Page 86 of Bargain with the Irish Devil

It isn’t easy to hold in the chuckle as she waddles into the shower. She hates when I call her cute. But there’s no other word for it. Washing her is enjoyable for both of us. She hums with pleasure as I run the sponge over her back.

“Do you want to wash your hair today, love?”

“No, it will take forever to dry.” She sighs.

“Then be careful when I shift you.” Nodding, she covers her hair in a messy bun with her hand.

I’m done washing us both, and my cock is aching when she goes down on her knees to take me into her mouth. It’s fucked up tolove the sight of this. I need to get my ass to church. Then she hums and everything else disappears in the pleasure of her sweet mouth.

We’re in the walk-in closet, and she hates everything. It isn’t easy to keep a hold of my temper. The latest growth spurt has her needing to go shopping again.

“I hate those pants. They feel itchy.” She pouts.

“Sweetheart, they are cotton. It’s too cold for you to be wearing a dress outside.”

That blasted lower lip sticks out more. “I’m hardly outside. If you were to drop me off at the front and then park.”

I give in. I loathe letting her walk into the building alone. Hell, I hate her out of my sight for longer than ten minutes at a time.

Downstairs, Aoife shakes her head at me. “You’re too soft. That boy is going to run rings around you.” To Miranda. “Dear, it’s a freezer out there. Are you sure there are no pants you would feel comfortable in?”

“Everything feels too scratchy, and I’m too—” I’m waiting as she catches herself and looks to me. She’ll not be sitting for a week if she even finishes the thought. Sighing. “We’re not going to be out long.”

“Fine. I’ll be making some hardy stew while you’re both out. And a garlic one besides it in case you get sick.” A bowl full of the oatmeal and berries Miranda loves is set on the table. “What will you be having, Declan?”

I’m starving for bacon, but it makes Miranda nauseous. “I’ll have a bowl of porridge too. Add some nuts to mine, please.”

Miranda

I’m trying hard to stay awake on the way to the doctor’s office, but all I want is to sleep. This dang baby is growing by the hour, I swear.

The ultrasound technician smiles when she sees us. She admitted she loves doing the 3d ultrasounds because of how much she can see. After the fifth month, Whitney asked if Declan was certain he wanted to keep doing them. His single eyebrow raise was all she needed to laugh and note it going forward.

Now, in my seventh month, I’m just grateful for being able to see him clearly and soothe that niggling in the back of my mind that still hasn’t gone away. Every time I saw him on the screen, my heart became so full I worried it would explode out of my chest. He’s perfect…but. What is going on?

“Oh dear, he has gotten himself wrapped up in the umbilical cord.” The technician says at the same time I notice it.

Declan shakes his head. “He’s going to be a handful. Like his mother.”

I stick my tongue out at him. Then, focus on the screen. “Is he okay?”

“Oh yeah, he’ll be fine. Remember, the cord is nice and thick. I’m sure he’ll get himself out of it soon enough.” She writes down some things as she measures the screen. “Yep, he’s on track. Maybe a little ahead on the growth chart. Good job, Mom and Dad, making sure you’re getting all the good stuff for him.”

I’m suitably relieved by her assurance. Leaving the office, I’m more intent on getting Declan to stop for salty Chinese food anddiscussing what our plans are for Thanksgiving than the cord around the baby.

Miranda

I’m so glad I quit my job before I got pregnant. I wouldn’t have lasted long or been a huge baby the whole time.

I’m frustrated by how long it takes to get out off the couch that could double for a bed with how soft and wide it is. I’ll be forever grateful Declan made me get it, even though I gasped at the price. The only thing he cared about was not getting it in white with the small hands of a child to turn brown. We went with red, and I love the impact it has on the room with the sage green on the walls.

Waddling into the kitchen, I sigh with pleasure at the smell of the soup. Christmas is tomorrow, and I love all the ways Aoife has helped me decorate the house and the multiple trees Declan has let me have.

“Well, dear, I was about to go and get you up for lunch. How are you feeling?”

“I’m tired still. I swear. How soon until he gets here? And where the heck is my husband?” I grumble as I tuck into the soup. It’s so freaking good.

“Maeve and those girls. There’s always drama, but especially around the holidays. The women of those men go looking for answers they know they don’t really want.” She shakes her head.

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