Closing Costs: Stewart Realty, Book Three Read online

  And then there were those Lamaze classes. He grinned at the sight of her now, lush, full, and ripe. His balls positively ached from lack of use, but he’d made a vow to himself. One he planned to keep.

  “You’re gorgeous, but you probably know that.”

  She lifted her shirt, making him breathless with a weird, possessiveness tinged with lust. “Really, then what is that?” She pointed to a dark line that had appeared beneath her navel running down to her…

  “Put your shirt down,” he insisted.

  “No, seriously look at it.”

  Sighing, he stuffed a few towels on top of the last box of kitchen stuff and turned to face her. “No, seriously, Sara. I can’t. It makes me want to do things to you and you’ve already given me that ultimatum.”

  She groaned and toyed with the banana on the table. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just…”

  “I get it. I can be your friend. Can help keep you in lemonade and bananas, but that’s it. Even if that is my kid in there.” He sat a cross from her and cupped her chin.

  “I didn’t want this.” Her voice cracked. “I feel like such a selfish whiney bitch but this.” She put a hand on the shelf of her almost nine-month pregnant belly. “Was not part of my plan.”

  “Yeah, life. It has a way of fucking up plans. And you are a whiny bitch at times. But I’ll forgive you, since you’re admitting it. It’s the first step toward recovery, after all.”

  He stood, pulling her up with him, unable to resist, needing to comfort, to reassure, anything to stop the pain that had settled in his chest when he realized she was completely serious about keeping him at arm’s length. He held her and let her cry herself out against his neck, ruining yet another perfectly crisp shirt collar. Running his hands up and down her back, loving the hard press of the baby between them, he whispered, murmured and cajoled her out of her funk.

  “You know what?” He shut his eyes, sucking in deep breaths of her scent.

  “Hmm?” she mumbled as her arms crept around his neck.

  “I’d pay you right now for a kiss.”

  She laughed, and stepped out of his embrace leaving him cold. “Why? Haven’t you done enough already?” Her smart-ass tone only made him want her more.

  “Well hell Sara, according to you I’ll never know that now will I?” He took her hand, pulled her to him again, sighing with contentment when their lips met. He held her close, or as close as her huge belly allowed. He took advantage of the moment to cup her incredibly full breast, run a hand over and around the ripe mound of her body. A sudden poke under his hand made him gasp and step back.

  “Yeah, welcome to my world, Gordon.” The moment gone, she flopped back in the chair. “You’ve had your grope. Now rub my feet.”

  “Bossy and bitchy. You are quite the charmer.” But he welcomed any opportunity to have his hands on her skin. Dropping into the chair across from her he dug his knuckle into her instep, trying to ignore the hardening under his zipper at the sight of her sleek bare legs, and the way she leaned her head back and moaned. “Of course you realize this is the longest I’ve gone without sex in…ever.” He cleared his throat, shifted in his seat and put her foot back on the floor.

  She glared at him, then her face softened. “Poor baby. Forgive me for not having more sympathy for your plight.”

  Letting his body lead he got on his knees and parted her legs, a pure shaft of lust pierced his spine, nestled in for the long haul deep in his brain. He ran his hands up her thighs, over the tight skin of her stomach, marveling at the way her body had shifted and changed to accommodate life. Her fingers threaded in his hair as he kissed his way up her belly, lapped at her newly reddened nipples. By the time he reached her mouth he thought he could very well come in his pants.

  “God I miss you,” he said around her lips.

  “Shh, no talking,” she insisted. “More kissing.”

  “Gladly.” He pulled her back up, his head spinning, spine thrumming with energy.

  Mine.

  He put a hand on her stomach, loving the heat of her skin. “God, Sara,” Jack groaned as she unzipped his jeans. “Why won’t you let me…?”

  She covered his mouth, shutting out words. His whole world narrowed, focusing again on his need for her. But he finished in his head: Why won’t you let me be with you, all the time, take care of you every day? Why won’t you let go of your infernal need to prove something by doing all of this alone?

