EMBER - Part Three (The EMBER Series, #3) (4 page)

My body may be craving the same thing as his but I'm grateful that he doesn't push for more. I tap my hands against his hard chest. "We'll talk soon and then we can be together."

The corner of his mouth slides into a smile. "I love being with you, Bridget. I want to be with you now."

I know that his need to touch me and feel my body against his is rooted in the fact that he's been through the emotional wringer this afternoon. Since he spotted me on the street, he's gone from believing that we were having a baby to learning that Cleo is.

"I need to get to work but I can come over tomorrow morning when I'm done."

I want to tell him that I'll be waiting for him but I can't. I may have escaped virtually unscathed from my mistaken belief that he was having a son with Maisy, but I feel beaten and battered emotionally. I need time to digest everything that he's said, and the things he hasn't said to me today.

"Why don't you call me after your shift?" I offer. "We can talk then."

He eyes me before he lowers his mouth to mine for one last, lingering kiss.

"I
'm sorry, Bridge," Vanessa says softly as she leans forward in the chair. "I honestly thought it was Maisy."

"I know." I tap the top of her hand with mine. "I saw a picture of Maisy. Dane found one online. She looks a lot like her sister."

She pulls her hand back to fumble with the edge of the paper coffee cup. "I know it was Maisy that I met here in the cafeteria that day. Dane's mom introduced us."

I'm tempted to ask how exactly Dane's mom, Anja, framed that introduction. Dane hasn't spoken that openly about his relationship with his mom other than to say that she's important to him. Judging by the fact that she was in the hospital with his ex-girlfriend for an appointment, I'd wager a bet that Maisy is still important to her.

"I guess that was Cleo I saw in the corridor with Anja the other day?" She furrows her brow.

I half-shrug my shoulder. "You're sure you saw them together? You said Dane was there too, right?"

I want to sound as nonchalant as I can about this. I had wanted to ask Dane about why his mother would be hanging out with his ex-girlfriend or her sister, but I don't have enough insight into his family dynamics to throw the question at him. I also didn't want to delve into the topic of Vanessa seeing Anja and Cleo with Dane until I could get confirmation from Vanessa. After I took Vanessa at her word about the portrait being Maisy, I realized that her perception may be skewed by the fact that she barely knows any of these people.

"Dane wasn't with them," she clarifies. "I saw him about an hour after I saw them. Actually, it could have been around the same time you have your appointment with Ben."

I feel relief wash over me. I remember that day vividly. Dane had kissed me in the bustling lobby of the hospital before I'd rushed to my appointment. It was only a few days ago in literal time but because of everything that's happened, it feels like it was years ago now.

"Did you know that Cleo was pregnant?" I stop to consider what I need to say next. "I was just wondering why you didn't mention that to me if you thought she was Maisy."

She leans back in the plastic chair pulling a faint cracking sound from it. "Cleo wasn't pregnant when I saw her the other day."

"You're sure?" I ask because I'm not a medical expert.  I can't tell if a woman is six or eight months pregnant. I know that Cleo's belly was round enough to be visible once the blanket was pulled down but when I'd first started to draw her, I hadn't noticed it because of the oversize purse on her lap so it wasn't part of the finished portrait.  The purse, she had been clutching in her hands, was there in the portrait.

"I'm absolutely sure," she chuckles softly. "We get a lot of pregnant women coming into the ER, Bridge. I know one when I see one."

***

"I
'm looking for someone."

The woman sitting behind the reception desk pops her head up until her gaze meets mine. "What can I help you with?"

"Can you tell me if there's been a patient named Cleo Trimble admitted to the hospital?" I rub my hand over my eyes. I could have asked Vanessa to check for me but that would have only complicated things more.  I didn't want to drag out our conversation about Maisy or her sister. I want Vanessa's focus to drift back to her upcoming wedding, not the complicated dynamics of Dane's ex-girlfriend's family.

"There's no one by that name registered." She doesn't look up from the computer screen in front of her. "Do you want me to try a different surname? Sometimes patients are admitted under the name that their insurance has listed."

