Sadie had asked what role he wanted to play in his child’s life—he could see from her expression she was expecting him to bail—but there was one thing he was sure of...
He fully intended to be this child’s father, in every way that counted. From child support to midnight feedings, to changing diapers and bath time and bedtime reading, he intended to be there every step of the way. How they were going to make that work when they were living in two separate houses, in two separate countries, was something they still had to discuss.
But he’d figure it out; he had nine months—eight?—before that became an issue.
He had plenty of time.
Sadie scooted to the edge of her seat, looking like she’d rather be anywhere but here. “Look, you obviously need time for this to sink in so I think I should go.”
Carrick stood up and walked back to the array of drinks across the room. He poured another whiskey and wished he could offer her one since she looked dead on her feet. Judging by her raccoon eyes, it was obvious that she’d had minimal sleep this past week. She looked pale and played out and she wasn’t going anywhere.
Not just yet.
“Stay, Sadie, we have things to discuss.”
“Except that you aren’t saying anything,” Sadie pointed out as she stood up. “I’m trying to give you some time to make sense of this craziness, Carrick.”
Carrick saw her sway on her feet and he bounded over to her and placed his hands on her shoulders, pushing her down onto the comfortable cushions. Ignoring her protests, he pulled off her flat-soled boots and dropped them onto the carpet. Yanking a cashmere blanket from the arm of the leather sofa, he draped it over her knees and looked at the fireplace. “I can make a fire if you are cold.”
Sadie flung the blanket off her knees, her expression mutinous. “Carrick! I’m fine, for crying out loud.”
He didn’t believe her since she looked a degree warmer than a corpse. “Will you just wait there, for five minutes or so?”
“Where are you going?”
Pregnancy hadn’t robbed her of her sassy personality. Good to know. “I’m just going to make you a cup of hot chocolate. I figure if you can’t have alcohol, then chocolate is the next best thing.”
Sadie released a huff and he saw the frustration in those hundred shades of blue. “Carrick, I don’t need a fire, or a blanket or hot chocolate. I need you to sit down and talk to me about the baby I’m carrying.”
Carrick dug his toes into the antique Persian beneath his feet. “I need five minutes, Sadie, alone. I also need to do something, so I’m going to make you hot chocolate. You might not want it, but I need to make it because I need a little space. When I get back, I’ll try and form a rational response.”
Carrick headed for the door and her soft question nearly dropped him to his knees. “Are you mad? At me?”
He turned to see her looking down at her hands, her shoulders shaking. He fought the urge to rush to her side, to pull her into his arms and tell her that everything would be fine. But he couldn’t because who knew what else life had in store for them?
But it was important that she understand what he was about to say next. He walked back to her, dropped to his haunches in front of her and placed his hands on her knees.
“Sadie, I’m not blaming you. I’m not even blaming myself because it would be futile. We are adults. We took precautions. Sure, everyone says that condoms are effective, but we are proof they are not. The only foolproof method of birth control is abstinence and abstinence sucks. So no, I’m not mad at you. Surprised, shocked, weirded out, sure, but mad? No.”
Carrick held her gaze and watched as tension seeped from her as air would exit a leaky balloon. Her shoulders dropped below her ears, her fists uncurled and her lips softened. She looked relieved, but still completely wiped out.
He would bet the artwork in this house that if she curled up in that chair, if she tucked a pillow behind her head, she would be asleep in ten minutes, maybe less. The thing was, he didn’t want her to fall asleep. He wanted her naked and writhing, moaning his name as he slid inside her.
She’d just handed him news big enough to tilt his world off his axis and all he wanted to do was make love to her? Carrick scrubbed his face with his hands.
What the hell, dude?
“I’ll be back in a few. Relax,” Carrick told her as he stood up, wincing at the inanity. “Try to relax,” he corrected himself, before tapping the door frame and heading for the kitchen.
He knew that in the cupboard above the fridge was an unopened bottle of Jack and he intended to crack that bottle open and take a belt or four.
It was that type of night.
Sadie woke up lying on Carrick, chest to chest, her stomach dented by a very long, very hard, erection, her face in his neck. His hand was between her loose jeans and her panties, holding most of her right butt cheek, and his other hand was under her shirt, his fingers under her bra strap between her shoulder blades. Murphy had, sometime during the night, been desperate to find some skin.
And really, since his touch felt like sunshine, Sadie had no objections.
Sadie yawned as she remembered him going to the kitchen, something about him making hot chocolate she didn’t want. She had a vague recollection of snuggling down into that enormously comfortable chair, then the memory of strong arms lifting her up to rest against his wide chest.