Chapter 16 Reinforcements
REINFORCEMENTS
ENYA
You go to the emergency department one time, and you have a very large, very handsome, very irritating ex-special agent hovering over you.
Nick has refused to leave my side since we got back. Worse, he and Cass have apparently formed an alliance, taking turns monitoring how much I eat, how much I drink, and whether I’m off my feet every thirty minutes for at least fifteen minutes.
I don’t know how I’m supposed to run a business this way.
“I got the flowers,” Nick tells me as he puts my feet up on a stool. “You take care of the paperwork while you sit on your ass.”
“Are there other places I can sit on besides my ass?” I snap.
He crouches in front of me, and I hate that my brain short-circuits a little. When we were together—whatever that was—he wore suits, played the part of an art nerd. Now it’s jeans, button-down shirts, and sometimes T-shirts that should be illegal on a man with pecs like his.
So, the other cliché about being pregnant besides having to pee all the time is that I’m horny. I mean, clichés have to come from somewhere, and they apparently come from reality.
He looks good. Really, really good.
And what isn’t helping is that I’ve seen him naked…a lot, so it takes no effort at all to imagine….
“What?” he asks as I stare at the fabric of his shirt stretching over his upper body like we’re in a porn film and seconds from him taking that offensive thing off, and then I can lick down his abs, and down, and down….
“No-nothing.” I fan myself.
“You’re hot. I should reduce the temperature.” He walks up to the Nest thermostat control, and I collapse in my chair.
“You want to climb him like a tree,” Cass observes while Nick fidgets with the temperature.
I swallow. “What? No. No. He’s…an ex.”
Cass only knows that we broke up and not why. How could I tell her? There isn’t a sanitized version to give her. So, it’s simply, we ended, I’m pregnant, and he’s now a bigger pain in my behind than my expanding pelvis.
“You want to ride him like a horse,” she continues as she watches his ass…a very fine ass molded by his Levi’s.
I clear my throat to not let a memory of me doing exactly that form. “I’m allergic to horses.”
Cass smirks, rolling her eyes. “Puhlease, I wasn’t born yesterday.”
Nick comes back and cups my cheek. “How’s that?”
Take all your clothes off, hot stuff, and I’ll tell you.
“F-fine,” I manage to croak out, shooting a snickering Cass a pointed look. “Don’t you have your shop to attend to?”
She tosses her hand up carelessly. “Milo is in there.”
Milo is her cousin who hangs out in her store and uses her equipment to make glassware, which she sells for him.
Nick looks at me worried. “Your face is still flushed. Baby, why don’t you go upstairs and take a nap?”
“Yeah, maybe you can join her…help her…you know, relax.” Cass flutters her eyelashes in mock innocence.
Nick cocks an eyebrow, and slowly, the corner of his lips curls up in amusement. “Cass, get out of here,” he says, his eyes on me.
“I’m going to get a hot flash if I stay here longer,” Cass says cheerfully, leaving us alone.
Nick stands me up and presses me to him. “You okay?”
“I’m fine. Let go of me.” I say the words, but I’m doing nothing to move away from him. I like his body close, and I’m about two seconds from rubbing my very sensitive breasts against his very sexy pecs.
He brushes his lips against mine.
He smells good. So, so good.
I close my eyes and open my mouth to welcome his kiss. His taste is warm with a hint of the coffee he likes to drink, which I can’t, which I miss. His hands slide into my hair, holding me in place as his mouth moves against mine.
I curl my tongue around his, wanting to devour him. My hands cup his ass, but I can’t feel him against the notch between my thighs—stupid belly.
“Want more, baby.” It’s not a question. His hand slides along my hip, and he lifts my thigh so that I can rub myself on his jeans.
“Yes,” I moan as I plant small kisses along his jaw.
Suddenly, heaven is over, and he has me at an arm’s distance. His breathing is shallow, no better than mine. “You need rest, not….”
I glare. “You could at least finish what you started.”
He walks me to the comfortable office chair he bought for me, one that comes with its own stool so I can put my feet up.
“You need to sit.”
My ass connects with the soft chair. “I am sitting. Happy?”
“You need to rest.”
“I am fine.”
He drags a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I want you, God, I want you. I’m hard as fucking stone, but you fainted, baby, and....”
I narrow my eyes. “Don’t overthink it. It’s hormones. I hear it makes us pregnant women—”
“Needy?” he finishes silkily. “Hungry?”
Okay, maybe he could just talk, and I’d get my clitoral stimulator, and we could make this work. Right? Because his voice is sexy.
