Page 16 of Shielding his Legacy
Thank God he couldn’t see my stomach, she thought, imagining his horror as he took in the changes in her body since he’d last seen her naked. Not only was her belly covered in angry red stretch marks, it was distended as if she was permanently going to appear four months pregnant for therest of her long, lonely life, and she couldn’t bear for the same man who’d whispered reverent praise of her figure during the weekend they shared together to be shocked and appalled by what had become of her physique.
Not that she’d been thin before, though he’d clearly liked what he’d seen at the time. God, she shouldn’t do that, shouldn’t let herself think about the time they’d spent together in bed. Those memories were better left for the lonely nights when she allowed herself to believe what they’d shared was real—that he would somehow come to his senses—if only so she could finally get a few hours of restless sleep.
She looked down at Abby and used her finger to break the suction between her breast and the sleeping baby’s perfect little Cupid’s bow mouth. Suddenly, she was so tired, as if the stress of these past few months was bearing down on her with the heat of a thousand suns.
She straightened, turning to contemplate the shower that had felt so damn good just fifteen minutes before. Should she get back in, or would Abby just awaken the moment Eva finally relaxed beneath that powerful, hot spray? Leave it to Gavin to have more jets than her body had parts, with a glass door extending to a tiled ceiling to trap in the steam.
It was more than heavenly. It was decadence and bliss, the kind of shower that was begging for a torrid love scene in a movie, and she couldn’t help but wonder what woman had done the honor of being pinned between Gavin’s thrusting hips and that hard tile wall. Whoever she was, she probably hadn’t gotten pregnant, and she probably hadn’t proclaimed her love after only two days in his bed.
She rolled her eyes at the memory. He was worldly and vital, the contrast between his cynical view and her ownPollyanna version making her seem ridiculously childish by comparison. And maybe she had been, but the last year had gone a long way toward maturing her quickly.
Looking back at Abby, she weighed her options and shivered. While the shower had been hot and wonderful, there was a distinct chill in the bathroom that had seeped into her limbs when she got out to tend to her daughter, the cool temperature now reaching all the way to her bones.
What was the worst that could happen if she asked Gavin to watch Abby? He’d have to call her for help? But maybe, just maybe, she’d get some time to herself—a commodity that had been in short supply these past few months.
Decision made, she looked at her dirty clothing in a small heap on the floor before opting for a thick navy-blue robe from the back of the door. She wrapped it tightly around her. From the scent of his familiar musk on the collar, she would have known this was Gavin’s robe even if she pulled it around herself twenty years from now and halfway around the world. His heavily muscled arms had been in these sleeves. His naked?—
Stop it.
You need a shower and some food and a bed.
Preferably one with you alone in it.
Tying the belt around her waist, she carefully picked up the car seat and opened the door. “Gavin?” she called softly, trying not to wake the baby.
He appeared at the bottom of the steps. “Yeah?”
“Think you could watch her for a while, after all? She’s asleep now.”
“Sure.” He quickly climbed the stairs, and she watched as he took the car seat like he was being entrusted with the last remaining Faberge egg.
“Thanks.” Moving back into the bathroom, she closed the door—locking it this time—before untying his bathrobe and letting it slip from her shoulders. Stepping back into the shower, she again started that glorious spray, grateful Gavin was there to take the baby for a while. This must be what it was like to have a baby with a partner by your side.
The corners of her mouth pulled down hard, the thought instantly making her sad. This would be her only opportunity to experience what so many women took for granted. Self-pity and fatigue percolated through her bloodstream, a heady mix that was more than enough to push her over the edge after the events of the last few days. Letting her chin fall to her chest, she walked herself into the pulsating spray and wept.
10
Gavin sat on the edge of the couch, knees wide, elbows braced, staring at the baby. Abby was asleep in her little nest of blankets in her car seat on the floor in front of him. Peaceful. Perfect.
Too perfect.
He scrubbed a hand over his face. He’d made a fire in the hearth, then settled before the baby and hadn’t moved for twenty minutes, afraid that one wrong shift of his body would shatter the delicate calm. The baby had barely stirred, her tiny mouth working rhythmically, lost in whatever babies dreamed about. He wondered if it was her mother’s familiar heartbeat, a world without complications or disappointment.
A world without him in it.
But then she squeaked—a soft, confused little sound—and her eyelids fluttered. He held his breath. Just when he thought she was back asleep, her face scrunched up, her limbs stretching in a jerky, alarmed way.
Panic crawled up his spine. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “You don’t have to wake up. Just keep sleeping.”
Abby opened her eyes, blinked, and let out a single, heart-wrenching wail, a siren that pierced right through his chest.
He froze. The noise spiked his adrenaline like enemy fire. His mind screamed at him todo something,but his body didn’t know what that something was. Her tiny face crumpled further, her plaintive wail growing sharper.
He took a shaky breath and unbuckled her harness before scooping her up like a rotten hunk of beef from the back of his refrigerator. He’d seen people hold babies, and he chastised himself for his ineptitude as he pulled her in close. Wasn’t he supposed to watch her neck? Not that he knew what to look for, but he thought that was important.
He cradled her awkwardly against his chest. Her warmth seeped through his shirt, her frantic little heartbeat thumping against his own. She was warm and soft and curled in on herself, and he pressed his palm gently over her back, terrified that the wrong amount of pressure would hurt her, crush her, break her tiny frame.
“Shh… It’s okay. Your mama’s just taking a shower. She’ll be back before you know it.” He became aware he was bouncing slightly from his knees. Was that an instinctual thing? He took comfort in the thought that his body might have an idea how to care for his child, even if his mind was in a sweat-soaked, white-knuckled panic.
