Another Goal, page 9
Unsure what to do next, I stood there, waiting.
“Can I…” He trailed off again. “Can I touch you—her? Skin to skin?”
“Sure.” I shrugged like I didn’t care, but my heart rate tripled as he came forward and laid his palms on my stomach. This is about the baby.
Bree kicked into his left palm, and he laughed, his eyes meeting mine. “She’s active. And strong.”
I nodded, a lump in my throat. He lowered his eyes to talk to my belly, delight dancing across his features.
“Oh, good one, baby Bree.”
He was slaying me with his kindness. Why had I thought to deny him this—deny me this?
From the time I was a little girl, I’d dreamed of being a mother. Trent had torn that dream; I shouldn’t have let him. I should never have let him seduce me with kindness…and touch.
I still craved touch. Luka’s specifically. If only I hadn’t been so forward with him. My cheeks burned with embarrassment.
Luka shifted his weight, crooning against my skin, causing me to shiver. Bree shoved hard, seemingly energized by his voice. Luka yelped and tumbled backward, and I laughed. He smiled up at me, sheepish. “She’s active tonight.”
I sucked in a breath, those words slamming into me, mending my most tattered edges. I’d been different since Trent’s attack. Harder, yes, but also brittle. Scared to trust, scarred from trusting.
I placed my hands on my belly, enjoying Bree’s movements. Enjoying this moment with Luka more than I could have imagined.
I would never have another child. I’d only needed one to ensure the future of the Jones fortune—something Trent had informed me that fateful night.
Now that I’d been with Luka—been lonely without him to share these moments, missed his sweet smile and the way his eyes lit up, the softness of his fingertips trailing across my skin—I couldn’t imagine ever allowing another man to touch me.
And I’d made that impossible with Luka.
He’d go back to play in the NHL, and I’d be here—alone with Bree. That’s what I’d wanted, yet now, seeing Luka on his knees, his bulk between our vulnerable daughter and the world, I had to wonder if I’d failed him, Bree, and myself by not giving him this chance from the get-go.
Luka
Millie’s inattention during dinner gave me time to study her. Her thick glasses sat on her pert nose, and I had to resist the urge to boop it. She was just too cute.
Pretty.
Fresh and smart. The best thing ever to happen to me.
“Tell me about your job,” I suggested, this time determined to actually learn what the hell she did for a living.
Millie looked up from her plate of spaghetti. “What would you like to know?”
“What exactly do you do? I know you’re a chemical engineer, but you’ve never told me what this position entails.”
She stared at me for a long moment before she swallowed. “I—I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I’m not used to people being interested in my work.”
She meant a specific people, but I let that go for now. “Well, I am.”
She offered a shy smile. “I mainly analyze the formation of rocks and oil reservoirs, but I’m here to improve our computer-based models for drilling.”
“That’s…” Hard, intense, not something I totally understand. “Cool.”
She snorted. “I get it—it’s boring. Nerdy. Possibly arcane.” She waved a hand. “Environmentalists hate my job. They think I want the world to burn to a crisp.”
I cleared my throat. “But you don’t, right? I mean, that would be bad.”
She rubbed her hands on her belly. “No, I don’t. I wanted to be a petrochemical engineer so that while extraction remains one of our energy sources, we didn’t have another massive oil spill.”
I frowned. “That’s noble.”
“Thanks…I think. It didn’t hurt that I also get to see the world and bring home a good salary.” She set her fork down and focused on me. “What got you into hockey?”
“My parents.”
She smiled. “Really? They’re fans? Come to every game?” she teased.
“More like fans of me not being around.” I winced. “Sorry. That’s harsh.”
She shook her head. “No, I get that.” She was quiet a moment. “After my mother died, my dad told me to stop moping. When I couldn’t get out of my “funk”—as he called it—he shipped me off to boarding school.”
I made a sound of disapproval deep in my throat. Then I told her the painful truth I hated sharing with anyone. “Hockey took up a lot of my time as a kid, whether I wanted it to or not. My parents liked that aspect of it.”