  She whispered in his ear. “Do you know the most comfortable position for me right now? Even just standing around?” He shook his head, ran his tongue down the line of her neck, tasting the newness of her. “Watch.” She shrugged out of his arms and turned, propped her elbows on the bare kitchen counter, back arched, ass in the air.

  “Dear Lord, woman.” He exhaled, admiring the view. “I don’t want to hurt you but…”

  “Please, Jack. I need it. I need…you.”

  Running both hands along her hips, he wrestled around and found his better self, and dragged that bastard out to the light of day.

  “No. I’m not playing man-shaped dildo for you.” His eyes burned at the sight of her beautiful ass. He bit down the need to slip inside her. “I can’t be your fuck buddy, baby. I won’t. I’m too invested.” He sighed and pulled her shorts back up, using the opportunity of proximity to caress the heavy swell of her stomach.

  She squirmed, wiggled her ass against him. “No fair,” he muttered into her hair.

  She made a whimpering noise and turned around to face him. Tears stood in her eyes. Without thinking, he reached out, wiped them away and kissed her again. She broke away. “You’re right. I’m not being fair.”

  He sighed, ran his fingers through his hair and willed his libido back in its cage. It went, but with a warning growl that did not bode well for his mood later.

  “So, you closed last week. You move this week, then, eh?” He propped his hands on the counter behind him, opposite her, keeping his distance. She sighed and put a hand in the small of her back.

  “Yeah. What happens next, I have no idea. The whole baby comes out part I’ve read about but…oh hell.” She waddled out into the living room.

  “My offer is still on the table.” He waited. She stuck her head back into the room.

  “And my answer is still no. Unless it’s a new offer to help me paint the baby’s room.”

  “Do you realize you’ve now officially refused an offer—not once but three times— that countless other women have cast themselves into the sea over? And I hate painting. Hire somebody.”

  “Countless? Really.” She stuck her tongue out at him. “Those women were weak. I’m stronger and can resist your charms. As for painting, it only means something if you do it yourself.”

  “You’re the most stubborn female on God’s green earth. I don’t know why I hang out with you. I’m gonna go. I’ll email you the numbers of my favorite painting crew.”

  “Better, before I take advantage of you in a way you’ll enjoy.”

  He grinned. “Promises, promises.” Unable to stop himself, he put his hand alongside her cheek.

  She sighed and leaned into his palm, making the already unbearable band around his chest tighten further.

  “You’re killing me and here I go, asking again.” He took a deep breath. “Marry me Sara. Let me take care of you and the baby.” He ran his hand over her belly again. “Stop fighting it, why don’t you? What the hell are you trying to prove?”

  She stepped back and crossed her arms. “That I can be an adult on my own, that’s what. I did this. I’m the one who should’ve required condoms. That was my responsibility but I didn’t take it.”

  Again, unable to stop himself, frustrated by her damnable independent streak, he pulled her close and pressed his nose into her hair, relishing all the memories of her, of them, good and bad. Sure, the whole insta-family thing wasn’t exactly something he’d bargained for, the longer she held him off, the more he wanted her. Feeling weak, but with an onrushing s
ensation of anger at her, all of it, all at once. His usual response to Sara lately. No, he wasn’t perfect. She was right to be wary. His temper got the best of him too much. He was a know-it-all—never mind that he knew a shit ton about a lot of shit. He fully understood her reticence.

  But still… “I want to take care of you and the baby, Sara. There, I said it again. But I’m done begging you for anything, we clear?”

  She shrugged out of his embrace. “Good. It’s not a good look on you. Thanks for helping me and for the snack. See you tomorrow, I guess. Got an appointment in the morning. Hopefully they’ll give me a get-out-of-jail-free card. If I have to sit around here much longer…”

  He put a finger over her lips. “Enough of that. Do what the docs say. Promise me.” He kept his voice light.

  “Whatever. I’m sick of being such a goddamned invalid.”

  “Yeah so is the rest of Ann Arbor.”

  “Go away. Leave me alone to pout and feel sorry for myself.”

