep in his arms, his hand resting over the small swell of her belly—yeah, that was a satisfaction, a rightness beyond expectation.
It made him want more.
Starting with the sleep-softened morning version of her lazing between his sheets. Warming beneath his unhurried touch. Giving up those little pleasured sounds he couldn’t get enough of.
Pushing out of bed, Jeff groaned thinking how gorgeous she’d be in the morning with nothing but sunshine blanketing her lush body, making all that silky hair shine like spilled gold across his pillow.
Maybe he’d coax her back into bed, he thought, about to swing the bathroom door open—when Darcy beat him to it emerging from the other side, hair pulled back into a snarled knot, the skin beneath her eyes looking like an old bruise and her complexion in general making the slate-gray of his sheets look downright rosy.
“Darcy, are you okay?” he asked, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, ready to swing her into his arms and jog over to the E.R. She looked like death warmed over and suddenly a part of him was sincerely wishing Grant was the man she’d spent the night with so he could help her. But even as the thought skirted through his mind, a highly possessive part of him roared. Definitely no Grant.
“I will be,” she half moaned then, looking down at her watch, added, “in about five minutes. It never lasts past eight-thirty these days.”
Holy hell. This was the morning sickness she still endured a few times a week. Which meant it wasn’t the universe conspiring against him after all. Just his little baby in the making.
“Do you want to get back into bed? I can bring you some crackers, ginger ale, tea, eggs or a cake—do you want more cake?”
She waved a frenzied hand in front of him, her lips pinching together as her cheeks puffed out, effectively conveying her “No thank you” in somewhat less polite but more effective nonverbal means.
Which left him standing there looking down at her with a sense of impotence he didn’t dig at all.
“Darce, is there anything I can do for you?”
Shaking her head, she muttered, “Just give me a couple of minutes. Alone.”
Alone.
Why did she always want to go it alone? And damn it, why did it bother him so much that she did?
Giving her hand a parting squeeze, he headed out to the kitchen figuring he’d make some tea for when she was ready.
* * *
She couldn’t catch a break. Darcy flattened her hands on the solid marble counter and stared into the mirror in front of her. One morning. That’s really all she’d wanted. Just the one to get accustomed to being with Jeff on an extended basis without her stomach rolling out the welcome mat for this new phase of their relationship. Temporary phase. For their non-relationship.
She let out a deep sigh. It was supposed to be based on sex. And morning sickness, hers in particular, was so totally not sexy. Not even close.
Her belly gave a twist of the more traditional dread-filled variety as she geared up to leave the sanctuary of Jeff’s sleek master bath. If she was going to find regret in Jeff’s eyes or discomfort or whatever else, she wanted to see it now.
She’d be able to handle it, too. Because there wasn’t any part of her that had gotten attached to the idea of being here.
No, she was fine.
She was tough. Practical. And resilient.
A last glance in the mirror told her she was also about as put together as she was going to get. Freshly showered, teeth cleaned, hair blown out smooth and neat. Sure the blouse was a little tight and she didn’t love the feel of it, but she was banking on the snug fit to give her an edge in the coming exchange.
Walking down the hall, her bare feet quiet over the blond hardwood, she took in the modern clean lines of the place—the open layout, high ceilings and stark-white walls—all contrasting with the repurposed hunks of heavy steel.
The apartment was so Jeff she couldn’t help but love it on sight.
And she’d only just gotten there.
It didn’t matter.
In the kitchen, Jeff was on the phone, issuing one word replies between brief pauses as he cracked some eggs, single-handed into a bowl with shredded cheese. He hadn’t bothered to pull on a shirt and was still sporting those superthin drawstring plaid pajama bottoms with bare feet. His hair looked the same as always—messy in a tempting but touch-me-at-your-own-peril way. And the look was hot enough to nullify any advantage her too-tight blouse might have earned her.
This was the man who’d pleasured her senseless the night before. And then this morning—
Don’t think about it.
