The Billionaire’s Pregnant Fling (Jameson Brothers Book 2) Page 5

  "Margot, I…" He had no words. He was struck dumb by the sight of her. All he could do was reach forward, and offer her his hand to help her up onto the platform at the center of all the mirrors. Margot rose to the occasion and stared at herself. She looked as if she didn't recognize her own face in the mirror. No, Eddie thought. That isn't right. It's the girl who always played wedding finally meeting the bride.

  "...I wanted to say you look like an angel," he continued after a long moment. "But that isn't a satisfactory comparison. You look like Heaven, Margot."

  Her eyes glistened, and she glanced down quickly to smooth her hands along the bodice. When she had composed herself, she sighed. "It really was a nice fantasy, Eddie...but you know I won't fit in this by the time our wedding day arrives." She turned to him and smiled sadly. "Thanks for making all my childhood daydreams a reality, even for a moment."

  Her certainty was almost enough to break his heart on the spot. Eddie wanted to leap up; he wanted to explain her father's ultimatum; he wanted to take his beautiful bride-to-be in his arms and kiss her senseless. He wanted to tell her they could still seize the fantasy and make the big day completely their own despite all the outside pressures that had started the ball rolling in the first place.

  But he knew that he couldn't bring the truth into it now. The moment Margot realized this wedding wasn't his idea was the moment she confirmed for herself that he wasn't in control. He wanted her to think he had arrived at the idea to propose on his own. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that it was the right thing to do, and that it was the thing he wanted to do. So did it really make a difference whose idea it was?

  Maybe it does, and maybe it doesn't, a nagging voice whispered in the back of his brain. But maybe what matters most is that your white wedding is about to be founded on a little white lie of omission.

  "Margot." Eddie stepped to the pedestal she stood atop, allowing his hands to alight on her curves. The dress she wore felt as good as it looked; the bodice hugged her trim waist and practically trumpeted the existence of her womanly dips and swells. He skimmed his fingers up towards her ribcage. Margot hummed with appreciation, sounding a little like a cat on the receiving end of a familiar caress. The noise made Eddie want to banish Zelma from the room, and undo all of Margot's hard work trying on dresses by completely stripping her of clothing. Whatever she thought of the body that lay beneath her dress, he could conceive of a dozen ways to show her his appreciation for it.

  "Yes, Eddie?" Her breath caught a little as he smoothed his fingers down the fabric of her skirt.

  "We don't have to wait to get married," he stated. "We can get married two months from now. Hell, we can get married next month."

  "Are you serious?" Her eyebrows shot up. "You don't think that's too soon?"

  Your father certainly doesn't. "Why not?" he asked instead. "You can wear the dress of your dreams. You can have the wedding of your dreams."

  "It's too fast," Margot replied dubiously. "Even two months is…"

  "Just leave all the planning to me," he jumped in quickly. "I want your input, of course, to make sure I'm on the right track. But the timing...and all the technical stuff...I want you to let me be the one to worry about it."

  Margot's hand caught his and closed over it. She was white-knuckling again. Eddie sensed that she was waging an internal battle, but over what? Was she having trouble letting go of all the responsibility that usually fell to her—and could he really blame her for feeling nervous letting him take the lead on this one? He didn't have the best reputation when it came to planning, much less execution.

  Or did Margot's hesitance stem from something else?

  "Go with the flow," he heard her breathe to herself. She relaxed her grip on his hand, but Eddie squeezed her fingers before she could release him. "All right, Eddie. If you think it's doable...and if you think it's a good idea…"

  "I think it's a good idea you wear that dress," Eddie said. "You look hot as hell, Margie. You might burn the church down by accident."

  It was the right thing to say. "You think so?" she laughed. She practically melted into his hands, and Eddie couldn't restrain himself any longer. He pulled her down off the pedestal and in against his chest; after a moment, he let her slide slowly to the floor. He was enjoying the feel of her in his arms a little too much, and found that now that he had her, he had no immediate plans to let her go. Zelma cleared her throat and turned her back to allow them a bit of privacy.

