CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
She was turning into a fibber. She didn’t need to go pee – or at least not desperately. She just wanted a little time to think about what it meant that Patrick had shown up so fast to marry her when he believed that she had had a miscarriage. When the original reason for their marriage no longer existed. She didn’t think he had been intimidated by Father Armstrong. Or by her sister. And none of the Duprés had even bothered to come to the hospital to see her – or him.
He had to have some other reason for wanting to marry her. Maybe the same reason she had for wanting to marry him. He wasn’t perfect. But then neither was she. And they had had a bad start to their relationship any way you looked at it. And yet she felt happier when he was around than when he wasn’t.
That spark between them was fierce. A spark alone wasn’t enough for a marriage. But she thought that there was more between them than just sex. Not that she had any objections to a husband who found her sexy even when she was pregnant and swelling like a melon in June.
She liked this house. She had always liked this house. It wasn’t her dream home in the deep woods. But it had running water, and electricity, and a septic tank. Practical things that a mother of three would need. Beating diapers against a rock would get old fast. And in the prettiest spots on the Ridge, running water and electricity weren’t even a pipe dream. Did she want to raise her babies where cougars roamed? She washed her hands and rejoined Patrick.
He held out his arms and she walked into them. He wrapped her close. “I still can’t believe it’s true. I thought I had killed our babies.” A shudder ran through his big body.
“Nope.”
“I can’t tell you how thankful I am.”
“I guess my question is, if you thought the babies were gone, how come we got married again?”
“I like being married to you.” He drew in a deep breath she felt with her whole body. “I figured if we were married that you would let me have an opportunity to convince you that you like being married to me. That maybe we had more going for us than we thought.”
“The first time I set eyes on you, I thought you were my fated mate.”
He kissed her forehead. Just a tickling brush of lips and beard. “I’m a slow learner, sweetheart. I only thought you were the most desirable woman on the planet. It’s taken me longer to figure out that I love you, Heather Bascom. I’ve never been in love before. Never. But it doesn’t feel like something that’s ever going to end. I want us to try to have a real marriage.” He kissed her again. “Maybe you’ll fall in love with me too.”
It was time to put him out of his misery. Because he was miserable. Miserable and uncertain. She was dead certain that Patrick Bascom had not spent any of his life being insecure. Except perhaps when he had lost his mother as a boy. “I already do. I think we can have a good marriage – if we work at it.”
“You do?”
“I do.”
He squeezed her tightly and then let her go. And then suddenly he was all alpha male and take-charge lawyer all over again. “I have a razor somewhere. It won’t take me more than half an hour to get rid of this face fungus.” He rubbed a big hand over his face. “And then we can have a celebration without me scouring your skin.”
Her man had a great deal to learn about being a bear. She began to laugh. “I hate to be the one to break it to you, but I like your beard. And now that it’s had a chance to grow out a bit, it isn’t particularly coarse. In fact, it tickles a bit because it’s soft.” She dug her fingers into it and used it to bring his mouth back to hers.
“I don’t think we have to wait for our celebration,” she finished.
His brown eyes sparkled. He scooped her up into his arms. “Let’s go see if that bed of Pierre’s has any life left in it.”
The master bedroom was painted a soft and cheerful yellow. It was bare except for a large sleigh bed and a chest of drawers with an oval mirror attached. Years ago, Uncle Pierre had moved into the spare room in his house when his wife died. He had given – or lent – them the antique bedroom suite from the room he had shared with his Marie.
The bed was made up with plain white sheets and a blue blanket. The dark wood gleamed richly. The room radiated a sort of simple contentment. Troy and Lisa Marie had been happy here. Uncle Pierre and Aunt Marie’s love was a family legend. This was a good place to consummate her marriage.
Patrick rumbled in her ear, “You can change anything you want. This is just a stopgap.” He set her gently on the hardwood floor and began exploring her mouth before she could answer him.
He took his time tasting her – just as if he had never kissed her before. As if he need to discover what she enjoyed. Sometime later she found he had moved them to the bed and she was sitting astride his lap nibbling and sucking while his beard added a new level of texture to their kissing.
He pulled away. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I forgot to shave. I guess I got carried away.”
She chuckled. “I told you, I like it. I think you should keep it.”
His mouth opened and closed like a fish. He narrowed his eyes and tipped her chin from side to side. “You are going to have a rash,” he pronounced.
His big hands explored her belly gently. Her abdomen felt as taut as a drum these days. And the curve had gone from gentle to pronounced. “I think we need some of that Shea butter,” he said.
“What?”
“To prevent stretch marks.”
“I’ve got stretch marks?” she yelped.
He held her still. “Nope. But a little prevention is worth a pound of cure.” He brushed the undersides of her breasts. “They’re bigger,” he whispered.
“Um.” Her belly wasn’t the only thing that was swelling like ripening melons.
“Are they tender?”
“More sensitive,” she admitted. His caresses were going straight to her pussy and making it clench tight.
He withdrew his hand. “I won’t touch you there if you don’t want me to.” Brown eyes met hers with a slight frown in them.
“It doesn’t hurt exactly. It’s just that what I feel is more intense.”
He answered by taking one furled nipple into his hot mouth and swirling his tongue over it. He pulled away and looked at her. The damp nipple cooled and puckered tighter as he traced circles around it while he waited for her verdict.
“I liked it.” Her voice was husky with arousal.