I wouldn't know where to begin with that. When I saw Cleo at the museum her hand was void of an engagement ring and she spoke about marriage as if it would be part of her future. If she's not here under her maiden name, I doubt she's here at all.

"No, but thank you for checking." I scoop my smartphone into my palm from where I'd rested it on the counter before I turn to walk away.

"Wait." The woman behind the desk taps her fingers over her keyboard. "There's a Cleo Durand. Did your friend just have a baby?"

I should confess that she's not my friend. I should tell her that I'm on a fact finding mission that is only meant to quell my own desperate need to know more about the man I'm falling in love with but I don't do that. Instead I turn back towards the desk with a bright smile on my face. "That's her. She had a little boy."

I
stare down at the white, rectangular card in my hand. The woman at the reception desk had jotted Cleo's room number down for me. I'd walked away after thanking her in the direction of the elevators but before the lift raced back down to the lobby to pick me up, I'd darted out the hospital's main entrance doors.

I'd hailed a taxi then and during the entire ride back to my apartment, I'd contemplated whether I had any right to go see her. The woman doesn't know my name. It's highly likely that she won't remember my face either. Vanessa saw her without a swollen stomach which means that she's now a mom. A random woman who drew her portrait in a museum months ago is not someone she's going to remember.

If I'm being completely honest with myself, the only drive behind my desire to see her today was curiosity. She's Maisy's sister. She's also someone who is fundamentally important to Dane. She's not part of the fabric of my own life though and waltzing into her room, when she's just given birth to her first child, is not only selfish, it's also intrusive.

I turn just as I hear the faint knock on the door. I know it's him. He'd sent me a text hours ago asking if he could come over. I hadn't replied. It wasn't because I didn't want to see him. I longed to feel his arms around me and to hear his deep voice telling me again that he loved me.

My deliberate avoidance of him was wrapped up in that small card with the number 2049 written on it. He's been looking for her. I inadvertently found her and as much as my heart knows that I should hand him the card, my mind is causing me to pause.

Cleo is part of Maisy's life and even though Dane has been struggling with Maisy's refusal to leave his house since we met, I sense that there's a light of promise at the end of that tunnel. Guiding him back into the vicinity of Maisy's grasp isn't something I want to do.

I tuck the card into the front pocket of my jeans before I swing the door open.

"Bridget," he whispers my name as his arms circle my waist. "I was worried. You didn't answer my call or the messages I sent."

I fumble to find the right words. I pull back from his embrace to look up into his face. "You're wearing a ball cap. You look so young when you wear one."

"Young?" His brows shoot up. "How young are we talking?"

I push on his shoulder playfully. "You're one of the happiest people I've ever known."

He tugs the cap off his head before he rakes his hand through his messy hair. "I wasn't until I met you."

The concept of a man's words causing a woman's knees to go weak is real. I'm proof of that. I cling to the front of the dark sweater he's wearing. "You say exactly the right thing."

"I say the honest thing." He brushes his lips against my forehead. "You make me happy, Bridget. I live to make you smile."

I tuck my hand into the pocket of my jeans. My fingers fan over the edge of the card. "No one has ever made me smile the way you do."

"If I can put a smile on that beautiful face every day for the rest of my life, I'll die a happy man."

The words race through me with the power of a rushing wave. I reach for his shoulder to steady my stance. "I don't know what to say when you talk like that."

"You never have to say a thing." His right hand dips to my chin to pull my gaze up to his. "I can see everything you feel when I look in your eyes."

I tug my hand free of the pocket, lift it up to cup his cheek and I give in to my body's need to feel.

***

M
y hips involuntarily buck off the bed as he slides one of his long, firm fingers into me. I hear my own moan fill the quiet air in the room before I sense it within me. I close my eyes, not wanting him to see everything that I'm feeling. This time it isn't just about the magnitude of the pleasure that he gives to me. This time it's about the words he spoke when he kneeled in front of me. It's about the love that he feels for me.

