The Billionaire’s Pregnant Employee (Preston Brothers Book 3) Page 4

  “No,” she said fiercely. “I’ll deal with all of it. And I still have to work, so don’t think you can take that from me.”

  He patted her hand. “I’m not taking it from you.” He grimaced. “I’d be pretty lost without you as translator. So I’ll have someone bring you here when we need you. Otherwise, you can rest and relax, and keep your strength up. You won’t have to worry about cooking or cleaning. And I’m serious about the IV fluids. I can work something out if—”

  “Okay,” she said, the flood of words making her somehow more tired than she’d been before. She couldn’t fight him on it. Accepting his help to this degree wasn’t what she’d had in mind, but what else was she going to do? It already took most of her energy to get out of bed. She’d barely made it through the translation meetings so far this month. If she pushed herself too hard, it would only become more impossible. “Okay. I’ll move in with you.”

  “Good.” He stood, offering her his hand. “Let’s go.”

  Claire blinked up at him. “Right now?”

  “Right now. Let’s get you in bed.”

  She had no good argument for that.

  Moving in had been about survival, not luxury, but as they pulled up Archer’s long driveway Claire’s mouth fell open. She snapped it closed, but he’d already seen.

  “Like the looks of it?”

  “Yes. Yes, I do.”

  The mansion—because calling it a house was an incredible understatement—sat on a high ridge above vineyards far below, a Tuscan villa that looked like it could hold five separate, smaller villas inside it. Claire counted eleven curved windows on the front. Eleven. The widest house she’d ever lived in had two windows. Archer’s mansion looked ripped from the pages of an airplane magazine—the kind used to show off the country’s best houses as if they were tourist attractions. And Claire could see herself sitting inside the huge front windows of this one, sipping a drink and gazing out over the hills of Tuscany. Luckily, they only had to park in front to get the same effect.

  Archer helped her inside. They paused in a foyer of gleaming hardwood and gentle white paint that Claire wanted to run her fingertips over. It smelled fresh in there, like lemons—like a cleaning team had been through just recently, and the house was waiting for them.

  “We can see the rest later. I want to show you your room.” Archer led her up a grand staircase that took two rest breaks to climb. The second floor of the mansion was divided in two. He took her down one hall to a suite larger than any of her previous three apartments.

  “This will be your suite. My room is on the other side of the house. We’ll try to keep separate.”

  “Shouldn’t be too hard, since this place is massive.” Claire peeked out the huge windows in her room for a glimpse at the bay, but she’d seen the bay a thousand times. What she hadn’t seen was a hallway so long that it felt like the master bedroom was in a separate mansion altogether.

  “Most women are impressed by the size of my house,” he joked.

  “I’m not most women,” she said, but then she laughed. “I’m impressed, trust me. But it’s a long walk from the front door.” Archer helped her onto the king-size bed, and Claire lay back against the pillows. Instantly, the world seemed to right itself. “Oh, that’s so much better.”

  He perched on the edge of the bed. “This will work out,” he said. “We can start to form our parenting relationship without getting...you know, too wrapped up in one another.” That ship has sailed. “But this is only temporary. Once you’re feeling better, we’ll get you and the twins set up in your own place.”

  She should have been relieved—she treasured her independence. She’d vowed never to depend on a man for her housing and food and everything else. But Claire felt a pang of disappointment.

  “That’s good,” she said. “I’m sure the three of us would drive you insane.”

  Archer’s smile reached all the way to his eyes. “I hope you will.” He glanced down at his lap, then back up into her eyes, a hint of vulnerability hiding in his gaze.

  “I don’t really want to drive you crazy,” she admitted. “My mother and I...” She swallowed a lump in her throat. “My dad walked out on us when I was a kid. It—I don’t want that for the twins.”

  “That’s not going to happen.” Archer sat up straight. “It’ll be simpler, in a way, because I won’t be limiting my work, and we won’t be all wrapped up in a relationship that clouds our judgment. It’ll all be fine. Good, even.” He hesitated, then brushed a quick kiss to her forehead. “I’ve got to get back to the office. If you need anything, just text the housekeeper, Cindy. Let me put her number in your phone.” He added the number to her contacts as he spoke. “I’ll be back this evening.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” She waved him off. “You don’t have to be back here for me.”

