Page 13 of Christmas Games
Opening a cupboard, he retrieved a tube of Pringles. His diet may have consisted of water, salt and beef from the estate herd, but Zoe was now living off crisps, smoked salmon and pickled gherkins.
She perked up. ‘Ooh! Prawn cocktail flavour.’
Ten minutes later, the tube was empty.
‘Thank you for not saying anything,’ she said as Basil scouted for crumbs.
‘Well, apparently once you pop, you can’t stop,’ he replied. ‘I’m just glad to see you eating.’
She yawned. ‘I’m so tired, Rory, and there’s too much to do.’
He didn’t know how to reply. Zoe was right. He had no idea how they were going to get everything done for Christmas on top of their already insane workload.
‘I can make it work,’ he told her with as much conviction ashe could muster. ‘Greg will just have to put in extra hours at the office, that’s all.’
‘But all my plans. They need sortingnow.’
He rubbed his chin. ‘Well, the beard is in hand. That’s one thing you don’t need to worry about.’
‘Your beard isn’t going to sell Christmas, no matterhowimpressive it is.’
‘I think it’s at least worthy of one of your crazy calendar ideas.’
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Zoe’s face lit up and Rory’s heart sank.
‘Oh my god, YES! You can do a sexy Santa calendar!’
His head shook so fast, her face was a blur. ‘No, no, no, no, no, no fucking way.’
She slumped back onto the sofa. ‘Okay,’ she grumbled. ‘No calendar.’
Rory knelt on the floor and took her hand. ‘Whatever Santa fantasies you have inside your beautifully bonkers head, I promise I will do my best to indulge them. Do you want to cross anything off your wish list tonight?’
She smiled. ‘Can I see your north pole?’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Only if I get to lick your baubles.’
June. Nine weeks
Rory was an onion of anxiety.At his core was the deep-rooted belief that he would be a terrible father. He could unpick the thought with logic and common sense, but the unconscious fear still remained that he would, through DNA or imprinting, behave the same way his father had towards him.
Built over this were layers upon layers of stress. Would Zoebe okay? Would she survive labour and birth? Was the baby healthy? How could he take some of her workload away? Even if he managed to rationalise one worry, there was always another one hiding underneath.
He wanted to talk to his best friend about it all, but Charlie was in LA and their time zones never seemed to match. Rory was also working around the clock to try and keep on top of the everyday running of the estate, all the weddings they had booked, and the planning for Christmas.
But for all the weight on his shoulders, Rory knew he had it easy compared to Zoe. The only time she wasn’t exhausted or nauseous was when she was asleep, the brief moments she could eat, or when she was orgasming. Keeping her satisfied was a duty he undertook with absolute dedication.
Right now, she was riding him, and he was trying to keep his own climax at bay until she’d had her third. Her expression had been one of bliss, but her closed eyes were twitching in a way that worried him.
He squeezed her thighs. ‘You okay?’
Her eyes snapped open. ‘Yes, I’m fine.’ She moved faster, but was now biting her lower lip.
‘Zoe, stop! Are yousureyou’re alright?’
Getting off him, she sat on the bed cross-legged, holding her stomach.
Rory got to his knees, his heart pounding.
