Page 40 of The Baby His Secretary Carries

He had managed not to crush her in the quivering aftermath, sinking beside her and pulling her into him, but sex on the floor was a poor example of how well he intended to take care of her. His knees were stinging with a friction burn and this flat was cold enough that he dragged her mostly on top of him to keep her warm.

It wasn’t like him to cast off self-discipline, but he’d been talking about things he never revisited in his own mind, let alone spoke of aloud. He’d been feeling raw and, worse, threatened by the reality of her packed boxes.

If his grandfather’s illness hadn’t arisen to keep her with him that day two weeks ago, she would have given notice and be out of his life after next week. Perhaps she would have come back after the baby was born, but he would have missed this time with her.

Recognizing that had filled him with an urgency he wasn’t expecting, making him greedy for her. More demanding than he should have been.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, bracing himself for her response.

“No. I would have stopped you if I didn’t like it.” She was tracing a tickling pattern against his pec, but she sat up beside him. Her hair was falling out of its clasp and her eyelids were still heavy, her makeup smudged and her mouth sensually swollen. “I’m going to have a quick shower.”

“I’ll join you.”

“Ha! Good luck.”

The stall was a tiny corner unit without a tub. He squeezed himself in with her purely for the entertainment of rubbing their soapy bodies together while sharing a few wet, lingering kisses.

She kept her hair out of the spray, but washed her face. Afterward, she leaned over her dresser to reapply her makeup, providing a delightful view of her backside where her T-shirt rose to reveal the lace edge of the cheekies that cut across the globes of her spectacular ass.

He wore only a towel as he waited for his body to cool. Absently, he paced her small flat, liking the way she’d decorated it. Her possessions weren’t abundant or extravagant, but they were arranged tastefully. The whole was an appealing mix of plain and bright colors with soft textures and inviting warmth.

He wanted to bring up marriage and had since Milan, but he was uncharacteristically unsure, despite what she had said while they were making love a little while ago. When Molly had talked about her parents’ marriage, she had said she was holding out for love as a practical choice. Surely she would see that he offered an extremely comfortable life for her and her baby, though?

The baby.

He glanced over as she straightened to sort through her palettes of cosmetics. Her T-shirt fell to rest against her baby bump, something he saw every time she was naked, but for some reason, seeing it now caused a sledgehammer of emotion to hit him. Something between longing and anticipation.

For the first time in his life, he was enthused by the idea of fatherhood. The concept had shifted from being a role he felt obliged to take on, into one that he wanted. With Molly at his side, he felt ready for the challenge.

“I can feel you staring holes through me.” She shakily pumped her mascara wand before applying it to her lashes, then said in a conciliatory tone, “I promised you three weeks and I’ll honor that. I don’t want to make the lie worse by giving Otto a date, but if he presses the issue, we could say we’re looking at August, before Libby has to return to school.”

He relaxed slightly and returned to his aimless pacing, mind turning to how he would use the next week to convince her to stay for a lifetime.

His gaze snagged on the only art hanging on her walls. It was a butterfly of pins strung with colored threads against a black background. The maker had taken great care with it, but it was the type of makeshift craft one expected from a preteen summer camp.

Was this why she felt she didn’t belong in his world? Because she didn’t have Renaissance oils? From what he could tell, her single mother had provided her a far superior upbringing than the dismal start he’d endured. That’s what made her right for him. She didn’tcareabout money or material possessions. She cared about that baby she carried. About her family.

He absently glanced at the white signature, expecting to see Libby’s name. Maybe Molly’s.

“Who’s Sasha?” he asked.

“What?” She flung around from the mirror. “Oh.” Her eyes widened as she realized what he was looking at. “I’ve had that so long, I forgot it was there. She’s, um, a friend from my high-school days.”

She dropped her makeup and moved to fetch a clean towel from the bathroom.

“I thought you homeschooled?” he asked.

“I still had friends.” She took the artwork off the wall and wrapped it in the towel, then set it in her suitcase. Her hands were shaking. She was avoiding his eyes.

“Are you telling me the truth, Molly?”

“Yes.” She snapped a look at him that was so surprised and unwavering that he dismissed his suspicion. It still seemed like a strong response to an idle question, though.

“She must be very special to you.”

“She is. Are you hungry? There’s a takeaway place around the corner that does an amazing rice bowl. I probably won’t get to enjoy it again for a while so...” She picked up her phone to tap into an app. “I’ll say thirty minutes and we’ll pick it up on the way to your town house? I’m almost finished here.”

He glanced once at the suitcase, still puzzled, but she asked him about his order. Then she was gathering up her last few items and he put the odd moment out of his mind, pleased that she was coming home with him, which was all that mattered.

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