  "Thanks, Eddie." Margot's beautiful face beamed up at him, and for a moment he forgot how to breathe. When she raised herself up on her toes, he knew he was in danger of never relearning. She touched his face tenderly, then canted her head and leaned in.

  Margot's kiss was completely unexpected. Her lips grazed his, and he gave a startled, sharp intake of breath; before he could voice his surprise, or do something equally idiotic to ruin the moment, she pressed in closer and wrapped her arms around his neck. He could feel the line of her smile, and the way her lips still pouted generously enough to meet with his. His hands found her waist, and he yanked her in roughly against him. Minutes ago, a part of him had been afraid of letting his need show; now, he wanted Margot to feel exactly what seeing her in that dress had done to him. His cock stirred to life beneath his belt, and her tongue flicked past her lips to give his own tongue a playful taste.

  She pulled back before he could lose his senses completely. Now it was Eddie's turn to clear his throat and turn away as Margot addressed Zelma.

  "I really feel as if I could inspire a standing ovation in this dress." She dropped a wink as Eddie coughed. "I think we'll take it."

  Chapter Seven

  Margot

  Margot had been the inspiration for one of Eddie's standing ovations before. She sat alone in the backseat on the car ride home from the salon, gazing out the window at the bright smear of city lights. She had borrowed one of her father's cars for the time being; generally, Margot liked to exert her independence (and daring, her mother seemed to think) by taking cabs and Ubers, but ever since word of her pregnancy had gotten out to her parents, they had insisted on chauffeuring her around. Margot found that she didn't mind it as much as she did when she was a teenager: the driver was always professional, and always silent. Her rides around the city allowed her some much-needed time to think.

  To reflect.

  It was getting harder and harder to resist the pull of reliving her first night with Eddie. As much as she tried to exist solely for the 'here' and the 'now' and not worry about the future, that philosophy was a recent development. The old Margot—the Margot of only a few months ago—would have been five steps ahead of Eddie already, making sure every appointment was in place, making sure he was on-time and mentally present.

  Boy, how things have changed.

  Margot sank back into the cushiony upholstery and let the flashing city lights lull her. They reminded her of the colorful flashing of the expensive drinks ferried by the waiters at the party… the party…

  Her father's party had been in full swing by the time Eddie Jameson arrived: late, as usual. It gave him an excuse to wear that puppy dog look that begged forgiveness--his second best look. Margot had known Eddie arrived before she even laid eyes on him. There was always a change in the air, a noticeable shift, whenever a Jameson brother showed to a party, and Eddie's aura was distinctive. Even the soberest member of the New York City old money elite couldn't help lighting up a little, or letting slip a chuckle that sounded dusty from disuse, at something Eddie said or did.

  When she finally caught sight of him, he was already looking at her…or drinking her in, Margot felt, with a blush at the memory. His eyes had burned so hot, and his thoughts had been broadcast so plainly on his face, that for a moment she had looked away to make sure her father wasn't in the vicinity to see. Then she had navigated toward him through the room full of crowded bodies.

  By the time she arrived, Eddie was wearing his first best look: he smoldered. And Margot felt herself begin to heat on the inside by proximity to him. They didn't stray far from one another's side for the rest of the evening. Even when he was engaging in conversation with a different group than her, Eddie kept his finger hooked in her sleeve. The wine flowed. She started ordering her drinks on the rocks.

  Then, when there was a lull in the attention being paid them, Margot and Eddie had slipped out.

  She still remembered the way they had stumbled, giggling, against the threshold to her room. Eddie had put out a hand to prevent her from striking her temple against the doorframe, and Margot… Margot had surged upward the moment he brought himself within kissing distance. Their mouths had collided imperfectly, needfully…but it didn't matter. It was their first kiss, yet they had mapped each other's lips so many times before with their eyes, it felt like a joyful homecoming.

