Chapter 14

FOURTEEN

I t had been happening almost every night at the same damn time: 10:08 p.m., approximately two hours after Sofia had well and truly fallen asleep when I was thinking about nodding off myself after watching an episode of Downton Abbey to soothe my nerves.

I’d brush my teeth.

Pee for the four-hundredth time that day (yay, pregnancy bladder).

Settle myself into bed.

And just when I was ready to fall asleep, it would happen.

That feeling .

Tonight it was worse than usual. I hadn’t even made it upstairs before the churning in my stomach and clenching of my thighs began. Right after Mary Crawley made a glib remark and the heavy strings of the Downton Abbey theme started with the credits, I found myself unable to move from the couch because I only wanted one thing, and it was definitely not upstairs.

Maybe it was the way Xavier had charmed Sofia into eating not just two bites, but all the spinach risotto with shrimp he’d prepared for dinner.

Maybe it was the way his tattoo had stretched over his abs when he reached up to replace a broken light bulb in the hall.

Or maybe it was because earlier that afternoon, I’d listened to him demonstrate the sexiest emotion I personally thought a man could show: remorse.

Now I lay on my couch, trying not to reach for my vibrator while the look on Xavier’s face as he admitted to getting therapy flashed through my mind on replay.

No, it was more than that.

It wasn’t just that he’d taken my critiques of his anger to heart, but that he was actually doing something about it. The way he’d admitted to his faults and also was taking legitimate accountability for them. The earnestness shining through those deep blue eyes was totally foreign, totally surprising, and totally alluring.

Therapy was sexy as hell. Who knew?

Apparently me, right now, staring up at the popcorn ceiling while I tried to talk myself out of taking care of business.

It wasn’t right.

Not with him in my head. Not with the boundaries we’d drawn. I’d drawn. That he was thoughtfully respecting.

Dammit. That wasn’t helping. Nor was the fact that on the screen, Lady Sybil was getting ready to run off with Branson, the hot Irish chauffeur and bookish revolutionary. They didn’t care about social propriety or boundaries on Downton Abbey either.

I turned the TV off only to hear the muffled noises of Xavier moving about his space before bed.

It was too easy to imagine what he was doing. We’d cohabited long enough that I knew at least some of his patterns.

He was fanatical about his teeth, so he’d usually spend a solid ten minutes in the bathroom brushing, flossing, mouth-washing, spitting, and all of it before taking another ten to twenty minutes to check and recheck that all the doors, windows, and any other potential security breaches were locked up tight to protect us all. He always slept with a fresh glass of water next to his bed and would pad around in a pair of house slippers that he set out side by side next to his nightstand so he could slip into them easily come morning. He usually spent the evening in a pair of loose pajama pants and a T-shirt but typically removed both to sleep in just a pair of boxer briefs.

Right after taking them off, though, he’d often get down on the rug for ten minutes of sit-ups or calisthenics. This had almost always had the effect of pulling my attention from whatever book I was reading before sleep. I’d peek over wherever I was on the page to spy on the mass of corded muscle and writhing tattoos on the floor, which inevitably ended up with one or both of us naked and willing within minutes.

Before I knew it, I was sliding my hand down below the waistband of my pajama shorts, which were already fitting tight, thanks to the little one in there. Like clockwork, my fingers found that familiar position just over my clit and began to move in that easy, practiced way I’d gotten so good at over many years alone.

It was like a military exercise. Soothing. Automatic. Muscle memory, if you will.

I could do this. I’d done it for six years without thinking about him—at least not all the time, anyway. I could push that perfectly carved jaw and those stacked abs out of my mind and focus on something that would only help me relax and wouldn’t break my heart. Otherwise, I’d never get to sleep. And expectant mothers needed their sleep.

Decision made. This was for the good of everyone. Not just me.

I closed my eyes, drawing up some of my favorite fantasies—the ones that always worked in the dark of night when I didn’t want to risk waking everyone so I could thumb through a dirty novel.

I could be ravished in the backyard under the stars, where the neighbors could see us at any moment.

Maybe taken in the subway late at night, the only one left in the car until a stranger entered and kept me company until my stop.

Or perhaps it would be last call at a restaurant, and the ma?tre d’ would lay me out on a table like a banquet.

