Page 24 of A Nine-Month Deal With Her Husband

Ben opened a cupboard door, pulled out a bottle of whisky sans hot chocolate and reached for a glass. Dumping a healthy amount into the glass, he threw it back, welcoming the heat as it slipped down his throat. He started to pour himself another shot and stopped, thinking that alcohol would not add any clarity to the situation.

He walked over to the L-shaped couch in the corner of the kitchen, underneath the wide, tall windows, lay down and rested his head on a cushion, with his forearm over his eyes.

The sex they shared had been brilliant and he’d enjoyed feeling completely in sync with another person. Millie had been as into him as he was her and they seemed to be reading from the same book, singing the same tune. He instinctively knew how to touch her, what she’d like and didn’t. She hadn’t been shy about exploring his body and she’d paid attention to his responses. In some ways, it felt as though they’d made love a hundred times before, yet coming together was still new and exhilarating.

She’d rocked his world and he knew he’d returned that favour. They’d had simple, uncomplicated, unbelievably amazing sex...twice. And he’d thought they’d spend the rest of the night having more brilliant sex. But her question changed their dynamic in a heartbeat.

Could he give her a child?

Wow. And what the hell? He had no idea how he’d managed to keep so calm, to not react. Maybe he’d been too shocked to react.

He wasn’t sure whether to be irritated by her question, hurt or annoyed.

Ben dropped his arm, sat up and glanced out of the window. Still snowing...dammit. The usual sounds of his busy street were drowned out by the snow-filled wind. The dim street lights cast long, distorted shadows on the snowbanks, creating an eerie atmosphere.

Ben tipped his head back to look up at the ceiling. On the next floor, somewhere directly above him, Millie slept. He rubbed his hands over his face. On hisWhat-will-Millie-do-next?bingo card, getting her pregnant didn’t feature. He’d married her to protect his business interests and he’d looked after her interests, and the personal trust she’d inherited from Jacqui, as he would his own money. Giving her a baby wasn’t part of that agreement.

He didn’t want to be a father and had never had any interest in raising a child. He had no idea how to juggle a kid and a career and was scared to try because his mum had been so shockingly bad at being a mother and having a career. And, thanks to his mum being difficult about visitation rights—she didn’t want him to stay with her, but she didn’t want him to spend time with his dad either—he and his Icelandic father had had a cordial, but not particularly close, relationship.

He hadn’t had a decent role model, nobody to teach him how to be a good parent. His mother had veered from thinking he was mildly intellectually challenged—for a super-smart woman, she could be amazingly dense—to being uninterested in him. His dad was welcoming when he made the rare trip to Iceland, but hadn’t gone out of his way to make sure Ben spent time with him.

Neither of them had paid any attention to his progress at school and never expressed any interest when he stopped stuttering or guided him in any way, shape or form. He was expected to get on with it, so that’s what he had done.

He’d become the person he was, confident and successful, all by himself. He had his mother’s ruthless streak, he could also be uninterested and quickly grow bored of things that didn’t hold his attention. He wasn’t father material and he didn’t have time to learn how to be one...

But Millie didn’t want him to be a father, she didn’t want him involved in his child’s life at all. She wanted to raise the baby alone, with no input from anybody else. How would he be any different from a sperm donor?

And if he did get her pregnant, could he stay uninvolved? He liked control, having it and wielding it, so would he be able to stick to his promise to stay out of her, and his child’s, life? His mother had never liked him, but she liked having power over him. His father had been fine with, or without, Ben’s presence in his life. If he had a child, in whose footsteps would he follow?

Questions tumbled through his mind, just like those fluffy snowflakes tumbled through the night, and he couldn’t find any answers. Could he keep his distance from Millie during the pregnancy and after the baby was born? Would he be able to carry on a relationship, even if it was business, and ignore her child...hischild?

And what about his stuttering? He pushed his hands into his hair, irritated with his grasshopper thoughts.

His stuttering was, to an extent, hereditary—one of his uncles on his dad’s side had a stutter, as did his grandfather. What if he passed his chronic stuttering on to his kid? How would Millie feel if he told her there was a chance her kid would inherit his speech impediment? Would she say‘thanks, but no thanks’?

If she did that, and she most likely would, it would hurt like hell. His stuttering had caused him so much pain, but he’d overcome it. He’d made a few mistakes lately when speaking to Millie and those small lapses scared him to his soul. What was it about her that made him lose a smidgeon of his hard-fought-for control? He only stuttered when he got upset or was overly emotional.

He knew that having people in his life he cared about would lead to a resumption of his speech impediment. He’d proved that with Margrét and he’d promised himself he’d never go back to that deep, dark place where words stuck in his throat and his world closed in. To feel less than, stupid and unaccepted. No, he couldn’t risk that, he’d worked too hard to go back to the place he was before.

He needed to run, to put as much distance between them as he could.

But then a tantalising thought dropped into his brain. What if he didn’t?

What...what if he rantoher, had a fling with her and then let her go when their time was up? Millie was an outlier, an absolute temptation, and she pulled unwelcome feelings to the surface. He accepted that.

Normally, when he met a woman who interested him, who made him feel more, he never, after taking her to bed, followed up. He was terrified he’d feel something,anything, and was constantly on edge, waiting for his stutter to be triggered by even the smallest hint of emotion. He so was tired of being ruled by fear...

Oh, he had no intention of falling in love with Millie, being overcome by emotion—it wasn’t an option. But Millie got to him quicker than most and he sensed lust and like, affection and joy flittering on the outer edges of his mind. They were softer, brighter, lovelier emotions and ones he refused to entertain. He knew his stutter walked in their shadow...

But what if hemanaged tocontrol his feelings towards Millie? What if, instead of running away, instead of having brief encounters, he had a fling with Millie and spent concentrated time with her? What if he danced with his devils instead of running away from them?

If he could keep emotions under control with her, then he knew—knew—he’d have absolute control ofeveryemotion going forward.

Absolute control over his feelings meant he’d never have to worry about his stutter again. He’d be free of it, free from its invisible but still strong chains. Free from the fear of its reappearance and he’d finally wash the stain on his soul away. He’d never be the boy who couldn’t speak again.

It was an opportunity, one that wouldn’t roll around again. And when he had his emotions under control, then he could decide whether or not to give her a child.

Millie walked down the stairs to the kitchen, dressed in a pair of jeans, a long jersey the colour of butter and knee-high, flat-soled boots. Because she’d spent most of the night looking out of the window, she knew it had stopped snowing around four and, by eight, the heavy clouds had lifted, allowing what little light there was to filter through the gaps in the clouds. With every hour that passed the day lightened. As much as a winter’s day in Iceland could.

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