  He looked like he might answer but smiled instead and left.

  Claire closed her eyes and took a deep breath of the clean-smelling room. Everything in it smelled new—new carpet, new bedding, new life. He couldn’t possibly have renovated the room for her, but that’s what it felt like. Or maybe he’d renovated it for someone else. It didn’t matter.

  What mattered was that Archer clearly wanted to be a father. He was already stepping up to the plate for her, and they weren’t even together. Her throat tightened with a strange, unwarranted sadness. It came in front of a fresh wave of discomfort. She didn’t want to accept his help...not really. But it wasn’t truly his help, was it? It was his staff. They’d keep things strictly limited to parenting. She couldn’t do anything else, anyway.

  It would be better that way. Exhaustion overtook her. It was too late in the day for a nap, and yet...

  She pulled up the covers and went to sleep.

  5

  “Are you sure this is okay?” Claire hovered near the marble kitchen island, leaning in close as if she didn’t quite trust herself to stand. Archer put a loaf of French bread on the cutting board and grabbed a bread knife from a knife block. “This probably isn’t what you signed up for.”

  “I signed up for all of it when I asked you to move in.” Archer cut the bread into thin slices. “I didn’t invite you to live here with the strict condition that you became sequestered from the outside world.” Maybe she should be sequestered, if it would keep her safe. Worry tiptoed up his spine. He brushed it away. He wasn’t going to become the kind of man who fretted over every little thing just because he was going to be a father. His heart banged once against his ribcage, a jump that startled him. Fine. He could at least fret about Claire. That didn’t mean he was falling in love with her. When he was done with the slicing, he tipped the bread into a pan with a thin layer of melted butter already going. He hoped these mini-toasts would be a big hit with their guest tonight.

  Claire snorted. “I’m basically sequestered anyway. Going outside is a real chore.” She grinned, but her face was so pale. He’d cut back on scheduling her for meetings at the office almost immediately and bunched the ones he did schedule together as much as possible. “It’s getting better, though.” When he reached back onto the island for more of the tiny round slices, she grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “A little better every day.”

  “Is it?” Archer studied the dark circles under her eyes. It wasn’t normal for a person to be this tired. Then again, maybe it was normal for a person pregnant with twins. Twins—they were going to have twins. Hopefully he’d be used to that thought by the time they were born. “Because if this is too much for you—”

  “No. I’m going to help my friend. She needs this.” The doorbell rang, its gentle chime sounding through the house at a volume perfectly calibrated to get attention without being jarring or overwhelming. Claire’s eyebrows went up, and she bit her lip, her eyes brightening. “I’ll get it.”

  “We’ll both get it,” Archer laughed. “Like I’m going to send you to answer the door at my own house.”

  Claire got to the door ahead of him, which was a small miracle
considering how much time she’d spent in bed lately. She could burrow under the covers and fall asleep faster than anyone he’d ever met.

  “Hi!” Her voice rose, the pitch cutting off just this side of glass-breaking, and she threw her arms around the woman on the doorstep. “I’ve missed you so much.”

  Claire’s friend Rebecca, tall and blonde, with her hair in a sleek ballerina bun on the top of her head, laughed and returned the embrace. The kindness in her voice was unmistakable. “We’ve missed you, too.”

  Claire let go of her friend and crouched in front of the boy standing close to his mother. “How are you doing, Henry?”

  Henry tightened his grip on his mother’s calf. Rebecca scooped him into her arms. “See? It’s Claire. Do you remember her?”

  “Yes,” Henry said.

  Claire wobbled as she straightened. Archer stepped up and put a hand under her elbow. “This is Archer.” Claire’s warm smile for her friend stirred a strange envy in his gut.

  “Archer Preston,” said Rebecca, a smile lighting up her face. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

  “Uh oh,” he said, stomach turning over. Had Claire told her about the pregnancy? He couldn’t think of a single clever thing to say, and uh oh sounded so lame. He didn’t need to impress Claire’s best friend, but he wanted to. “Nothing awkward, I hope.”

