Shopping for a CEO's Baby (Shopping for a Billionaire Series Book 16), стр. 44

“Hold on.” I hold up a finger to denote the need to pause.

He storms across the room and then I hear the shower running. He comes back naked, holding my again-full water glass.

“Drink. Check on the babies' movement. I'm taking a one-minute shower and you're next, then we get ready for the doctor's office.”

The tight feeling fades much faster than before. “Yes.”

Relief makes his whole body relax. “Thank God.”

While he's in the shower, I waddle into the bathroom and pee. The water turns off before I even flush.

He wasn't kidding. That really was a one-minute shower.

My wet, anxious husband opens the shower door, steam billowing around his tall, muscled frame. A wave of arousal pours over me, so wholly inappropriate that it fills me with the weirdest mix of lust and shame.

Who feels this?

Apparently, me. I do.

“Another contraction?”

“No.”

“Good,” he says tersely. “Need me to pack a bag for you?”

“I'm not packing a bag.”

“Then I will.”

“I'm not staying at a hospital! This is just an office visit!” I'm breathing hard, and trust me, it's hard to breathe with two babies treating your lungs like kickballs.

“Amanda.” Naked, wet, with underwear half on, sticking to his ass, Andrew's hold on my shoulders is tight. He bends down, eyes boring into mine. “You are the most important person in the world to me. The babies rely on you to survive. I rely on you to survive. I can't have anything go wrong with you or the babies. Do you understand?”

“I'm sure I'll–”

Raw, vulnerable fear pervades his every cell. I swear I can smell it on him as his fingers dig into my shoulders and he repeats starkly, “Do you understand?”

Suddenly, I really can't breathe. The emotion is too much. My body's sensations are too much.

Gravity itself is too, too much.

And my womb is filled with two babies who need to be okay.

“I do.” His kiss is short, a perfunctory brush of lips that says there's no time for more, because we have to act now.

“I need to get dressed,” I say, body in a new state of vigilance. Every twinge could be the next contraction, and I'm going mad reading my nerves as they send messages to my brain about where my skin and bones are in space and time.

Everything pinpoints. For this second, all that I am is my hand, clasping the cloth of my nightgown. And in the next second, I am my arms, going up, pulling the cloth over my head. And for the following second, I am my nose, snagging on the cloth, pulled over my chin.

And so on, and so on, each second a world I inhabit.

Enough seconds piled on top of each other become a breath. And each breath a heartbeat.

Three, in fact.

I'm moving for three.

“You want me to pack the bag for you?” Andrew asks, my answer on the tip of my tongue, a reflexive no that isn't good enough for this moment.

My no is a relic of a time when I had the luxury to think I didn't need help.

“Yes,” I say, giving in, his terse nod more of a relief than I wish it were. Slipping my feet into simple flat shoes, I waddle to the nightstand, find my half-empty water glass, and drink. Then I stretch slowly, arms back, shoulders popping slightly as blood flows under my skin, legs aching with weight but gratified to have movement.

I sigh.

“Another one?” he asks, floating to my side so fast, it's like he's levitating.

“No. Just...” My tears take over.

“You're fine,” he says, kissing the tear off my cheek. “The babies are fine. Everyone will be fine, Amanda.”

“How do you know? We have no control over anything.”

“We sure as hell do,” he counters. “I'm getting you to the doctor now. You're hydrating. We're following the expert's advice, and that's control.”

“That's not control.”

“It's as close as I can get, so I'll take it.”

Bang bang bang

The door downstairs opens, Gerald's voice floating up. “Andrew? Amanda? I'm ready when you are. You need help carrying Amanda down?”

Gerald's presence takes the reality of this crisis up a notch.

“What are you doing here?” I gasp.

“Andrew texted José. I'm filling in for Mort while he's on workman's comp. I was worried.” Gerald and Andrew exchange a powerful look that instantly makes me feel safer and terrified.

“I can walk,” I whisper. If any two guys in the world can carry a pregnant me down a flight of stairs, it's Gerald and Andrew, but this is already going sideways.

I don't need the memory of that added to this.

“We're good. Give us a minute,” Andrew shouts. “You’re sure you can walk?” he whispers to me.

I nod.

I take one, two, three steps toward the door, gaining confidence as no contractions hit. The clock says 6:33. We're only twenty minutes or so from the doctor's office, but Andrew's insistence on going now makes sense.

Better to wait in the parking lot there than to worry here.

I'm slow. Really slow. And our stairs are big.

Really big.

The estate Andrew's dad and mom bought when the boys were little is a sprawling home designed to impress. The staircase wraps around the wide entry hall, and there are twenty stairs from the second floor to the first. My hips rotate as I take each step down, ligaments recalibrating, babies moving with each step.

Thank God.

“I've got your purse and bag. Do you need my arm?”

“The bannister's fine. I'm just slow.”

“Take all the time you need. Any more contractions?”

“No–”

Damn it.

As I start to reply, one grips me, hard, lower this time, then suddenly lighter, spreading up over my belly like fingers playing tight piano strings. It's easier to breathe through and fades faster.

“We need to go directly to the ER,” Andrew says.

“Would you just STOP?” My voice starts soft and low, but by the last word, I explode. Bending down a little, I take a deep breath, eyes fixed on my hand. I listen to him breathe behind me.

The last breath comes out like an exasperated sigh.

“I know you're worried,” I grind out,