  He touched her nose, stuffed his hands in his pockets to keep from picking her up and dumping her in his car, the need to take care, to possess, to be hers, blinding him for a minute. He closed his eyes. When he reopened them, she had a funny look on her face.

  “You okay, Jack?” The softness in her voice hit him right in the gut. Because he hadn’t been exaggerating. He’d be her friend and Lamaze coach. But not more. He had to move on or he risked a stroke or heart attack or worse.

  “No. But that’s your fault so…”

  He left, while the word “mine” beat a constant, insistent pulse in his heart.

  His phone dinged with a text as he was sitting at home, alone, bourbon in hand, pondering his options to purge Sara Thornton from his heart and head once and for all.

  “Are you gonna help me paint the damn kid’s room or what? I need to get it done this weekend.”

  He grinned like an idiot as he responded. “Well, if you’re going to ask that nicely I guess I can’t refuse. I’ll get the supplies. You order the color but do NOT ask me about it because that’s one thing I refuse to decide.”

  Her reply came within second. “Thanks, Jack. I appreciate your help.”

  “You just want me around so you can stare at my ass.”

  “Oh dang. Busted. See you Saturday, say, 3 p.m.?”

  “Your wish, oh Mighty Pregnant Queen. My command.”

  “That’s more like it.”

  Chapter Six

  “Sara! What are you doing here?” The sales secretary stood, alarm in her eyes. “I mean, it’s good to see you, but…” Her voice trailed off as Sara heaved her awkward bulk through the front door. She sighed and dropped into one of the low slung chairs, half wondering how in the hell she’d be able to stand back up, but not really caring, as long as she could sit.

  “If I stayed in that frigging oven of a house surrounded by boxes another minute I was gonna…ouch.” She put a hand on the huge swell of her stomach, pressing a heel or hand or something away from her ribs. “How in God’s name does anyone think this is nice? I hate it.” She shoved her hair out of her eyes.

  Several of her colleagues entered the public space at the front of her downtown real estate sales office. She tried to focus on them, but she hurt all over, and there was a pounding in her head that she knew damn good and well didn’t bode well for her blood pressure.

  She’d been so stir crazy at home alone, all she’d wanted to do was move around, even if it meant going out into the ungodly August heat. Her phone buzzed and she dug it out, groaning at the sight of her father’s number – again.

  “Hi Dad.” She shifted her feet up onto the coffee table, hoping that would help ease the swelling in her ankles. Pam took a seat next to her, pointing and frowning at her feet. “No, I’m, you know, taking it easy like you said.”

  Her father rattled off more statistics, asked for the millionth time why she wouldn’t get a paternity test now that the baby was nearly thirty-seven weeks, then berated her for a while about being stubborn. She listened, adding “uh-huh’s” and “sure’s” and a few “spare me’s,” ignoring most of it and wishing once again that he were not a retired obstetrician.

  “Dad, just because you know what can go wrong doesn’t mean…” He cut her off with more facts about her condition.

  Sara stopped listening. It wasn’t like she hadn’t lived through it – the bed rest within ten weeks for a misplaced placenta or some shit. The gross, high-protein diet for the next trimester thanks to all the weight she lost throwing up morning, noon and night for the first three months. Now, swelling, headaches, high-blood pressure and the usual fun of having to pee every ten minutes, which made getting any significant sleep impossible.

  “Dad, the doctor said I was close enough to term that if I went into labor now.” She paused. “I had to get out of there, okay? I was going nuts!” She sighed. “Don’t make me hang on up you again. Where’s Mom? Let me talk to her.”

  The minute her doctor had called her father with news of early complications, her parents had moved back to Ann Arbor and into a condo they owned downtown. They’d been doing everything in their power to make her completely insane ever since. Between her father’s overt busybody meddling with her appointments, and her mother’s passive-aggressive micromanaging of everything else, it was no wonder her blood pressure shot up on a regular basis.

  At her last emergency room visit she’d been proud of her doctor, standing up to the Great and Powerful Doctor Thornton, letting Sara go home after doing all the ultrasounds and testing to make sure the baby was fine.