Millie gawked. “What? Your parents made you play a sport you didn’t like so they didn’t have to…” She trailed off, clearly uncomfortable with her train of thought.
I shrugged like it was no big deal, but I also clenched my hands into fists, no longer hungry. “I was active—too active, according to my teachers and parents. Getting me on the ice for hours each week was supposed to tire me out, as well as to keep me out of their hair. Plus, they were mostly just following their noses to the next exciting activity, and my schedule got in the way.”
Millie’s eyes went soft with sympathy. I waved her off before she could comment.
“I ended up loving it. Best decision they made for me.”
I wouldn’t share with anyone how good it had felt to find a place to finally belong.
Millie seemed to think we were different—too different. But we weren’t. In fact, with each tidbit of her past she let slip, I realized just how similarly loveless our childhoods had been. That’s probably why we were both so excited to be parents ourselves.
Shifting so I could see her bump, my breathing slowed as contentment washed over me. I wanted our family. I wanted to be a family—more than I knew how to express to her.
The meal was low-key, perfect to show Millie being with me didn’t have to be a high-stress, fame-in-the-way situation. I insisted on cleaning up, though Millie kept me company. But once she started yawning, I shooed her to bed.
“Are you sure you’ll be okay out here?” she asked, her dubious gaze swinging to the couch.
There was no way I’d fit on my back with my legs straight. Why did people insist on buying furniture that didn’t fit them? Well, in fairness, the couch fit Millie fine. Just not my extra ten inches.
“Yeah. It’s fine.”
She pressed her lips together, shifting back and forth.
“It’s fine, Millie. I’m fine. Go to bed.”
Three hours later, I groaned as I flailed, barely keeping myself from landing cheek-first on the floor. I knocked my foot into the coffee table, stubbing my toe.
With a low curse, I rolled over onto my back, one of my shoulders hanging off the couch’s cushion. My back ached from the hunched position, my muscles too tight.
“My twin bed at my parents’ house was more comfortable,” I muttered, running my palms down my face. But I must have slid back into sleep because the next thing I heard was the water running for the shower. I blinked open my bleary eyes and squinted at the morning sunlight hazing through the gauzy drapery over the sliding glass doors. Jet lag and too few hours of sleep caused my head to pound.
With a grimace, I hauled myself off the torture device and limped to the kitchen. Caffeine would help my fuzzy head. Stretches and a workout would eventually loosen my muscles. By the time Millie came out, I’d finished half my cup of coffee and folded the sheets and comforter into a nice, neat pile in the corner of the couch.
She tucked her hair behind her ear. ‘’Morning. Sleep okay?”
“Great.” The word spilled from my mouth because I was still caught on her lips. They were so soft and pink. I wanted to run my thumb over the bottom one. She’d open for me, caress the tip with her tongue. I cleared my throat, yanking my mind from the fantasy. “Want some?”
She shook her head. “No caffeine while pregnant. I’ll just make some herbal tea. Then we can head out to my doctor’s appointment.”
I nodded. Right. No caffeine. Cruz had mentioned that. I glanced at my bag, which held a list of pregnancy books I wanted to read. Problem was, I hated reading. The words swirled around, dancing, making it hard to concentrate.
Cruz knew about my dyslexia, so that fucker had bought me a pile of picture books—for younger siblings—that explained the changes happening inside a mom’s body.
I’d never admit it, but I’d pored over those books, memorizing most of the images.
“Sounds great. Can I make you breakfast?” I asked.
She nodded. “I’ll make it. You good with fruit and yogurt?”
In a smoothie that typically went along with a couple of eggs and toast, yes. But I nodded instead, because if Millie wanted to make me something to eat, I was going to enjoy it.
We arrived a few minutes early to the appointment, where Dr. de Silva measured Millie’s belly and I once again heard Bree’s heartbeat. That sound never got old.
