Page 2 of Embrace Me

In other words, it’s now the heart of our home.

Gregory, who’s just settled at the table, starts to rise again. I don’t actually know how old Gregory is, but I’m guessing he’s at least fifteen years older than Damien. He’d been hired as a valet, a job that expanded into house manager. And after that, he took on the role of nanny when Bree Bernstein, our first nanny, quit to go back to school in New York.

“No, no,” I say, waving Gregory down. “I’ll get it.” I’ve already finished my avocado and cheese omelet, and I stand carefully and then waddle—yes, waddle—to the refrigerator. Right now, it’s just me and Gregory and the girls. Damien had coffee earlier, but declined the pancakes or an omelet when Troy Reed, his newest assistant, had called with the first crisis of the day.

“Okay, be good for Mr. G today,” I say, as I pour juice, then kiss both girls’ foreheads. “Mommy’s going to go get dressed. You two do the same, okay? Like big girls.”

Lara salutes. “Aye-aye, Captain.”

“Aye-aye!” Anne mimics.

I salute back, then share a smile with Gregory before I head out. There’s no doubt that he adores our children, but I can’t help but think the job is too much for him, what with running the house, too.

“Do you really think Gregory is up for three kids?” I ask Damien, when I find him in the bedroom, finally untethered from his phone. “Especially since this one is going to be a handful.” Considering he’s just delivered an NFL-worthy kick, that’s an assessment about which I’m very confident.

“I’ve talked to him about it,” Damien says. “He swears he loves taking care of them.”

“I don’t doubt it,” I say. “I mean, it’s obvious how much he adores the girls, but they exhaust us. And Gregory’s not as young as he used to be.”

“I know. He was looking a little frazzled earlier. And he stopped by the court on his walk over this morning. I noticed he was a little breathless.”

A former professional tennis player, Damien habitually works out in the mornings. Sometimes he goes down to our gym, but most days I know I can find him on the court with a ball machine. As for Gregory, Damien built him a small house on the property, just beyond a rise. Close enough to walk, but not so close that we’re on top of each other.

“He loves the girls,” Damien adds. “I’d hate to have him feel as if he’s not part of the family.”

“What about part-time?” I suggest, following him into our walk-in closet. So large that it could hold a small motel room, the closet took my breath away the first time I saw it. Honestly, it still does. “Maybe we should look for someone to work part-time? We can tell Gregory it’s because we know he has so much to deal with otherwise.”

“Maybe,” Damien says. “Let’s think on it.”

“Sure. We don’t have to decide right now.” I sit on the padded bench and reach around to rub my lower back as I watch Damien finish dressing. He’s in a crisp white shirt and the slacks from his suit. I lean back, enjoying the show as he expertly knots a deep red tie, then fastens his cuffs with pewter cufflinks, each accented by a matching red stone. He’s already in his shoes, polished to perfection, and now he slips on the dark pewter suit jacket, then runs a hand over his hair before turning to me, one eyebrow raised as if to say, Well?

I laugh. “Like you have to ask. You look amazing, and you know it.” I stand, grimacing as I do, and move to him, smoothing the material of his shirt just for the pleasure of feeling the silk blend beneath my hand. “A presentation?”

“Potential investor,” he says. “A project in Tokyo.”

“Right,” I say, as if I have a clue what he’s talking about. “Well, you’ll knock ’em dead.”

He always does, after all.

He finishes adjusting his tie, then frowns at me. “Your back?”

“I’ll be fine. And it’ll be better in couple of weeks for sure.”

He comes closer, then pats the opposite end of the bench I’d been sitting on. “Sit here,” he says. “Legs on either side.”

I do as he says, basically straddling the end as he slides onto the bench behind me, one hand on my shoulder, and the other pressing against my lower back.

“Oh, God, Damien,” I say, as his fingers knead the sore muscles. “That feels incredible. Normally, I’d say that nothing beats sex with you, but this is coming very, very close.”

He chuckles, then uses the hand from my shoulder to sweep my hair away from my ear as he whispers, “I’m always up for a challenge.”

I sigh with pleasure as he runs his fingers through my hair. It’s long now, the waves hitting just above my shoulder blade. The perfect length as far as I’m concerned because I can pull it back from my face with a band or a clip if I’m dealing with work or a kid. At times like this, though, I can’t deny there are other benefits, too, like the sensual way that it rubs my skin now that Damien is peeling me out of my robe.

My eyes flutter open with the realization that he’s undressing me. “Damien,” I protest, as the robe drops away.

“Problem?”

I start to protest that, yes, there is definitely a problem. I’m positively huge, and not exactly feeling sexy in my maternity bra and panties. But then he returns one hand to my lower back, the pressure more intense. At the same time, his other hand snakes around my body and eases between my legs. I draw in a breath and decide that my current wardrobe will do just fine.