  Then, she’d fallen and landed hard on her ass after losing her balance on a low stepladder. No big deal. But after getting up and recovering her dignity she’d noticed blood in her panties, had panicked and called 911. It was nothing. Just a late-term spotting thing, but her father had been apoplectic, again.

  “We’ve been through this. I don’t want him there.” She held out a hand and her friend, Val, hauled her to her feet. Her back had developed a dull toothache-style sensation all of a sudden. She needed up, to move around, all of a sudden.

  Her skin crawled with tension at the sound of her father’s voice now that the conversation had taken its usual turn in the “why isn’t that asshole around more” direction. Trying to explain the complexity of her relationship with Jack to her father only made her more exhausted. So she didn’t try. He’d form his own opinion anyway, regardless of what she told him.

  She waddled out of the public space and down the hall towards the conference room. The air conditioning made her shiver as she slid into a leather chair at the head of the table.

  “No, it’s not the immaculate conception. Yes, I realize the baby has a father. No, I don’t know who he is. Yes, it could be Jack. Okay Dad – now will you please stop harping?” She winced, trying not to let him hear her groan while readjusting herself in the seat. The sound of her heartbeat pounding in her ears was making her sweaty. “I’m gonna go. You’re stressing me out. Yes, I love you too, bye.”

  Dropping the phone to the table, she laid her head down, letting the cool granite surface soothe her overheated skin. After a few minutes, she figured she’d survive and stood.

  A wave of dizziness coupled with a wallop of nausea forced her back. The baby rolled hard. “Ow.” She put a hand on her stomach, suddenly scared. “Hey, um, is anybody out there?” A bright white bolt of pain slammed her between the eyes. She took a minute to think that the hippie Lamaze lady didn’t say anything about headaches as part of child birth. Then her feet went numb and the room dimmed. “Help?” She grabbed her phone, using a familiar number on reflex.

  “You okay?” Jack’s deep voice rumbled through her psyche, calming her just as her heart started pounding, racing really, making her breathless. She looked down. A puddle had formed at her feet. Her legs were drenched. Her water must have broken or something.

  “No,” she whispered. “No. I’m not.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Offic
e. Ow! Shit!” A band tightened around her middle, clamping down on her lower back and abdomen with so much force it brought tears to her eyes.

  “What? Why aren’t you…? Never mind. Call 911. I’m around the corner. Be right there.”

  The phone slid from her hand, landing in the pool of fluid on the floor. She squinted at it, realizing that it was red. That she was bleeding.

  Holy shit.

  A tidal wave of pain and nausea bowled her over. She couldn’t get a breath. “I can’t feel my hands.” She stared at her fingers, wiggling them, amazed, in a haze of agony. “Help.” She tried to stay conscious. Her last memory was of arms cradling her and the sound of a deep voice.

  “Stay with me Sara. I mean it. Somebody call a fucking ambulance already!”

  “Jack?” She whispered as the room went black.

  Craig dismounted his bike, tucked the helmet under his arm and stretched. Two late nights of studying plus three gigs that week had taken their toll. His whole body thrummed with fatigue. The sight of Sara’s BMW in the lot made him frown. She was supposed to be home, off her feet.

  The minute he stepped into the back office hallway, he sensed something wasn’t right. He dropped his helmet on a desk and ran to the front, ignoring the strange emptiness of a normally busy summertime real estate office. A sharp, coppery odor stung his nose, making his heart race.

  As he turned the corner separating the conference room from the open office area, he heard it. A soft moan, then the slam of a door, then nothing. His ears started buzzing and his stride lengthened but the hall felt like ten miles of empty road.

  As he approached the large conference room door he stopped, hearing only the sounds of his own breathing and laughter from the storefront side of the office. But he sensed her there, somewhere.

  “Sara?” His throat closed up when the knob wouldn’t cooperate but he wrestled it open. His first thought upon entering was that someone had spilled red paint all over the carpet. Once his brain registered the scene, he saw her, half under the table, curled in a ball and moaning. “Dear Christ, Sara.”