Page 97 of Nine Months to Bear
I shouldn’t have done it. Dropping to my knees in his office, unbuckling his belt with trembling fingers… I mean, what the hell was I thinking? I needed him to agree to this meeting, and in my orgasm-addled brain, seduction seemed the most efficient way there.
What I hadn’t expected was howrightit would feel to give into him again.
God, I’m pathetic.
I open my portfolio, desperate for distraction. But the client dossier blurs before my eyes. What was her name again? Genevieve. Potential surrogate. Potential investor. Potential savior.
“We’re here,” Stefan announces as he guides the car to a stop outside the upscale rentable workspace.
He’d decided my office wasn’t a safe place to take this meeting, since someone could be staking out the building in wait.
Whowould be doing that is still not clear to me, but I’m grateful to be taking this meeting at all, so I didn’t push my luck by asking more questions.
The car engine settles into a predatory idle. It’s a good match for the dangerous energy radiating from the man beside me.
I close the folder and take a deep breath, but before I can open the door, Stefan’s hand closes over the handle.
“I’m coming in with you.” His jaw is set and his forehead furrowed.
“We had an agreement,” I remind him. “You promised to wait in the car while I handle this meeting alone.”
His eyes scan the surrounding buildings. I follow his gaze but see only the normal bustle of Boston’s financial district: suits rushing to afternoon meetings, sleek cars navigating narrow streets. Nothing that says “danger” to my civilian gaze.
“This is a private client meeting,” I add. “I need to maintainsomesemblance of professionalism.”
I’m sure he’s thinking what I’m thinking:That ship sailed several orgasms ago, sweetheart.
I pretend I’m still a woman with dignity and lift my chin. “I mean, what’s the point of all your security measures if I can’t even conduct a simple business meeting?”
“Your safety comes before your business.”
“My safety doesn’tmatterwithout my business.”
It’s sad but true. What am I without my life’s work? More importantly, what are the two of us without my clinic? Without an end goal, there’s nothing keeping us together. We’d drift apart, bound by nothing.
His eyes rake over my face, then down to my still-flat stomach. For one disorienting moment, I imagine what it would be like if this were real—if we were a normal couple expecting a baby together.
He’d say something sweet, maybe, and make me feel loved. He’d smile and touch me and everything would be right in the world.
But that’s not this world, is it?
No, it’s not. In this reality, all he does is harden his clenched jaw and say. “I’m just protecting my investment.”
Message received.
I glare at him with at least a half-dose of my usual venom. “For all we know,” I say, “I’m not even pregnant yet. You might not have an investment to protect.”
That barb is mostly just designed to deal maximum psychological damage. If great sex ups our chances, I’d be birthing quadruplets any second now, but that’s not how this works.
Still, his eyes darken. Unreadable thoughts pass through them.
Then he sighs and rips his gaze away. “One hour, like we agreed,” he finally concedes. “Then I’m coming in. That’s non-negotiable.”
I nod. I wonder if he’s thinking what it looks like he’s thinking. Is he remembering how I taste, how I sound when I come apart for him? Is he considering whether the tinted windows are dark enough to take me right here in the front seat of his ridiculously expensive car?
Does he know I’d let him?
He has to.