Apparently, I had a thing for public sex, but now wasn’t the time to analyze that. Or, it occurred to me, the fact that the only man I’d ever had sex with seemed to have an exhibitionist streak himself. After all, how many times had Xavier taken me exactly where and when he wanted, without a care in the world for who might see?

No. Stop. Now was the time to take care of what my body had been screaming for all day, what it seemed to need every hour on the hour for the past several weeks.

Except.

There he was again.

Waiting for me in the garden.

Strolling onto the subway.

Sitting at the head of the table, staring between my legs like he’d just discovered the promised land.

Even in my fantasies, his eyes were as dark blue as the deepest night. Full of mischief, lust, and intensity.

Xavier.

“No!” I hissed into the dark, willing his face to disappear.

It wasn’t his fault, of course. For years, I’d fantasized about a man I could never have. Because then, he’d been a phantom in my dreams, someone who was just a memory. Someone I could never have.

Fantasies were supposed to end when confronted with the harsh light of reality.

Real things like babies and family and fighting and therapy were supposed to spoil the dream.

Weren’t they?

I squeezed my eyes shut even harder, trying with everything I had to imagine someone other than Xavier looking at me with that kind of desire.

The cute barista at Pioneer Works.

A hot professor I’d once crushed on.

I even tried Henry Cavill, my forever standby (especially when he was on The Tudors ).

Nothing and no one else worked.

Those damn blue eyes, that sleek black hair, that broad, smirking mouth still reappeared.

“Dammit!” I shrieked, yanking my hand from my shorts and kicking out in frustration.

My foot, however, hit the plant stand at the other end of the sofa and sent the whole iron structure and the large fern it was holding to the hardwood floor with a crash.

I froze, waiting for the inevitable “Mama?” from the top of the stairs. When it didn’t come, I relaxed again.

That throbbing need in my core was still there, though. I was as wide awake as ever. And more than frustrated.

“I give up,” I growled, then closed my eyes, slipped my hand back between my legs, and let his face return.

You want me? I thought. Come and have me .

Those full lips smiled in a way he hardly ever did these days, and it was like my heart beat in response to it.

With pleasure, my love .

In my thoughts, Xavier knelt in front of me, eyes full of schemes and promise.

Francesca , he whispered as he peeled down my pants and slipped his tongue between my legs. God, you taste so good. So fucking sweet. I could eat you all day, you dirty, dirty girl.

I moaned lightly at the imagined words. It wasn’t really Xavier saying them if it was in my head.

Right?

“Francesca?”

At the sound of my name cutting through the night, I screamed. Then, like a trapped feral cat, I flew in approximately four directions at once, tripping over the arm of the couch, then the fallen plant before finally whirling around just in time to see the basement door open and Xavier enter my living room. He was silhouetted by a stream of light coming from behind him that somehow made him look even taller than he was and made his broad shoulders seem more like actual armor.

I really could not get a break.

“Ces?” he asked again, looking around the dark room. It took a moment, but he finally located me, quivering behind the couch, before he turned on the light. “All right? It sounded like something fell, so I—oh, Christ.”

Based on the fact that he was shirtless but still in a pair of black pajama pants that hung off his hips in an extremely distracting way, I guessed he had been halfway through his sit-ups or on his way to bed when I’d disturbed him. His sharp eyes, however, were wide awake as he took in the scene—the spilled plant stand, the rumpled throw blankets, my mussed clothing. Slowly, his gaze drew up my body, lingering over the untied shorts, my perked nipples, and pillow-flattened hair.

I glanced down in horror, then back up at him, immediately seeing myself through his eyes. Mussed and undone, I looked like I’d been up to absolutely no good.

“I…” Xavier’s eyes darted back around the room. “Fuck. Who is he?”

Hastily, I retied my shorts. “Xavi, it’s really not what you think.”

“Don’t patronize me. Please.” One hand curled into a fist at his side. “I’m trying to be civil here. I really am. But if you’re going to lie to my face about it, I think I’m allowed to be a bit upset.” He checked over my shoulder. “What’s he doing, hiding in the loo? Can’t he come out here and face the music?”

By the end of the statement, he’d leaned around toward the hallway, cupped his other hand around his mouth, and was ready to shout toward the bathroom.