Darcy slid onto a stool that looked like some kind of industrial spring with a leather padded seat top, and watched the play of muscles across his broad shoulders and down his arm as he used a fork to whip through the mix.
“Yep...Uh-huh...That’s great...In about an hour, then...Excellent.” Jeff thumbed off the phone and catching sight of her over his shoulder turned. “Hey, you feeling better?”
“Completely, thanks.” That was the thing about the morning sickness, once it was gone, it was really gone. Well, until it came back. But the interim...she felt like a million bucks.
Darcy nodded toward the phone in his hand. “Do you have an appointment?”
“Oh, no. Well, yes. It’s for you. Charlie got the name of a maternity boutique and coordinated the delivery of a selection of clothes this morning. No more itchy seams...you know...touching you.”
Maternity clothes. Delivered. So she wouldn’t have to go out in clothes that bothered her.
This man was thoughtful in ways most people would never think of.
“Thanks, Jeff.” Then forcing herself to bring up what she really wanted to forget, she started, “About when you woke up...”
Jeff set the phone down on the counter behind him. “I knew you still got sick. But I haven’t really seen the way it affects you for a while.”
“Not exactly what you had in mind, I’m guessing.” Not after all the seductive promises and racy talk.
A short breath. “Not exactly.”
How could it be?
Jeff crossed to the counter where Darcy was seated and braced on his forearms. A muscle in his jaw started to jump.
Darcy forced herself not to shift on the stool, not to look away from his remorse-filled eyes when he said, “I’m sorry.”
This was it. He was going to tell her it was a mistake. He shouldn’t have asked her to come.
She’d agree, and look relieved while she said it, even if it killed her. Because she’d known better. And because what mattered was keeping their relationship amicable. For their baby and themselves.
“Don’t be. Neither of us was thinking straight,” she offered, backing up her words with a lightness she didn’t feel. “Seriously, let’s chalk it up to lack of sleep and pheromone overdose and—”
“Darcy, what the hell are you talking about?” Jeff demanded, whatever guilt there’d been in his eyes now replaced with a sharp accusation. Then, “Forget I asked. I’ve got it, but clearly you don’t. I’m not sorry my morning sex kitten fantasy got rained out by a little reality. What I’m sorry about is you going through this alone. I’m sorry I haven’t been there every morning and through whatever part of the rest of the day this sickness occupies from the start. I’m sorry you’re so used to being on your own, that even now when I’m right here, you’re more comfortable sending me away. Darcy, I’m just sorry it hasn’t been easier for you.”
“Jeff—”
“And you aren’t moving out, so don’t even start about it. I just got you here. And damn it, you’re going to let me take care of you and you’re going to like it.” Catching the back of her neck with one hand and her stool with the other, Jeff planted a firm kiss on her, stepping between her legs as they softened together.
“You brushed right?” he asked, a mirthful smile quirking his lips until he looked down between them, apparently noticing the swell of her breasts within the too-tight blouse for the first time. “Never mind. I don’t care.”
He kissed her again. Deeper. Longer.
Darcy broke away, threading her hands between them to link around his neck. “I brushed,” she murmured, leaning into the heat of his bare chest where she pressed her own soft openmouthed kiss at the center. “And flossed.”
The next kiss landed at the tight bead of his masculine nipple, and was followed by a flick of her tongue and Jeff’s rumbling groan.
“Baby, I love it when you talk oral hygiene to me.”
Darcy couldn’t help her laugh, even as her body turned hot and needy. Looking up at him from beneath her lashes, she purred, “I rinsed, Jeff. Mouthwash. A full sixty seconds.”
His hands caught her hips, and without so much as a strained breath, he lifted her onto the counter, positioning himself between her legs, so they touched in all the most critical ways.
Jeff looked down into her eyes and let the humor fall away. “Darcy, let me be here for you.”
And like that, the part of her she’d steeled against this man crumbled. Because when he looked into her eyes like he was, when he let her see how badly he needed her to let him in, there was no defense against it.
And so long as she remembered that no matter how good it felt to give in to Jeff, this was temporary...she’d be okay.