  Eddie had backed her into her bedroom. He had never been inside it before, but he seemed to know the layout just fine in the dark. His intuition carried them to the bed. His hands stripped the straps of Margot's dress from her shoulders, and reached around back to unhook the secret bra in almost the same sweep. His lips never relented. He kissed her neck as if he wanted to devour every inch of her. "You smell so good," she recalled him murmuring, and it sent a shiver racing down her spine to hear the echo of his words even now. Alcohol may have muddled their decisions that night, but every meaningful moment came into crystal-clear focus still. She recalled the way he had let her bra slip from her breasts, and how its descent had mirrored her own slow fall back down onto the bed. She had found herself caged by the arms she had caught herself admiring more and more the older they got; when she reached out a hand to squeeze a band of muscle, he flexed in response.

  She remembered that Eddie had fallen back on his haunches. His ha
nds had slid up the lean plane of her stomach to palm her breasts; he held them for a moment, as if he couldn't believe he was really touching them, before gripping with surprising possession. Mine, his hands seemed to suggest, and Margot had arched into him in response.

  Yours, her body agreed. All along I've been yours.

  When he could bring himself to let go of her breasts—they were peaked and aching from the teasing of his fingers—Eddie rocked back again and whipped off his dinner jacket. What followed was a jumble of limbs and laughter as they speedily untangled themselves from their remaining clothing. Evidence of the formal evening lay on the floor beside the bed.

  The bed rocked beneath them. Eddie pinned her wrists, kissing every inch of her as if she was a hors d'oeuvre he had brought home from the party to relish in private. Margot writhed and struggled and laughed beneath him, until a steely look crossed his face, one she had never seen before. Her laughter dissolved to disbelieving moans after that as his mouth laid claim to her by inches. By the time he had arrived at the bed of curls nestled between her legs, she was shuddering with the intensity of her need.

  His tongue flicked along the inner folds of her labia as he continued his private tasting. Margot sighed happily and lay back, letting her head fall against the pillow. He swirled his tongue, then thrust, pushing hard against her clit, making her breath catch and her voice soar with the height of her need. When she couldn't take anymore, she reached down for him and pulled him back up to kiss him fervently. She remembered their bodies shifting, Eddie bracing himself…

  And then he had entered her. The first moments of sex had never felt so goddamn good, and Margot wondered if they ever would again with a man who wasn't Eddie Jameson. The tension, the torment, she had felt every time she looked at him, melted away in one hot rush. His cock was thick and seemed to almost pulse within her—or was that her own heartbeat?

  When he began thrusting between her legs, she thought she would hit the roof. She grabbed for his shoulders; they were already slick with perspiration, but at least it was something to hold onto. The bed lurched beneath them and knocked against the wall. She cried and begged and pleaded incoherently, but Eddie seemed to know exactly what it was she sought. At every turn he found a new angle, a new rhythm, that no lover before him had been intuitive enough to discover… and Margot knew she was done. No man would ever outmatch him in her bedroom. This might be her only hit and she was already addicted.

  When she came, her knees quaked, and she clenched her thighs around his surging hips. Eddie kept pumping, prolonging her release, making her cry his name again and again until he groaned her own in answer. He had come in a hot jet—she had felt his seed rush deep inside her—but she hadn't thought of anything at the time except how good it felt and how complete she was.

  They had fallen, spent and laughing, into a sweaty heap. The ceiling above Margot spun, but she hadn't been certain it was the alcohol making the world whirl. She had half-expected Eddie to try and stumble back into his clothes and out the door, so that any suspicion of their night together might be avoided; instead, he had thrown an arm over her, pinning her to the bed, and lost himself in kissing her shoulder until he fell asleep. She had tried to remain awake beneath him, to memorize every breath, every detail, but had found herself slipping hopelessly into unconsciousness before long…

  "… miss?"

  Margot blinked slowly. The car had stopped moving. The driver was standing at her elbow now, the door pulled open, revealing a snapshot of familiar curb. Her apartment building loomed large above the street. It was a beautiful, efficient building. Margot wouldn't have lived in any other kind.