“ Shh. ” I batted his hand away. “You’re going to wake Sofia.”

“And you weren’t?”

“No!” I protested. “I wasn’t doing anything!”

Xavier’s snort echoed through the room.

“What?” I said. “I wasn’t .”

“And I’m the King of England. Honestly, I’m surprised. Our daughter is sleeping one floor above you. I’m not judging but do you really want her to come down looking for her mum and find you riding some random on the couch?” He looked again toward the bathroom and braced, muscles clenched as if ready for a fight.

“Xavi, for God’s sake, I wasn’t screwing anyone but myself!”

“I only thought—what?” Xavier turned back toward me, irritation replaced with curiosity. “Say that again.”

I sighed, my face turning bright red as I pressed my palms to my cheeks. “This is mortifying.”

Xavier’s arms crossed over his broad chest while he tried and failed to mask a grin. “So, you were—” He held up one hand and fluttered his fingers in a gesture that made me flush the color of a very ripe tomato—mostly because I could imagine exactly what those fingers were capable of doing.

“I was not doing anyone or anything,” I completed for him. “There is no one in the bathroom, hiding behind a plant, or running off into the night. Do you really think I would do that with Sofia in the house? Or you, for that matter?” Then another thought occurred to me. One I found I didn’t like at all. “Would you , even though we’re not…you know?”

He blinked again at the bathroom as if to check for an intruder once more, then looked back at me. “Right below you? Absolutely fucking not.”

“Well, then, do you really think I’d be that cruel?”

Xavier opened his mouth as if to argue but then shut it as the residual anger fled his posture. “I—no.” He chewed on his lip. “Yeah. Sorry.”

I sighed and sank down onto the arm of the couch again. “It’s fine. I know what it looked like.”

“So, you were just having a bit of a wank, were you?”

My face turned approximately the color of a stop sign all over again. “Shut up.”

Xavier glanced at the plant with a cheeky grin that made my insides feel funny. “I gather it went, er, well, eh? Can’t recall you ever knocking down plants with me.”

I sighed, surveying the disaster I’d created. There was soil halfway across the rug. “That was more out of frustration than, um, completion.”

It was truly annoying how quickly his mouth curved into a knowing smirk. “That so? I don’t remember us struggling with that either, you know.”

“You don’t have to look so proud about it.” I stooped down to set the plant aright. The dirt would have to be vacuumed in the morning—I didn’t want to wake Sofia. When I was finished, I flopped back onto the couch, ignoring the moment Xavier joined me. And how warm his knee felt touching mine. Or how smooth the bare skin of his shoulder was in the moonlight.

“Poor, poor Ces. A bit hard up, are we?”

I glowered up at him. “It’s not funny.”

“I beg to differ.”

“It’s not.” I huffed. “ You did this to me. I’m awash with hormones, practically swimming in a different emotion every freaking hour. For three months, I wanted to puke day and night. Now puppies make me cry and every night the ‘gotta get laid’ light turns on—which, by the way, wasn’t nearly so bad with Sofia. And just like last time, there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it. Vibrators only do so much, you know. I feel like a fifteen-year-old with one thing on my idiotic lizard brain. Do you remember what it was like to be that age?”

Xavier blanched slightly. “If you were like that, you’d be making a damn mess or taking four showers a day to cover it up. Mum used to yell at me for running up the water bill.”

In response, I said nothing. I had been very clean lately.

“Christ,” he said. “That’s no picnic. I made myself chafe. A lot.”

He sounded so abjectly forlorn about it that I couldn’t help but giggle.

“I feel your pain,” I said with a friendly pat on his knee. “Literally.” Then I sighed. He’d given me honesty. I supposed I could give him another sort. “I guess I just can’t pretend on my own anymore. You screwed it all up this year.”

I turned, expecting another lopsided smirk, but instead found Xavier gazing at his hands in deep contemplation.

“Maybe…I could help.” He looked up, blue eyes full of cautious hope.

I cocked my head suspiciously. “What does that mean?”

“I see how you look at me when you think I don’t notice. Out of the corner of your eyes. I know you say it’s over, Ces, but you also said I did this to you.” His glance flickered down, first landing on my slightly swollen belly, then farther to the heat already building between my thighs. “You say you can’t pretend on your own. But what if you pretend with me?”