Stupid, traitorous body and dumb, moronic hormones.
He traces my lips with a finger, and I resist, strongly, the urge to bite him, taste him. “Give it a few days, and I’ll give you what you want. I’ll give it to you hard and soft, and every which way.”
The asshole. He knows what he’s doing. He’s trying to seduce his way into my bed…again. I’m about to tell him to go fuck himself when the bell above the door jingles.
“Hello, where is my beautiful, pregnant flower goddess?”
We both stare, transfixed by the vision that steps in.
The woman standing in the doorway looks like she stepped out of another era—perfectly waved red hair, fire-engine red glossy lips, and smoky eyes. She radiates warmth and confidence, all polished opulence and easy kindness, like Rita Hayworth in Gilda.
Nick’s face transforms: his joy is unmistakable.
“Daisy.” He walks up to his…sister, hugs her, lifts her off the ground, and swings her around. Their closeness and affection make my heart ache. I wish I had that with Maggie.
“It’s been so long.” He sets her down and looks behind her. “Is Kai with you?”
Kai, I’ve learned, is Daisy’s son, and Nick absolutely adores the kid. He’s shown me pictures of him, and tells me how he can’t wait for Kai and our baby to become best friends.
This is what a real family feels like.
Feels nice.
Her gaze lands on me and softens immediately. “You must be Enya.”
I nod, standing up. She hugs me. “I’m Daisy. I hear you scared the hell out of my brother.”
I don’t know what to do. She’s a big-time celebrity and so glamorous. How the hell am I always out of place no matter where I am? With my father and my sister, and now with Nick and his sister?
“I…hello.”
Very witty, Enya. That’s how you win people over and make friends, with witty repartee like that.
Good God!
She laughs, bright and affectionate. “I’m so happy to finally meet you. I had an endless shoot in Tibet, and came straight here when Dom blew up the family chat about your trip to the ED.”
Her gaze flicks over me—not critically, just observant—and I suddenly feel every inch of myself. My pale-yellow summer dress has never looked more like it’s been rescued from a charity bin than it does standing next to Daisy.
She’s in a raw silk wrap dress that skims her body as if it were designed specifically for her.
The fabric catches the light as she moves, patterned in soft jewel tones that somehow feels both casual and impossibly chic.
Gold bangles are stacked loosely at her wrist, and oversized sunglasses are pushed into perfectly waved red hair.
She’s the kind of woman who looks expensive even when she’s dressed for comfort.
She doesn’t look styled so much as finished—like she woke up this way and the world simply adjusted around her. And somehow, impossibly, she’s smiling at me like we’re already on the same side.
“How’s the baby? How are you feeling?” She glares at Nick. “Why isn’t she lying down? Why is she working?”
“I—” Nick is barely able to speak when she flicks him into silence with a wave of a hand.
“Dom is not dumb, but he’s not the brightest bulb, but then, darling, most men aren’t.”
Nick groans. “Jesus.”
Daisy squeezes my hands. “I’m here to help. Feed you. Make sure you rest. Possibly smother him if he gets too overbearing.”
Between Daisy and Nick, I don’t think he’s the overbearing one, but I’m not telling her that. She’s scary…in the nicest way, but she is. So, when she ushers me upstairs like she’s been doing it her whole life, I let her, leaving Lucille’s in the not-so-capable hands of my baby daddy.
My life is turning into a soap opera right in front of my eyes.
She sets me down on the couch. “Feet up. I don’t care if you feel fine. I don’t trust pregnant women who say they’re fine.”
I do as she orders because she’s not asking. I don’t think this woman knows how to ask. I want to be just like her when I grow up.
“Tea.” Not a question.
I nod. “Sure.”
My unfamiliar kitchen doesn’t bog her down. She puts the kettle on. Finds teabags. Finds cups. Even some cookies.
I settle into the couch and smile, because this is nice.
Being taken care of for no reason other than the fact that I exist. I don’t have to charm Daisy or placate Nick—like hell I’m ever being nice to him again—and yet they’re both hovering, attentive, generous.
Yes, I’m carrying Nick’s baby, and that probably tips the scales, but it doesn’t take away from the tenderness of it.
“You both are bossy,” I observe.
She grins. “That’s because I trained him.”
While the kettle heats, she talks…nonstop. About Lucille’s. About how charming it is. About how she once produced an indie movie about a florist, and they had to ship in fresh plants every day because they kept dying.
I watch her, still trying to reconcile this glamorous, luminous, Oscar-winning Hollywood producer with the idea of the woman making tea in my kitchen.
