Twin Babies with the Billionaire for Christmas

10. Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

Rachel

“What symptoms have you been having?” the IV tech asks me as he starts pulling out tubes, needles, and bags of IV fluids.

“Nausea and dizziness,” I say. “I threw up a bunch of times at dinner.”

“How long ago was that?” he asks me.

I look at my watch. “About an hour ago.”

“Still feeling nauseous?” he asks me, and I nod. “Did you have anything to drink tonight?” he asks next.

“Nope,” I say, shaking my head. I can’t even imagine what I’d be feeling like if I had. The thought makes me want to barf all over again.

“When was your last menstrual period?” he asks me.

I frown a little. In all of the chaos of my hasty move from Alaska, and getting Danny settled in at his care home, I’ve lost track. I tend to forget to count the weeks, so I use a tracking app to calculate my cycle so I don’t have to deal with unfortunate surprises that can ruin things like white slacks.

I drag my purse over to my side and dig out my phone so I can look at the tracking app. I feel a rush of panic roll over me when I look at the date. I was supposed to have had my period by now.

“Umm,” I stutter, staring at the tracker. I suddenly remember the feeling of Tristan spilling himself inside of me, and the fierce stab of pride that I felt at being marked by him in that moment.

“Is there anything in the stuff you are going to give to me that could hurt a baby?” I ask, my heart racing.

He smiles at me. “If you think you might be pregnant, I can take that into account as I treat you. I work with a lot of people who struggle with morning sickness.”

I look over his shoulder quickly, and I’m relieved to see that Tristan has left the room. Sagging back against the bed, I decide I can’t explain myself to this stranger. After all, he can’t offer me a pregnancy test.

“Thanks, that would be great,” I manage to say. I barely feel him placing the IV line in my arm. I stare up at the ceiling as he does his job, my mind fretting in circles about what to do.

Pregnant , I think helplessly. What the hell was I thinking having sex without protection?

I think about all of my friends who have spent years trying to have kids and failing, and here I am, making the first casual sexual mistake of my life and getting pregnant immediately.

My mouth twists in rueful acknowledgment that Tristan is probably extra virile or something. After all, he is a bit older.

The IV tech makes polite conversation with me as he works, and I manage to keep up some semblance of engagement despite my whirling thoughts. By the time he takes down the second bag of fluids, I’m starting to feel a lot better.

“How are you doing now?” he asks me.

I smile. “So much better,” I tell him.

“Good deal,” he replies, starting to pack up his things. “If you don’t feel back to normal by the day after tomorrow, I suggest that you see your doctor or head to the ER,” he says.

“Okay. Thanks,” I say as he finishes cleaning up his supplies.

“All done?” Tristan asks as he steps into the room.

“Yup,” the man says.

“I can pay right now,” Tristan tells him.

“Perfect,” the man says, digging in his pocket for his cell phone.

“Tristan,” I say, starting to sit up a little. “I can pay.”

Tristan just waves me off and hands over his black card. The man takes it and handles the transaction, then gives me a little wave as Nancy leads him out of the room.

“Want a bath?” Tristan asks me once we are alone again.

I stare at him, trying to process everything that has happened. Freed of the crippling nausea, all I can do is worry about my potential pregnancy and stare at the man I might be having a baby with, wanting him to tear my clothes off and make me forget my worries.

“Rachel?” he asks me, looking worried at my continuing silence.

I cough. “Sorry,” I say quickly. “Actually, yeah, a bath sounds really nice.”

His face relaxes, his brown eyes are golden and warm. “I’ll start on that for you. Don’t go anywhere. I’m about to channel my inner five-star hotel.”

“Har, har,” I say back, shaking my head at his joke.

“I come complete with a great sense of humor,” he calls to me from the bathroom.

I snort. “If you’re a dad making jokes in front of his kids.”

“Those are the best kinds of jokes,” he says back, his voice echoing.

I bite my lower lip, then give in to temptation and ask the question that is hovering on my mind. It’s not an unreasonable question for a biographer to ask anyway.

“Do you ever think about having kids?” I call to him.

I hear the water start running into the bathtub and then I hear him puttering around through cupboards or drawers for a moment.

“I don’t know,” he finally says back. “Kids are a big responsibility, you know? And I travel all the time and I’m so busy with work. Maybe it’s a good thing that I’ve never gotten anyone I’ve been with pregnant.”

I feel a little chilly, but his words make sense. Most busy people who have huge companies to run don’t want kids. He’s not the first person I’ve interviewed to say this.

“What about marriage?” I ask before I can stop myself. I wrinkle my nose a little. Are the pregnancy hormones already scrambling my brain? Why am I asking such intimate questions while I’m lying in his bed?

You might not even be pregnant, silly , I think. Stop planning an entire future with this famous tech mogul who likely doesn’t want anything more than casual sex with you.

He steps back into the bedroom and meets my gaze. “I guess marriage is kind of in the same category as the kid thing,” he says with a shrug. “No one has ever been a good fit to share my life with and it’s not like my childhood lends itself to understanding how to have those kinds of relationships, you know?”

“You seem to naturally take care of everyone around you,” I point out. “Even if they don’t really want you to.”

He chuckles. “I guess you’re right. I know I can be kind of domineering. I just want to be sure that people take care of themselves and get what they need, you know?”

I nod. I actually do know. I worry about being too restrictive with Danny. Ever since our parents had skipped out on us, I’ve had to be his mom and his dad. It’s not easy, and for a kid trying to raise another kid, becoming a tyrant is all too easy.

“Come on,” Tristan says to me. “Let’s get you into that bath.”

He holds out his hand, and I reach out and take it, feeling the calluses that I now know are from the time that he spends at his place in Montana doing what he loves.

There is something so intimate about knowing that this part of the physical experience of touching him has to do with a part of his life that he holds dear. Before I can stop myself, I squeeze his fingers.

He looks at me in surprise, warmth flooding into his gaze, and he squeezes back.

“Thanks for taking care of me tonight,” I say sincerely as he leads me into the huge, spacious bathroom. The tub is giant, and I can see that it's jetted. I’ve always wanted to have a tub like this in my house, but I’ve just never had the budget to even consider adding one.

“No problem,” he says to me as we come to a stop by the tub.

Tristan's eyes lock onto mine, and the air between us seems to thin. I can hardly breathe. Before I can process what's happening, he pulls me close and takes my lips in a shocking and yet delightfully sweet kiss.

For a moment, I'm lost in the feeling. His lips are soft but insistent, and I find myself responding with equal fervor. My hands move of their own accord, combing through his hair as he deepens the kiss.

There are so many things going through my mind. I might be pregnant, he’s a client, he doesn’t want to get married or have kids. And yet, all I can think about are his hands squeezing my breasts, his lips on mine, the tangling of our tongues.

The scent of the bath salts that he put in the water wraps around us as steam fills the space. My earlier illness is completely forgotten as my core throbs with want, my hands reaching around to cup his firm ass, my legs parting to press his thigh between them.

“We don’t have to do this,” he murmurs against my lips. “You don’t feel good.”

“Shut up and fuck me,” I hear myself say, and I don’t even question where those dirty words came from.

Something about this man makes me throw caution to the wind, makes me feel empowered, sexy, in control.

Besides , I think to myself, I can’t get pregnant a second time .