"You're so wet, Bridget." His tongue dances over my clit. "I love how you taste."

I reach down to weave my fingers through his dark hair. I've never felt a need to direct the pressure or angle of his mouth on my core like I have with past lovers. Dane instinctively knows what I need. He can read my body better than I can and right now, I know that he senses that with just a few pressured licks of his skilled tongue on my swollen bud that I'll be racing over the edge towards an intense orgasm.

"Dane," I say his name not only to edge him on but to try to convey everything that I want to say. I wanted us to talk about his profession of love before we shared our bodies again. I wanted to hear my own voice saying it back to him. It's what I feel. It may be jumbled with confusion about his connection to Cleo or the lingering issues with Maisy, but my heart is bound to his. I know that now.

He buries his face between my legs with a soft sigh. His tongue races over my folds before he lashes my clit over and over again.

I don't want to cling to the edge of the sensation. I just want to feel and as the heat of my climax floods over me, I cry out from the sheer pleasure and the knowledge that this is the man I need in my life. This is the man I can't live without.

"I
love you, Bridget."

My eyes flutter open at the sound of his deep voice. I start to turn to face him but his chin is resting on my shoulder. His arms are draped around me, pulling my nude body into his. I can feel the pressure of his erection against my hip. After he licked me to orgasm, he'd crawled up my body and had kissed me with a fevered passion. I'd clung to him and as the tempo of our kisses quieted, he'd rolled me onto my back and had stared into my eyes before I started to drift to sleep.

"You love me?" I whisper as I try to crane my head to the side.  It's not what I want to say. I want to flip over and tell him that I love him too. I want those words to flow from my mouth with the same grace as they did from his but I know that they can't. I know that if I say them now that they'll sound like an empty reflection of his confession. This is his moment. Mine will come, but it's not right now.

His hands grip my waist to guide me to turn over. I do it slowly knowing that once I'm settled next to him that I'll want to look into his eyes to see if I can find the same meaning within the words there that I hear in his voice.

I rest my hands on his bare chest as my eyes catch on the tattoo. It's a symbol of his love and adoration for his mother. She's the one woman who Vanessa saw with both Maisy and Cleo. I push the thoughts from my mind, wanting only to focus on what he just said to me.

"I said it the other day," he begins before he lowers his lips to brush over mine. "When I thought you were having our baby, I said it."

My heart drops slightly at the quiet admission. He had said it in the heat of the moment when he thought I'd just announced that I was expecting his child. I don't want him to back track and tell me that it wasn't grounded in his reality but in the momentary belief that we were going to share a baby boy. I study his face, my gaze sliding over his eyes. "I remember, Dane."

"On the street that morning I thought you were telling me that you were having my baby." He glides his lips across my cheek. "I was so happy."

I feel a stab of pure joy. "You were happy?"

He nods his head slightly, causing his hair to brush against my neck. "Having a baby with you would be a dream come true."

I hear the words clearly but absorbing them isn't as easy. A baby of my own is an abstract, but wanted, part of my future. I'm too young to even consider the notion of bringing another life into my world. My work is finally finding its audience and my heart has just started opening to this beautiful, caring man. A baby may be something we'd discuss years from now, after we'd traveled somewhere exotic on our honeymoon, and have shared a few anniversary dinners.

"I haven't thought about having a baby," I say honestly.

"I didn't either until I thought you were having ours," he murmurs in my ear. "It made me understand how much you mean to me."

"You said that you loved me when you thought I was pregnant." I graze my lips against his temple. "I understand if you said it because of that."

He pulls back so his gaze is on my face. His lips part just as his eyes lock on mine. "I said it because I mean it, Bridget. I love you."

I feel my lower lip tremble. Even if I wanted to repeat back the words to him, my body won't allow it. I'm tangled in such a tightly wound emotional knot that the only sound I can make is a tempered whimper.

"I'll say it again so you never forget it," he rasps. "I love you, Bridget Grant. I'll never stop."