Page 89 of Peacock Me Like a Hurricane

Stretching out next to her, I pull her into my arms and kiss the top of her head. “Other than the last-minute church summons?”

Her deep chuckle vibrates against my chest. “What was that about?”

I snort and shake my head ruefully. “I’d rather not talk about it, love of mine. I’m still in a state of shock: the roof neither caved in nor was I struck by lightning.”

“Okay, baby. Whatdoyou want to talk about?”

As soon as she asks, my stomach churns and I’m hit with a wave of emotion that lesser clones might label as fear. All the waiting and hoping slams painfully into my chest. My arms tighten around her and I mutter, “I don’t know; I’m nervous.”

There’s an admission that I never expected to make.

It surprises her because she combs her fingers through my hair and tilts her head to look at me. “You’re nervous, baby?”

Sorry sack that I am, the best that I can do is nod a little before I rest my head on top of hers.

“Why?”

I lay a palm on her tummy and murmur, “Today.”

Her smile is soft when I look up at her. I see the warmth and love in her eyes as she looks back at me. “You’ve been waiting all day, huh?”

I nod and stroke her stomach softly. “Now I’m not sure that I want to know. I’m too worried that you won’t be and too worried that you will be.”

“We don’t have to do this so soon, baby. We can wait.”

The twinge of pain twisting my gut decides things for me quickly. I frown and shake my head. “That’s no better.” Sitting up and leaning against the headboard, I pull her into my arms. “How about you, my love? Do you want to know or not?”

She lays a palm over her tummy, rubbing in a slow circle. “Do I want to know if we’ve made a miracle?” The look she gives me is about as tender as I’ve ever seen, and her lips curve into a soft grin. “I want to know if you do.” For a moment, something akin to worry clouds her baby blues and she looks a mite concerned. “You keep asking me and checking to see if I still want to. It’s kind of making me worry that you’re not sure.”

Jesus. It feels like she hit me upside the head with something heavy. Stricken, I roll over and cup her face in my hands. “Oh, baby, no. Bloody hell, no. I want this so much that I can’t think of anything but you and our wee nipper. I’ve not one doubt.”

Her face brightens, and she reaches up to trail her fingers along the length of my jaw. “Then I want to know.” I grin widely as her belly rumbles and she makes a face. “Or I want to know once I go to the bathroom. Then I want food. I have to give you something. Did you book the egghead?”

The grin fades from my face, and I groan. “Oh, bloody hell.”

Moving quickly, I bolt up off the bed and grab the phone I’d left in the pocket of my duster.

How in the buggering hell did I forget to book the doc?

The most important part of doing the test is having someone todothe test. I shoot a glance at my very amused-looking woman. “You go to the loo, baby. I’ll make a call and we’ll have one here in no time.”

She struggles to hide a grin as she slides off the bed. “All right, baby. I’ll give you the thing when I get back.” Padding over to the bathroom, she hits the panel and slips inside, her hips swaying as she goes.

As hard as we are on the bloody things, I will have to replace those slide lock mechanisms left and right. It didn’tfeellike a design flaw when I— I stop, my brows furrowing. She’s mentioned whatever it is she has several times, so it must be important. Am I forgetting an anniversary or birthday? Do humans give gifts for finding out if you’re knocked up and I’m an ignorant git?

Christ. First thing’s first, I have to make this call.

The listing for the git I need is in my contacts right at the top. I figure that he might take some convincing. Given the whole of the situation, I’m ready for that. As soon as he picks up, I say, “Mikhail, Taurus. Yeah. No, no, Talia smoothed that out for me. You know her. Yeah. No. No. No, sod it all, it wasn’t me.” I roll my eyes, sighing at his pedantry. The prat starts right in on my grievous sins and doesn’t let me say why I called. “Mikhail. Mikhail. Bloody hell, Mikhail! No, I need a doc. I knowthey don’t normally make house calls, you git. I don’t care.” My temper’s starting to froth; I feel it. “Mikhail, I need a doc. Get me one. Right. No, not there. Sandwich needs him.”

I roll my eyes again and drop my head. It’s not surprising that this little tête-à-tête is mostly the man prattling on incessantly about inconsequential shit. It’s his bloody template’s make-up, I sodding swear. “I’mnotabusing my authority for a triviality. She might be pregnant with my child, you bloody wanker.I want a bloody lab coat to do the sodding test!”

That seems to shut him up for all about five seconds. It gives me time to at least try to get my temper under control. I take a deep breath and hope for calm. It’s not normally a strong suit of mine, but I suppose it would do me well to remember that I’m asking for a favor. If the prat doesn’t give it to me, I’m heading over to the Company and beating it out of him. I may as well try diplomacy first, though. I’m not in the mood to leave my mate right now.

“Right,” I say when he finally asks me for confirmation of what I said. “No. Yeah. Yeah. You heard me. Right. Good. Right.”

It’s about time! Bugger says he’ll send someone right over.

That’s as it should be, after all I’ve done for the sod since we started working together. The fluttering in my stomach right now is nothing but a feeling of righteous satisfaction. It’s not relief or gratitude. “Mikhail? Thanks.”

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