Love Child (4 page)

The moment I saw my room, I felt my mouth fall open. “Abel . . .” I breathed, stepping inside. He followed a few steps behind me. “It’s too much . . .” I couldn’t say anything else—I was speechless.

“No,” he said softly, letting me explore the space. “Nothing could ever be too much for you.” When I glanced back at him, tears welling in my eyes, he added, “You are giving me the most precious gift I could ever be given. Anything I can and will give you will pale in comparison. This is nothing.” He waved at my room like it was nothing special, but he had no idea.

“Abel,” I said, wanting to throw my arms around him but catching myself. “This is not nothing. This is absolutely, most definitely
something
.”

My smile grew as I walked around my room. It was everything I’d dreamed of but never had the means to have. A white four-poster canopy bed complete with curtains hanging from it, an overstuffed rocking chair in a corner, surrounded by bookshelves brimming with books. There was even a vanity like the type that I used to dream about decorating with fancy perfume bottles and pretty tubes of lipstick. The room itself was decorated in my two favorite colors: petal pink and sky blue. It was a dream. Right here inside my reality.

“Thank you,” I breathed, wiping away the first tear before he had a chance to see it.

“You’re welcome.” He was hovering in the doorway again, seeming content to watch me explore.

“But how did you possibly get this done so quickly?” I’d only signed the contract a mere eight hours ago. Then something else dawned on me. “Oh, never mind. You had this room ready for whoever you decided on. Not me in particular.” I’d let the fantasy of the room carry me too far, into the land of princes and princesses and happily-ever-afters.

“This room was empty as of this morning,” Abel said, his voice filling the large room. “This room was made for you and you only, Adeline.”

My smile returned when I looked at him. “Then how did you get it done so quickly?”

His forehead creased when I sat on the edge of my bed. “I think you’ll find me rather persuasive when I want something, Miss Matthews.”

I
t was late
, but I couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t the new bed or the new room keeping me awake—it was Abel Lockwood. My mind wouldn’t take a break from him for longer than five seconds.

A little after midnight, I threw off my covers and headed to the kitchen, hoping a slice of fresh cherry pie and a glass of cold milk would make me sleepy.

Tiptoeing through the dark rooms, I found the apartment quiet. In the kitchen, I kept the lights off and wandered to where the pie was still sitting on the cooling rack. Helen’s jarred sweetened pie cherries were every bit as good as my mama’s, and we’d had a decent-sized orchard to pick fresh from every June. Helen didn’t have the same luxury here in the heart of Chicago.

Snagging a plate and knife, I started cutting a chunk of pie when something caught my eye right outside the window. Even though we were in one of the tallest buildings in one of the biggest cities in the country, Abel’s condo included an outdoor space. I’d caught a glimpse of it earlier from the kitchen, but now that someone was out there, I was giving it a bit more attention.

Abel was outside in the dark, looking like he was performing some kind of martial art. His movements were smooth and rhythmic, one motion moving into the next in seamless transitions. He moved with the grace of a dancer and the strength of a fighter. He was barefoot, wearing nothing but a pair of dark, loose-fitting pants. A sheen of sweat covered his body, seeming to make his skin glow under the pale moonlight.

The cherry pie was long forgotten.

Leaning into the counter to get a better look, I didn’t want to blink for fear of missing a moment of what he was doing. I’d never seen this martial art before, but it was mesmerizing. Not only did it require strength and grace, it required balance and athleticism. Watching him move his body the way he could, witnessing the way he could tame it, unleashing it the moment after, made the space south of my navel ache with need.

Oh dear lord . . . I’d never felt it like this before. It wasn’t just a passing tremor but something that went much deeper. It might have originated in that spot between my legs, but it spread to every last nerve and fiber in my body until I felt as though my entire body was surging with want.

The longer I watched Abel, the deeper that ache went. Until it was almost painful. Maybe if I touched myself down there, that would make it better. Maybe all I needed was to diffuse a little of that ache and I’d be able to keep my body from falling apart as I felt it was about to.

Moving my fingers over myself, I gently rubbed that spot where I could feel the need most. Instantly, I felt something build inside, my other hand curling into a fist as I leaned over the counter to brace myself. A whimper spilled past my lips as I continued to rub myself, watching Abel performing his ritual, imagining all of that power and skill being used on me.

I’d touched myself like this a few times before, but I had quickly lost interest when I discovered it didn’t seem to do anything. That inexplicable feeling of release? What people called an orgasm? If what I felt when I touched myself was anything like that, then people were way over-exaggerating how great it was. Or maybe I’d just never experienced a real, true orgasm.