He moved to the other side. He went back and forth like that until her skin was flushed and damp and she was writhing beside him. He was breathing hard and his muscles were taut with need. And all she had done was caress his chest. Every time she touched his cock he moved her hand away.
He trailed a hand over her belly and dabbled in her navel. “Did you feel that?” he asked in delight.
As far as she could tell, her babies were having a game of ping pong. “They’re awake.”
“Feels like popcorn popping,” he said. Delight rang in his voice. He kissed her stomach all over. “Hello,” he whispered. He traced kisses down to her bush. He covered her mound with his hand and kneaded softly. “Would you like to be kissed here?”
She nodded.
His beard tickled her sensitive inner thighs softly while his tongue alternatively probed and lapped. He kissed her pussy as he had kissed her mouth, gently, thoroughly, and as if he had all the time in the world to discover her secrets. When his tongue at last swirled around her clit, she stiffened as all her tension ratcheted up. She could no more have stopped herself from coming than she could have stopped the sunrise.
He held her while the aftershocks rippled through her body, gently squeezing her mound and pressing her clit with his thumb whenever they seemed to be slacking off. She was languid when she finally said, “I’m done.”
“Okay.” He kissed the side of her head.
“What about you?” He was as stiff as stone. And his cock was a hard probe against her thigh.
“Is it safe for me to be inside you?”
She roused herself enough to position herself over him. “It certainly is. There is something in semen that helps prepare my vagina for childbirth. And orgasms tone everything so labor will be easier.”
“You sure?”
She kissed him. “I’m sure.”
He held her as she got ready to take him inside. She spread her lips and aimed him at her passage. She was slick and swollen and still pulsating. He was a tight fit but she got the job done. He was arched like bow by the time she was sitting on his pubes.
“You do it,” he groaned. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
She gripped his hips with her knees and raised up. “You won’t,” she assured him. “You can move.”
He bucked. She sank. They began a slow trot while his skin dampened and his mouth became a large rigid O. He was struggling to keep to her languid pace. She would not have believed he could get any harder, but he did. She increased her cadence and slid up and down on his cock. Her juices made a succulent noise as sexy as anything she had ever heard.
Except for his roar of satisfaction. She let herself come. Her vagina squeezed his cock tighter. She collapsed on his chest, exhausted by the intensity of her climax. She lay still while his arms clasped her close.
The late afternoon sun was slanting in over the bed when she woke up. She had been sleeping on Patrick’s furry chest. There was no way she was going to let him go back to shaving or waxing or whatever citified foolishness he was into. His fur and his muscles added up to hot masculinity. Her playful touching must have woken him because he stopped her hand. He brought it to his lips. His beard tickled.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Bascom,” he growled. “How do you feel?”
“Excellent. What about you?”
“Never better.” He hugged her tightly when she would have slipped off his torso. “Stay. I like feeling the popcorn.”
“Is that what you’re calling our family.”
“Yeah. I know it’s silly. But I think of them as three pieces of popcorn bopping around inside you.” He kissed her.
“They are a bit bigger than that.”
“Oh. Do you want girls or boys?”
“Yes.”
“What?” He was confused.
“The ultrasound showed three babies. And three placentas.”
“Right.” He stroked her back making her spine tingle. “Isn’t that normal?” He sounded vaguely worried.
“It means we are having fraternal triplets. It’s unlikely they will all be girls or all be boys.”
“Because they have placentas?”
“Because they each have their own. If they were sharing, they would be identicals. From one egg. Like me and Amber. Instead they will be fraternal.”
“Like me and Zeke?”
“Yup.”
“Cool.” His chuckles made her bounce.
“What?”
“Do you know what a millionaire’s family is?”
It was her turn to be bewildered. “Nope.”
“One of each. I guess you went one better and gave me a billionaire’s family.” He kissed her ring finger. “I’ll have to get you a proper ring,” he said. “And an engagement ring.”
“I wouldn’t say no to an engagement ring – I’ve always thought a diamond would be nice – but what’s wrong with my wedding ring?”
“It was my mother’s.”
She made a fist enclosing the ring. “So much the better.”
“You don’t mind?”
“Not unless you know something to her detriment.”
“Nothing. But my father – he wasn’t – he isn’t.” He faltered to a stop.
“You are not your father. And we are not your parents.” She stretched out her fingers and moved them into a beam of sunlight so that the ring glinted. “It’s a nice ring. You’re the one who needs a ring.”
“Done.” He pulled her back over his body so they could kiss. “I’m going to have to figure out what to do with that money Clive left for Shirley. It complicates things because we’re married. But I do not want to set the Duprés off again.”
“You better not.” She pinched him.
“You and your sister are Shirley’s heirs. But I think maybe Uncle Pierre and Gilbert are right and we should do something for the whole community with that money. We’ll consult with Father Armstrong. Maybe have a community meeting.”
“I can’t speak for Amber,” Heather said. “But I think that Grandma Shirley would disapprove of just two people getting all that money. She would have been happier to think of all French Town benefiting.”
Patrick grunted. “I can take care of Amber. Or you can do it yourself. All my worldly goods, remember?” He pulled away from her regretfully and sat up on the edge of the bed. “I could make love to you all afternoon and until the stars fill the sky, but I think I better feed you before you get faint.”
She was hungry. Ravenous. “What’s for supper?”
His growled response had her running laughing to the kitchen. They were going to have their happy ever after. Bear love forever and ever.