She brings back two cups and hands me one. “Chamomile. No caffeine.”
I take a sip. It’s perfect.
“So.” She settles into the chair across from me, and crosses her legs. “You fainted. Scared the hell out of my brother. He’s pretending he’s fine about it, but he’s not. Happened to me when I was pregnant, and Forest lost it.”
“You, too?”
She nods. “Some of us just don’t know when to stop and take a break. I know how that goes, so I felt duty-bound to come over.”
She studies me, not in a way that feels invasive—more like she’s taking stock. “You don’t look like the kind of woman who enjoys being fussed over.”
“I don’t,” I admit, stroking my belly, more entertained than I should be. “But…it’s not all bad. I’m actually enjoying it…sometimes, which is weird.”
“Welcome to pregnancy. It’s a hostile takeover.”
We sit in companionable silence for a moment, the city humming outside the window.
Then she says gently, “You don’t owe me anything, Enya. But I want you to know something about my brother.”
I tense. Is she now going to drop the facade and tell me that I’m not right for Nick?
“Dominic is…difficult.” She traces the edge of her cup with a finger. “He’s controlled, stubborn, emotionally constipated, and absolutely convinced that he can fix just about anything.”
That tracks.
“But,” she adds, “he’s also loyal to a fault. When he loves someone, it terrifies him. Because he doesn’t know how to protect them without breaking them.”
I swallow. That also tracks.
She tilts her head. “What he did to you…is inexcusable. I won’t defend it. Men are idiots.”
“Are they?” I ask, amused.
“Oh, absolutely,” she says cheerfully. “My husband is worse than most.”
I laugh. This is the judge who wears boardshorts under his robes.
“Forest is brilliant,” she goes on. “Principled. Brave. And when he loves someone, he barrels straight through common sense. Restraint? Never heard of her. The man once flooded my house to make me move in with him. Ruined my priceless Bokhara rugs.”
My mouth falls open. “He what?”
“I know!” She chuckles. “I did move in with him. There was only one bedroom and…it was like a bad romcom with a one-bed trope.”
I settle, enjoying this woman more than I ever thought I would. She’s genuine, open, and, honestly, a total delight. “Sounds like one hell of a story.”
“It’s got a happy ending.” She sips her tea and grins. “The point is—men don’t think. They act. And the good ones act badly when they’re scared.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” I murmur.
She softens. “No. It’s supposed to make you feel seen.”
I stare down at my mug. At the faint tremor in my hands.
“He hurt you,” Daisy says with empathy. “And you don’t owe him forgiveness. Or trust. Or anything beyond what you decide you want to give.”
I nod, throat tight.
“But,” her voice drops, and her tone becomes somber, “I have never seen my brother walk away from what matters to him without a mission forcing his hand. And he walked away from everything for you.”
I set my teacup on the coffee table and rest my hands on my belly, my gaze drifting to the wall behind Daisy where a print of one of my favorite paintings hangs.
A Kandinsky—abstract, all color and movement and emotion without a single explicit instruction on how to feel.
I’ve always loved his work because it doesn’t try to explain itself.
It just is. Chaos and harmony share the same space; shapes collide, colors bleed into one another, creating beauty without ever asking for permission.
Grandma Lucille used to say it was art for people who felt too much and thought too little—and I suppose that’s why it feels like home to me.
“It was a job, Enya. You were collateral damage.”
“I know.”
“Doesn’t change that it probably hurts like a mother.”
I laugh at that, agreeing, “No, it doesn’t.”
“Because you love him.”
I close my eyes and think about the life inside of me. I open my eyes after a moment and give her the truth. “I do.”
“Then what’s the problem?” she asks. “He’s not trying to win, Enya, I promise you that. He’s trying to stay. He took a corporate job so he could live in D.C. He quit the NSA. He…and it’s not that he’s making sacrifices, it’s just that you’re important—”
“Important? Me or the baby?”
“He quit his job long before he knew you were pregnant,” she reminds me. “He was stalking you long after the op needed him to…you know he was, don’t you?”
I nod. Yeah, I do know.
“He probably has an app on your phone and a tracker in your bag or….”
My eyes widen. “What?”
She shrugs. “He’s an ex-spy, what do you expect? You can take the spy out of the field, but you can’t take the tradecraft out of the spy. I produced a spy series last summer, I should know.”
I don’t respond right away. I’m not ready to.
Daisy stands and smooths her skirt. “Close your eyes, take a nap. I’ll keep him occupied. God knows he needs supervision.”
She pauses at the door, glancing back. “Whatever you decide, Enya—you’re already family to Forest and me.”