“And it won’t be a problem for Millie to fly to the States in a few weeks?”
“When are you planning to travel?” Dr. de Silva asked.
“In about a month,” Millie said.
She studied the chart. “I should see you a couple of days before you depart to make sure you’re healthy enough to do so, but right now I don’t foresee any complications. You should still be good, timing wise.”
I’d learned my lesson, so I didn’t ask to join Millie at work when the appointment was over. Instead I contented myself with walking her to the building and kissing her cheek goodbye in the air-conditioned cool of the lobby.
That morning set up a routine we followed for the following couple of weeks: Millie and I had breakfast before she spent the days at her office and I poked around the city and came up with dinners for us to share, as well as indulging in the hours-long secret I kept from her.
After I nearly fell off the couch multiple times the second night, cursing and wincing, I took to napping in Millie’s bed while she was gone, desperate for a few hours of decent shut-eye. At night, between attempts at poor sleep on the couch, I listened to an audiobook I’d found on raising an infant—much better for me than trying to power through the printed version—and that kept me awake for even more hours.
“They shit how often?” I whispered into the dark one night.
With a shudder at the idea of wiping up bodily fluids—not something I handled well, truth be told—I turned off the book and took out my headphones, pushing my heels into the end of the couch, as if that would stretch the fucker out long enough for me to lie on it with ease. I seriously considered buying a bigger couch, but Millie had commented on how comfortable this one was when she’d settled onto it earlier, so I couldn’t do it.
Instead, the next day I stumbled into her bedroom after my early lunch at a small dumpling shop down the street from her place. My head hit her pillow, and I inhaled her scent, moaning at the pleasure of stretching out fully…and Millie. Her scent wrapped around me, slithered through my nasal passage and into my blood, causing it to thrum.
I flipped onto my stomach, pushing my hips into the mattress to ease the growing ache in my dick even as my heavy eyes slid shut. I woke four and a half hours later, refreshed and giddy that Millie would be home in an hour. I made her bed carefully and exited her room—after I squeezed her pillow to my chest and inhaled that citrusy scent one last time.
Millie had been tightlipped about the upcoming second wedding between Ida Jane and Maxim since the video call right after I got here. It had taken me weeks to tease out more details, but I now knew the wedding would be at Cormac’s house, and the CATS had thrown themselves into planning it.
Millie had agreed to attend, so I was escorting her home for a wedding. Just not our wedding. Not that we were ready for marriage, or that I wanted to get married…did I? I wasn’t sure. I just knew I didn’t want to be like my parents, and committing to a partner through marriage had to make it easier for the kid, too.
The realization that Millie would be horrified if I asked her to marry me disappointed me for days. I’d seen that in Cormac and Maxim. They were both grounded in a way that Naese and even Cruz weren’t.
Cool fingers brushed hair off my forehead as I inched out of a deep sleep and into another type of wonderful dream. Millie never balked at me talking to her belly, but since that first night, when I would have sworn she was flirting with me as she ate that first meatball, she’d been reticent—almost standoffish about me touching her.
But now her hip was next to mine, her body leaning over me, that soft lilac-and-grapefruit scent I loved surrounding me. I wanted this forever.
“Ah, Luka, I knew you were too big for the couch,” she murmured. “Are you really one of the good ones?”
This question was so softly spoken, I knew I wasn’t supposed to hear it, let alone answer. It took everything in me not to yell that yes, I was, in fact, a great one, and she should give me a real chance, not continue to keep me at arm’s length.
“You scare me,” she continued.
Why? Ah, hell… What had I done?
Her fingers danced along my cheekbone before settling on my lips.
“Oh, how you scare me. You make me yearn… You deserve a woman who isn’t afraid to love you.” She ended the sentence with a hitch of her breath.
Thank fuck! I thought I’d actually made her afraid of me. But no, she was afraid of what I made her feel. That I could work with. I opened my eyes and took her hand in mine.
“Why don’t you let me decide what I deserve? And what I want.”