  Claire took his hand, and a sense of calm settled over his skin like a blanket. “I did not tell her anything awkward. I only offered to take Henry for the evening so she could finally have a date with her sexy husband.”

  Rebecca looked Claire up and down. “Girl, are you sure you’re up for it?”

  Claire pretended to fluff her hair. “I’m more than sure. I’m psyched. Plus, I think the two of us can handle one toddler. Want to come in, Henry?” She reached for the boy, and he leaned toward her, shyness gone. “You and Mark have a great time. I’m sure he’s looking forward to not having to cook.”

  Rebecca rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “That man would rather do it himself. Archer, my husband is Mark Royal.”

  “No way. I love his restaurant over on Cherry and Eighth. That place has the best appetizers in the country. Give him my compliments.”

  Rebecca’s eyes sparkled. “I will.” She ruffled Henry’s hair and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “Back before midnight?”

  “Sounds good to me. Does it sound good to you, Henry?”

  “Yes,” he said. His tiny voice was almost unbearably cute. Archer hadn’t spent much time thinking about kids other than his nephews, but now all the emotions from hearing about Claire’s pregnancy came roaring back. This was practice for a very real change in his life. He had to step up.

  With a quick round of good-byes, Rebecca was gone. They took Henry into the living room, where Claire had set out a small basket of toys and books.

  “Should we play with the toys? That sounds fun, right?”

  “Play!” Henry clapped his hands, and Claire lowered him to the carpet.

  He took three steps into the center of the living room, and all the air went out of Archer’s lungs in a whoosh. This place wasn’t a living room, it was a minefield. The corners of his glass-top coffee table gleamed in the lamplight, little killers waiting for Henry to lose his balance. “This way, buddy.” Was it cool to leap over a table and take a two-year-old’s chubby hands in his own? That didn’t matter. His heart settled down once he had his body between Henry’s and the table.

  “He’s good at walking, you know,” Claire chided.

  “Yeah, but my coffee table is good at—”

  “Horses!” Henry crouched over the basket of toys, a small plastic horse thrust high in the air. “Horses run!” He raced across the room, making hoofbeat noises with his mouth and stabbing the horse toward the carpet with every step. Archer’s palms slicked, his pulse pounding in his ears. One bad step and Henry would crash into that table. Or he’d careen into the sharp edge of the bookshelf at the opposite end of the room. It had seemed so innocent, that bookshelf, and now—

  Claire sat down by the basket. “Ooh, Henry, a farmer. Come see!” The little boy zoomed across the room to her and threw himself into her lap. She winked over her head at Archer. “Let’s play on the floor for a minute. Catch our breath.”

  Archer collapsed onto the couch, leaning forward so that the two of them were still in arm’s reach. “How are you not completely freaked out by this?”

  “By what?” Claire pretended to be the farmer. “I’m Old Macdonald, and my farm is over here in this basket,” she said in a low voice.

  “Uh, this room is a death trap.” He whispered the last words. “We should have—I don’t know. Rented another place, one that’s been toddler proofed already.”

  She laughed, color coming back to her cheeks. “You don’t have to rent a separate house to keep a kid safe. As long as we’re mindful, he’ll be okay.”

  “I’m changing out all the furniture.”

  Claire shot him a look. “All the furniture in the house?”

  “Yes. Soon.”

  She considered him. “Archer, you know that newborn babies can’t run, right? They can’t even crawl, and—” Claire breathed out, her cheeks puffing. “Could you come down here a minute?”

  He scrambled to the floor. “Are you all right?”

  “A little dizzy.”

  Archer had never in his life been torn in two by such strong competing forces. He helped Henry out of Claire’s arms, then helped Claire to her feet. Why was the couch so far from the clear carpeted area? Anything could happen in the time it took to get her settled in. He darted back to Henry, who put a plastic chicken on the carpet and said, “Moo.”

  “That’s a chicken, bud. It says bawk bawk.”