My eyes lowered the closer I came to feeling like I was about to either fly or fall, and right when I felt that tipping point winding closer, a door closing interrupted my moment of self-awakening.

My head whipped to the side to find two piercing blue eyes staring at me in the darkness. Embarrassment scorched my throat as I tried to cover up what I’d been doing. But from the look on his face, he knew exactly what I’d been up to.

“Please,” Abel’s voice came from deep in his chest, “don’t stop on my account.”

He knows. He saw me touching myself. Right here in his kitchen. Staring at him through the window.

Shaking my head, I struggled to recompose myself. Getting back to the pie, I finished cutting a piece before dropping it onto the plate. The whole time, I was ever aware of his penetrating stare. I could almost feel his smirk growing as I fumbled with the pie.

“Do you want my cherry—” My cheeks felt like they were as red as the pie when I realized what I’d said. “Do you want a piece of my cherry—”

When he stepped toward me, the rest of my question got stuck in my throat. One corner of his mouth curved up, his gaze lowering to the hem of my nightgown. If I’d known I would run into a shirtless Abel, I would have thrown on a bathrobe before venturing out of my room.

Clearing my throat, I closed my eyes to focus on my words. “Would you like a piece of my cherry pie?” Sighing my relief that I’d managed to get it right—finally—when my eyes opened, I found Abel in front of me.
Right
in front of me.

His hand dropped to my hip, his fingers slowly curling into me. The whole time, he never stopped looking straight into my eyes. “I would love a piece of your cherry pie.”

My hand grabbed the counter behind me, partly because I needed to anchor myself from melting beneath his touch and partly because I didn’t trust that I wouldn’t touch him back.

“Let me just get it for you,” I said, not recognizing my voice as I reached for the plate. Usually I served it warm with homemade vanilla ice cream, but this would have to do since I could barely talk with the way he was looking at me.

My fingers had no more curled around the plate when his other hand found my waist as he leaned in, his head lowering to my neck. Slowly, he breathed me in. When he exhaled, the warm fog of breath that broke across my neck made me lose my mind.

My motor functions went right along with it.

The plate clattered to the floor, scattering pie across the floor. Well, the floor and my ankles. And probably his pants, which I was not thinking about taking off of him. At all.

“Shoot,” I said, scrambling to the floor to clean it up.

As I picked up chunks of pie, I paused. He was watching me, towering above me with a look in his eyes that made my throat dry.

I didn’t miss my head’s location on his body. He certainly didn’t miss it either.

A tortured look played across his face before he gave his head a shake and reached for the roll of paper towels. “Here. Let me get that cleaned up.” He lowered to the floor beside me, wiping up the sticky red filling I’d managed to scatter up the walls and my knees.

“Thanks,” I said, tearing a few paper towels off. Watching Abel Lockwood clean a sticky floor on his hands and knees was almost as much of a turn-on as watching him outside doing whatever it was he’d been doing.

Which reminded me.

“Outside just now . . .” I focused on the floor instead of his forearm. “What was that you were doing?”

“Tai Chi,” he answered, his eyes grinning when he glanced at me. “Did you like it?”

I bit my lip, kind of hating that he knew I’d been watching him. “It was interesting,” I said, figuring that was a safe answer. “How long have you been practicing it?”

“Since I was six. I even competed when I was younger, but now I do it as more of an outlet that focuses my energy and centers me at the same time.” When I went to wipe up another streak of cherry mess, he beat me to it. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“No. I just couldn’t sleep.”

His hand stopped moving, his brow furrowing. “Neither could I.” Just as I was about to ask him what his sleeping problem was, he shifted so he was crouching in front of me. “Can I ask you a personal question, Miss Matthews?”

“Our lives are about to get very,
very
personal. So please, ask away.” I scrubbed at an invisible stain, distracting myself from the realization that tomorrow night, this man would be sharing his body with me. That image of Abel braced above me flashed through my mind again.

Great. Because my inner thighs needed to be a little damper.

“Earlier today in the meeting. You agreed so quickly.” His head tipped. “Why?”

There were four ways a person could answer any question, my daddy had taught me. With the truth, a figment of the truth, a lie, or silence. He’d also taught me that there was only one way a Matthews could answer a question.

With the truth.

“I came into that meeting ninety-nine percent sure you were the one I was going to pick. I agreed to the other meetings out of respect to the candidates, but I knew it would be you I’d pick in the end.”

Abel reached for my hand. Even though it was sticky with cherry filling, I let him take it. “I guessed you were the one too. Before I’d even met you.”

My stomach fluttered. “And now?”

His thumb caressed the underside of my wrist. “And now I
know
you’re the one.”

