“Then I’ll be careful with it.” He played his fingertips across the satin cup, teasing her nipple into rising before he tickled his touch across the naked swell that overflowed the top.
“It opens here.” She released the catch between her breasts.
“Ah. You do love me.” He brushed the cup aside and bent his mouth in fresh worship.
She moaned and lifted her hips, signaling that she wanted him to start thrusting.
“Shh.” His hand clasped her hip. “Don’t make me come yet. I want it to be together.”
She wanted that, too. But it was ever so hard to let him fondle and caress and arouse her with long, lazy kisses while her flesh throbbed around the invasion of his, growing wetter and needier.
“Saint,” she gasped, sliding her hand down to where they were joined.
He rumbled another admonishment and caught her hand, pinning it to the armrest above her head. Then he shifted slightly and began to move, slow and tender and deliciously thorough.
“Tell me when,” he said against her lips. His whole body was shaking.
She licked into his mouth in a dirty tease, liking that he jolted and thrust harder.
“Like that, is it?”
“Yes...” She groaned. “I’m so close.” She pulled her hand free of his so she could cup his head and draw him into a blatant kiss.
He moved with more power, pushing her toward the edge, then falling with her over it, shuddering and muffling her moan of ecstasy with his own.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THEY ANNOUNCED THEIR engagement a few days later, and Fliss began nesting in earnest.
She was still working and would have a big launch next year, but for now she was spending her weeks still putting pieces into place and approving production samples.
Saint was even busier now that he was fully responsible for Grayscale as well as overseeing his project. Fliss hardly saw him unless they were checking in with his parents together or making an appearance. Sometimes when he came to bed, if she happened to wake, she would roll toward him and they would kiss and sleepily make love. It was always as deliciously satisfying as ever, but it was quieter. She was well into her third trimester, so he was being extra careful with her, which was sweet, and he always told her he loved her, but she still felt some little distance in him, something she couldn’t put her finger on.
One day, about six week before her due date, Willow asked her to come into the office “to review some paperwork.”
Fliss was baffled as to why Saint couldn’t bring it home, but she didn’t want to bother him with yet one more task, so she turned up at the appointed time.
Willow brought her to a boardroom where streamers and cake and gifts were waiting. They had conspired with a team of parents to throw her a baby shower.
“Willow reminded us that you don’t have family here,” Xanthe said.
Fliss had met her at different times when they’d made announcements around the baby and their engagement. She didn’t mention that she didn’t actually have family anywhere.
“Being a new parent is a special club,” Xanthe continued. “We’re looking forward to welcoming you.”
Fliss was incredibly touched, especially when she was given a contact list with each person’s professed specialty. “Call me if you have questions about...” They listed everything from colic to preschools to hiring a nanny.
Most of the gifts were unwrapped and wearing only a bow. She admired all of them, thrilled to have so many decisions made for her. She was dishing out slices of cake when Saint came into the boardroom.
“Oh, hello.” Her heart leapt when he touched her shoulder and dropped a casual kiss onto her cheek, but her smile faltered as his flinty gaze scanned the strollers and toys and hampers. “Thank you for arranging this,” she said. “I really appreciate it.”
“I didn’t. Willow did.” He nodded at his assistant. “I’ve said many times that Willow is the most valuable member of my staff. This is yet another example why.”
Since everyone was looking at them, Fliss joked, “That’s why I’ve asked them to be my birth coach. I already know Willow will do most of the work, and God knows Saint will be tied up with Grayscale business.”
That got a laugh from everyone except Saint. His expression stiffened. He set down his untouched cake, said, “Willow,” and walked out.
“Excuse me.” Willow gave the room a calm smile and followed.
Fliss’s heart lurched. “Saint!”
Embarrassed that she’d said something to upset him in front of everyone, she clumsily clambered to her feet and hurried after them, catching up to him and Willow at the elevator.
“Saint—”
“Go enjoy your party. I have something to do.” He looked resolute, not angry.
“But...” She searched his expression.
The elevator opened, and she stepped inside with him.
“I’ll take the stairs,” Willow said, turning away from joining them.
“That was a joke,” Fliss said as the doors closed. “I want you to be with me at the birth.” He’d hired a private coach to come to the penthouse rather than attending classes, but he never missed a session.
“I know. I’m not angry.” Seconds later, the doors opened and he held it for her, allowing her to step ahead of him. “Not at you.”
“Who, then?”
