Page 10 of The Billionaire's Bagpipes

I glare. “Mom. Please. Can we talk about something else? Or maybe you can go now?” I nod encouragingly.

“I read an article recently about a study in one of those Scandinavian countries. Did you know that men who have younger siblings find pregnant women very attractive? It’s something to do with sexual imprinting, I think.”

“Oh my God, Mom. Stop! He might hear you.”

“Stirling!” My mother stands and calls his name as she walks toward the kitchen. “Do you have brothers or sisters?”

I strain to hear the answer but can’t make it out. I can see my Mom’s back, standing in the doorway. She looks over her shoulder and calls to me, “One older sister and two younger ones. Very interesting.” Then she turns back to the man and continues to speak too quietly for me to hear. Of course, that doesn’t matter since seconds later she calls to my end of the condo again, “Divorced ten years ago. Single ever since. Very, very interesting.”

I push myself to try to stand, not caring if I go into labor for moving too quickly or jostling the kids. In fact, labor would be a preferable distraction to the conversation taking place in my kitchen. In my rush to intervene, I misjudge how hard I need to push to get myself upright and tumble forward onto the floor, falling with a loud crash against the coffee table.

Stirling is on his knees at my side before I’ve even finished my string of expletives.

Lying on my side, dress up, exposing my oh-so-sexy pregnancy panties, I try to cover myself but he catches my arm.

“Stop,” he says, with a tone that I’m certain could quiet a school bus on its way to a field trip at the aquarium. Stirling places his large, warm palm on my exposed belly. “Are you okay?”

“No. I’m not okay. I’m dying here.”

His eyes fill with concern.

“I’m calling 9-1-1,” Mom says.

“No, Mom. Don’t.” I pull Stirling’s head toward me and whisper, “She’s killing me with her questions. I am so embarrassed.”

I look into his eyes and feel myself fall in an entirely more dangerous way than off the couch.

“Totally fine. Wait until you meet my sister Jeanette. She’ll make your mom look like a rank amateur in the interrogation olympics.”

I want to kiss him. I need to kiss him. I close my eyes and tilt my head back, lips up toward him.

“Oh my god, did she just faint?”

My eyes snap open when Mom’s voice pierces the moment.

Stirling’s tongue is playing on his bottom lip then he barks out a laugh. “Let me help you up.”

He gets me settled back on the couch while Mom jibber jabbers about me taking the bedrest edict more seriously. I assure them both that the babies and I are better than fine.

“Stirling, show me how to make this drink so I can do it for my stubborn child.”

“Actually, Tonya, I can’t do that. I’m the only one who can make this specific blend.”

“Unlike my darling daughter, I’m a pretty quick study in the kitchen,” Mom argues.

“I don’t doubt you are. But this is a secret recipe, so your daughter is stuck with me coming over to make it for her until the craving passes and she can eat normally again.” Stirling winks at me and I know in that moment that I will be craving clam smoothies for the rest of my living days.

CHAPTER10

Stirling

I’ve spent three to four hours every afternoon for the past seventeen days with Magdalena. I convinced her to stay in bed since it looked much more comfortable than the couch. At first, she argued that it wasn’t a good idea, so I pulled an asshole move and told her it was my way or she could wave goodbye to the home delivery service.

Her bedroom is bigger than my living room and dining room combined. Her king size bed has an Art Deco style headboard made of rich, grey velvet and her deep burgundy duvet and all the damn pillows give her the appearance of being Hollywood royalty.

And although I spend as many hours in my own bed, fantasizing about what it would be like to fall asleep and wake up in that bed with her, I never let on that I’m having unprofessional thoughts. Part of what makes Mags so damned desirable is the very thing that makes her unattainable: she is a fierce, independent woman, hell-bent on living her life without the restrictions put on her by a partner.

I hate it and I respect it.

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