Millie’s eyes widened, and she pulled away, so I wrapped my other arm around her hips and slid my head across the pillow until I was nose to bump.
“Hi, baby.” I kissed Millie’s stomach, as I did every time she returned. I liked the opportunity to talk to my kid—and the soft smile that always curved Millie’s lips when I showed our Bree affection. Rolling onto my back, arms still cinched around her, I met her troubled gaze.
“Hey, stop that. You don’t need to worry, not about this—me.” I glanced at the clock and frowned. “Why are you here?”
“Because I have a doctor’s appointment in half an hour and thought you’d like to come.”
My confusion deepened. “I thought that was tomorrow.”
Millie smiled, her eyes alight. “It was, but it got moved to today. You still want to join—”
“Hell, yes.” I scrambled around her, out of the bed and into the bathroom. “Give me two minutes.”
I washed my face and brushed my teeth, a twinge of longing hitting me when I returned my toothbrush next to hers in the holder. I wanted this. I wanted Millie to remain in my life, in my condo, us together.
I hadn’t brought it up again, not after I caught the wonder and fear in her eyes every time I cleaned up after dinner or brought her a cup of herbal tea, like I had yesterday morning when she was feeling lousy.
I exited the bathroom to find Millie still standing next to the unmade bed. She lifted her head, and her expression held a longing so intense I stumbled. Righting myself, I settled on the balls of my feet, waiting for her next move. She dropped her gaze, but not before I saw fear in her eyes.
“You should sleep here,” she said. Her voice shook. She cleared her throat. “Tonight.”
“I’m not kicking you out of your bed,” I scoffed. “Especially not with us traveling tomorrow.” I scooted around her, nudging her so I could pull up the sheets and comforter. Then I went to the living room to grab the shoes I’d left next to the couch.
She inhaled sharply. “I was, ah, thinking we could both sleep here.”
Chapter 8
Millie
“So, it’s no problem to travel as long as we watch her water intake and move every hour between naps?” Luka asked Dr. de Silva.
He was determined to make sure Bree and I could fly safely tomorrow.
She shook her head, a slight smile on her lips. “That’s correct. They’re both healthy, and she still has ten weeks before she’s considered full-term.” She aimed a pleasure-filled grin my way. “I’m guessing that as a professional hockey player, he takes workouts and hydration seriously.”
I gasped. “You know who he is?”
“Love hockey,” Dr. de Silva answered. “I was miffed when Stolly missed a game last season, until I met him in person.” She winked. “Move,” she told me. “Your ankles will swell because of the altitude. And remember, absolutely no air travel if you have complications or after thirty-four weeks.”
Luka and I nodded our understanding.
“Great! You kids have fun. And win the Cup next year, okay?”
“I’ll do my best,” Luka said, his expression grave.
We exited the doctor’s office and headed down the street for an early dinner. I was hungry. These days I was either starving or too full to eat another bite, nothing in between.
As we ate, my mind continued to replay Luka’s expression when I’d asked him to sleep with me tonight.
“I’d like that.”
He’d like to sleep in bed with me so he doesn’t need to nap all day, I told myself. So his back won’t hurt. Yeah, I’d caught his grimaces.
Or did he want to sleep in the bed with me because he wanted to hold me?
I desperately wanted it to be the latter, but I couldn’t let myself hope like that. I just couldn’t. I’d thought I was in love with Trent. He’d paid me attention; he’d opened doors and looked deep into my eyes and kissed me so sweetly.
And he’d shattered my heart into tiny pieces the night I left his place for the last time.
In some ways, I was reliving that sweet wooing with Luka, and his gentlemanly ways drove me bonkers. In fact, I wanted to rip out my hair almost as much as I needed to kiss him.
At least he’d let me treat him to a meal he didn’t make or clean up himself. Now that I’d paid the bill, though, he came over and helped me from my seat. I didn’t need the help—yet—but I enjoyed his touch and the admiring looks I received from women nearby.
