Eleven
The doorbell rang again, a little longer this time. JP muttered to himself, nearly tripping as he pulled on a pair of nylon workout pants. The material clung to his wet legs and he cursed again.
He grabbed a towel as he walked out of the bathroom, running it across his bare chest and dripping hair. Who the hell was at the door? It couldn't be Randy, not yet. They weren't due to leave for another two hours.
He hurried through the living room, nearly slipped on the tile floor of the entranceway before reaching the door. He yanked it open—
And froze, all thoughts of finding a new place to live fleeing his mind. Emily stood in front of him, looking small and fragile in the oversized winter coat. Her hair was tousled, as if she had run her fingers through it numerous times. And her face was pale, her eyes wide and a little dazed as she looked up at him.
"Emilie." JP reached out, grabbed her hand and tugged her inside. "Are you okay? Did something to happen?"
It was a stupid question. Of course something had happened. She looked shell-shocked, like she didn't quite know where she was or how she got there. Her gaze darted around, never landing on any one thing for longer than a second. The sparse furnishings. The bare walls. The balcony overlooking the Baltimore skyline below.
His bare chest.
A flush crept across her cheeks and she quickly averted her gaze, staring down at the tile floor. JP took her hand again and led her to the overstuffed leather sofa. She didn't look at him, didn't even try to shrug out of her heavy coat.
He tossed the towel to the side and squatted in front of her, taking both of her cold hands in his. "What is it, mon ange? Did something happen?"
She took a deep breath, her gaze clearing as she finally, slowly, looked up at him. Her mouth opened, just as quickly closed with a snap as she looked away. He squeezed her hands, a knot of apprehension twisting his gut.
"Emilie. Tell me. What is wrong?"
"I—" She stopped, looked away again, took another deep breath and stared down at their clasped hands. "I'm pregnant."
The whispered words hung between them, suspended between reality and disbelief. JP heard the word, understood its meaning. But not the context.
Not right away.
Not until it slammed into him with enough force that he actually lost his balance and fell backward, landing on his ass.
"Preg—" He stuttered, had to close his mouth and swallow, tried to clear his throat. His mind. Tried to make sense of the word, of what she meant. "Pregnant?"
His hands briefly tightened around hers, maybe too tight because she pulled her hands from his grasp. And then she was standing, stepping around him because his ass was still glued to the fucking floor. She was talking, soft jumbled words that didn't make sense. Nothing made sense, not when shock and disbelief battered him, sent him reeling.
Kept him frozen in place.
Pregnant.
Emily was pregnant.
And he was the father.
He was going to be a father.
The thought terrified him. Thrilled him. Petrified him. Excited him.
He was going to be a father.
Emily was going to be the mother of his child.
A vision of her, soft and glowing, holding their daughter to her breast, seared his mind. Vivid, clear. He ran a hand across his chest, trying to understand the sudden tightness beneath his breastbone.
Trying to understand the feral possessiveness that tore through him, shredding all anxiety and doubt.
He was going to be a father.
The sound of the door opening echoed through the room like a shot. He looked up, fear twisting his gut when he saw that Emily was leaving.
He shot to his feet, a string of French falling from his lips as he raced after her. He grabbed her arm, spun her around, saw her eyes widen in shock as he cupped her face with both hands.
He wiped his thumb across her cheek, high up to catch the single tear falling from her eye. Then he lowered his head and placed a gentle kiss against her soft lips. Sweet, tender, a million emotions and thoughts and dreams encompassed in that single touch.
He pulled away, swept his thumb along her lower lip, trying to find the right words.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean—" She hesitated, shook her head. "I don't expect you to—"
He kissed her again, silencing her, then pulled her into his arms. "She is mine, Emilie. Mine and yours. Ours."
She stiffened in his arms, tried to pull away but he wouldn't let her. He kissed her again then dropped to his knees and pressed one hand against her stomach. Flat still, firm, with no hint of the life growing within her.
He swallowed against the thickness clogging his throat, leaned forward and pressed a kiss against her stomach. Her hand threaded in his hair, her fingers trembling. He reached for her other hand, gently tugged until she was kneeling in front of him.
"Mine, Emilie. Always mine. You and our daughter."
She ran a hand across her eyes and tried to smile. "Or son."
"No, a daughter. As beautiful as her mother." He cupped her cheek with his hand, stroked her smooth skin with the pad of his thumb.
Her eyes met his, wide and uncertain. The same emotions running through him were reflected in the deep blue of her gaze. "I'm scared, JP."
"No, Emilie. There is nothing to be afraid of. We will get through this together." He dropped a kiss on her forehead and pressed his free hand against the flat of her belly. She reached out and covered his hand with hers. He caught her trembling fingers, steadied them with his own, and kissed her again.
"Together, my Emilie. The three of us. Always."
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No, JP and Emily's story doesn't end here…not even close. This is just their first shot at love!
Do they get their happily-ever-after? What does the future hold for these two? JP and Emily are one of my best-loved couples…and two of my readers' favorites! You can read the rest of their story in , The Baltimore Banners Book 5.