Good lord. The things I felt for this man were not the things I should have been feeling for him. He didn’t want
me
; he wanted our baby. That’s what I reminded myself when I found his smile drawing me closer.

“Why did you decide to do this?” he asked.

My gaze lowered. I wished I didn’t have to be so honest all of the time. “Because I didn’t want to bring a child into a home with a father who had a tough time staying committed to a cell phone plan. And, at least in my experience, that was the only type of guy who crossed my path. I didn’t want to sentence a child to a split household. Custody battles. I don’t want that life for my child, even if it means I have to be nothing more than an old friend of the family.”

Abel’s hand squeezed mine. “Not all men are like that. Some of us aren’t afraid of commitment.”

“I know, but it was disheartening when those seemed to be the only men I was getting offers from.”

I didn’t miss the way his brows pinched together, almost like he was upset. “So you decided that since you didn’t believe you’d have a child of your own with someone you fell in love with, you’d give the gift of a child to someone else?”

Biting my lip, I nodded.

“And you choose me because . . . ?” His voice was almost gentle, the softest I’d ever heard it.

I met his eyes. “Because the world needs more good fathers.”

His face softened, his hand tugging me closer. “And you believed I’d be one of those good fathers?”

Being closer to him made my heart beat faster. At this distance, I could smell the hint of sweat on him from what he’d been doing outside. The faint aroma of whatever cologne or aftershave he’d put on earlier.

“Yes,” I answered. “I believe that.”

His other hand lifted to slide a loose curl behind my ear. “You’re right. I will be one of those good fathers. I promise you that. I swear on the life of the child we’ll create together.”

His words. They were still messing with me. My heart seemed to want him as badly as the area between my legs did. I couldn’t let myself feel this way for him. I had to keep some kind of careful distance so that at the end of all of this, I didn’t leave behind the baby and my heart.

“Why did you pick me?” I asked after a moment.

Abel’s fingers tied deeper through mine. “Because the world needs more good mothers too. And no matter what capacity you are in this baby’s life, I will always know that my child has just that kind. I know that your goodness will always be a part of it.”

I really didn’t want to cry in front of Abel Lockwood, but if he kept saying those kinds of things, I was going to. Everything I’d always dreamed of hearing come from a man I cared about, who wanted to settle down and have a family with me one day, was coming from the one in front of me who was paying me to have his child.

It was a conflicting realization.

“Did you know that when we met this morning, we’d be sitting on your kitchen floor tonight, wiping up cherry pie, and having this kind of conversation?” I asked.

He shrugged, his eyes firing. “Well, no. I thought it would be apple pie instead.”

When I laughed, he joined me until our shared laughter filled the entire kitchen. It filled my heart too. Complications of feeling attraction or more for this man aside, I’d made the right pick. The baby I made with him would grow up happy and loved. Despite all that was to come, I felt an overwhelming amount of relief.

“About tomorrow night . . .”

Abel was still chuckling, but it came to a succinct stop.

“I was wondering if you had any”—I cleared my throat, able to look everywhere but into his eyes—“you know, certain requests.”

Thank goodness for the dark because my cheeks felt so hot they could have combusted. I was proud of myself for asking though. It had been on my mind, and I thought tomorrow would be easier if I knew what his expectations were. If he had any.

Even though I wasn’t looking right at him, I saw Abel’s smile from the corner of my eyes, and it made me feel heat in other places too.

“Why? Are you taking special requests?”

“No, I’m not a DJ, but I thought it would made things easier for us both—or for me at least—if I had an idea of how tomorrow night will go.”

The harder he tried to make eye contact, the harder I fought it. This was, by far, the most uncomfortable conversation of my life.

“Do
you
have any special requests?” His tone was playful but gentle.

Taking a moment to consider that, I shook my head. I couldn’t come up with anything that wouldn’t make me sound like I had no idea what I was talking about.

He stayed quiet after that, I guessed giving me a minute to change my mind. When I didn’t, he slid closer. Now his knee was touching mine. And his hand. My body was already charging from these two connection points—I couldn’t imagine what would happen tomorrow night when we were connected everywhere else too.

“Whatever you want—whatever feels right—whatever you want to give me or need me to give you . . . be assured that tomorrow night will end with me being the luckiest bastard on this planet.”

My heart was beating so hard I was certain he could hear it. Why did he have to be the one to say the fairy-tale words and give me the fairy-tale room and make me feel the fairy-tale things . . . and yet not be the actual fairy tale?

How could the small handful of boys who’d professed their undying love for me not be able to say or express it the way Abel Lockwood was, the same man paying me for the use of my womb?