  Claire laughed at his attempt, and the sound made warmth flutter to life in his chest. The way the lamplight caught her face...it was gorgeous. She was gorgeous. And she was good with small children. Archer had always thought of himself as the cool uncle, but five minutes with his brother’s kid had been nothing compared to the evening that stretched out in front of them.

  Not to mention the lifetime after that.

  Oh, god. Keeping one kid alive in this house was sending him into an early grave. How was he supposed to handle two?

  “I—I’ll be right back.” Claire leaped up and rushed out of the room, leaving Archer with Henry, the basket of toys, and a torrent of nerves.

  “That’s right,” he said to Henry. “She’ll be right back.”

  Henry jumped to his feet. “Race!”

  “Let’s not race. Let’s—” But the toddler was already running full-speed toward the kitchen. He took one step onto the hardwood floor and his feet went out from under him. Henry landed on his back, head just missing the wood but hitting the carpet with a heavy thud.

  Archer was on his feet even before the kid started to wail. The sound was like an air-raid siren—loud and piercing. A jet of adrenaline sprayed into his veins. Was he okay? Was he okay? Archer was at Henry’s side in three steps. He picked him up, the volume of the wail almost taking out his eardrums.

  “It’s okay,” he lied. “You’re fine. We’re both fine.” Henry, still clutching the plastic chicken, pressed his hot face into the side of Archer’s neck. Was parenthood going to be an endless parade of picking small children up from the hazard of his hardwood floor? He couldn’t take it.

  “What happened?” Claire came back in, looking even paler than before. She patted Henry’s back and he threw himself toward her, still crying. “Oof.” She bounced under his weight and made a silly face. Henry rested his head on her shoulder. “Did you bonk?”

  “Bonked my bean,” said Henry mournfully.

  Claire rubbed his back. “What a bummer.”

  “What a bummer,” echoed Henry.

  This was more than a bummer—this was a sign. “We’re hiring a team of nannies,” Archer announced, the weight lifting from his shoulders the second the words were out of his mouth. “I want someone with
the babies all the time.”

  Claire swayed from side to side. “Hey, Archer, what happened while I was in the bathroom?”

  “Henry ran toward the kitchen and fell. He hit his head.”

  “On the floor or the carpet?”

  “The carpet, mostly.” His nerves jangled like an old-fashioned alarm clock. “I can’t let that happen to our babies.”

  “You know,” Claire said softly, “kids fall down. And you’ll be okay, too.”

  “I am okay. I’m fine.”

  “Are you really fine?” she sang, and Henry laughed. “Because you don’t look fine.”

  “I’m not cut out for this. You left for five minutes—”

  “And you handled it.” Claire’s smile lit him up from the inside out. She was good at this. Henry wasn’t even crying anymore. The little boy popped his head up, wriggled out of Claire’s arms, and ran back to the basket. She cupped Archer’s face in her hands. “You’re going to be great at this.”

  “I’m good at running a business. I don’t know if I’m good at being a father.”

  “Only one way to find out.” She patted his cheeks. “Come on. Let’s play.”

  When the door shut behind Rebecca and Henry, Archer scooped Claire up into his arms. “That was intense.”

  She let out a low laugh. “Is that why you picked me up?”

  “I’m giving you a lift to the couch.” He gently set her on the wide sofa and collapsed next to her. “How are you feeling?”

  “Better,” she said, and he believed her. The pink was back in her cheeks, and she stretched her arms above her head, looking loose and relaxed. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like I want to do this.” He leaned in and brushed a kiss to the side of her neck. “You’re impressive, Claire Baldwin.”

  “I know,” she said haughtily, then pressed a hand to his shoulder. “Aren’t you tiptoeing awfully close to the line?”

  “What line?” He breathed her in, the sweet coconut scent of her skin making him pulse with desire. He wasn’t supposed to feel this way about her, all affectionate and deep and awestruck, but he couldn’t help it. He kissed her again, her pulse fluttering under his lips. “I never said we couldn’t hook up on the couch, if we were both in the mood.” He pulled back. “If you’re not in the mood, tell me to stop.”