  But looking at it now, she couldn't help thinking how lonely it was. Efficiency had a price, and it was one she was tired of paying. She wanted to throw the schedule out and embrace life—she wanted to be more like Eddie. It was something she had decided the morning after they had spent the night together, the morning after the best sex of her life.

  There had to be a reason Eddie was so happy and free, and she wanted to know the secret. Just loving him, secretly and to herself, wasn't enough. To be the best match for him, in that wide world of women he had such intimate knowledge of, she would have to emulate him. She would go with the flow.

  And she had no doubt that flow would take her to Eddie in the end.

  Chapter Eight

  Eddie

  “…Eddie, relax,” Margot whispered from the examination chair. “They’re just doing an ultrasound.”

  Eddie was on edge, and everyone in the room knew it. The doctor spent half her time soothing him when her attention should have been solely focused on Margot, but he couldn’t seem to stop drawing the focus away. He tried to relax, and wound up nearly coming off of his stool in the process.

  “Here you go, sweetie.” Another nurse entered and brought him a cup of water. Eddie accepted, but tried to offer it to Margot first; she just shook her head, looking bemused. He downed it in one gulp and crumpled the cup in his fist.

  “You took that water like you take your shots,” Margot noticed.

  “I just...I guess I wasn’t expecting this,” Eddie said. How was he supposed to tell Margot, laid out and vulnerable, that this ultrasound was something out of the ordinary? Why didn’t the doctor say as much? Wasn’t that her job?

  Margot raised an eyebrow. “I thought you said you read up on all this stuff?”

  He didn’t want to alarm her, but he now felt as if he had no choice. “I did. All my research indicated that normally the first appointment doesn’t require an ultrasound.”

  “Doctor?” Margot turned her head. “Is that true?”

  The doctor smiled at them both kindly. “Yes. Your partner really has done his research. But since you’re further along in your pregnancy than most women normally are when they come in for their first appointment, I wanted to get an idea of what we’re looking at. Development-wise, Miss Daley, your baby is in perfect health. Would you like to listen?”

  “Listen?” Margot repeated curiously. “To what?”

  The doctor’s smile broadened. Before Eddie could parse all his recently acquired knowledge to know what she might mean, the doctor turned and adjusted something on her monitor. She kept the instrument she held pressed gently to Margot’s stomach.

  A hypnotic, rhythmic thrum filled the room. Eddie glanced from Margot to the speakers near them and back, and could tell that she was equally confused. “Is that...my heartbeat?” she asked.

  “I’m using an advanced version of the fetal Doppler,” the doctor explained. “Not every clinic has a setup like this.” She indicated the speakers occupying each corner of the room. “It’s a little dramatic, but I think it’s appropriate for this moment. I don’t just want expecting parents to hear their child’s heartbeat; I want them to be able to feel it.”

  The steady pulse resonated in the room. As Eddie listened to it intently, holding his breath for any sort of irregularity, he found that the sound was starting to feel as if it came from within him. Was his own heart beating in time with the heartbeat of his child?

  Was this how Margot felt at night, lying awake in bed alone, listening? He suddenly ached to be there with her in those moments.

  “It’s her.” Margot looked at him, eyes shimmering. “It’s our baby, Eddie.”

  “It’s still too early at this stage to tell the sex,” the doctor noted. Eddie knew that, but he didn’t voice any doubts about Margot’s certainty. He believed her statement as much as she appeared to believe it herself. A daughter, he thought in wonder. My daughter.

  He reached for her, but Margot’s hand was already moving off the table to seek his hand. They met halfway, interlocking their fingers; Eddie felt the warmth of their touch flow through him as their baby’s heartbeat filled the room with its steady pulse. For the first time, he found himself trying to imagine all the lullabies he might sing to her. He hadn’t conducted any research into the matter, and couldn’t remember the words to the low refrains his own mother had once sung to him. Whatever he came up with, he knew that it would never inspire a similar feeling to what he felt in this moment. This was his own daughter’s lullaby to him.