Page 109 of Nine Months to Bear
“That’s why you couldn’t just find me any surrogate,” I realize. “It wasn’t about the money.”
“No. It was about making sure that if you were going to bring a baby into this world, it would be wanted. Planned.Loved.”
“And now?”
“Now what?”
“Do you still believe that? About the child being wanted?”
Olivia’s breath catches, and I realize I’ve asked the question that’s been haunting both of us since the moment we signed that contract.
“I think,” she says carefully, “that wanting something and being ready for it are two different things.”
“And which one am I?”
“I don’t know yet. But I’m starting to think you might be both.”
Quiet follows. Neither one of us is in a particular hurry to break it. Maybe it ought to be tense, standing here like this, talking like this, but it isn’t. If anything, it feels less tense than most of my life has ever been.
“We should eat,” I say, because the alternative is pulling her against me and kissing her until neither of us can think straight.
“Don’t tell me you’re running away from a serious conversation,” she teases.
“In my business, we call it ‘strategic retreat.’”
Olivia laughs. “At least you’re honest about it.”
“I’m always honest with you.”
“Are you?”
“More than I’ve ever been with anyone else.”
She peers at my face for a long moment, as if trying to decide whether to believe me. Finally, she nods. “Okay. But Stefan?”
“Yeah?”
“Next time you want to take me somewhere, maybe lead with ‘floating palace’ instead of ‘boat.’ A girl likes to pack appropriately.”
44
OLIVIA
I capture Stefan’s king with my queen and lean back with a satisfied smile. “Checkmate.”
He raises a brow. “Is that so? I’ll be damned.”
“I knew it!” I cry out. “You let me win.”
Stefan doesn’t deny it. He just sits there in his deck chair, one arm draped over the back, watching me with that infuriating smirk that makes my stomach flip.
“Maybe I enjoyed watching you think,” he suggests.
“You’re a filthy liar.” I cross my arms, which makes the tiny bikini top he gave me ride up even higher. “You were distracted the entire game.”
His gaze drops to my chest, then back to my face. “Can you blame me?”
At first, I think he means the waves. Or the sunset. Or, hell, maybe he has some secret vendetta against pawns. But then hisgaze dips down again—and realize he hasn’t been staring at the board at all.
