Chapter 9
Chapter
Nine
S tarry stared at the furniture in the living room.
They hadn’t been to the country house in almost two years. Like it was some sort of Jane Austen thing, the furniture had all been dust covered, and a skeleton staff had kept the place in tip top shape.
But the furniture was all wrong.
“Alistair? What’s wrong?” Reed came in, a cup of tea in each hand, and he gave one to Alistair.
“The furniture is wrong.” He rubbed his belly and chewed his lower lip.
“Oh.” Reed set his tea aside. “Did you want some help?”
“I do.”
“Okay.” Reed set aside his tea on the huge old primitive table that would really only fit right where it was. “Let me go get the guys.”
They had brought a full complement of guards and such with them when they came. Their whole high rise, really.
Des, of course, was in a tele-meeting with Reed’s clan this morning, so that took precedence over misplaced furniture.
“Okay.” He sipped his tea, then made a face and put it down. Ugh. That was foul.
Reed returned with three stout dragons. “Let the rearranging commence.”
Alistair laughed, delighted to have the help. “Okay. Oh, Reed, we need a Swiffer thingee too.”
“One for the floors, one for the windowsills and such.” Reed scampered off again.
He had the guards moving the big couch when Des strolled into the room.
Des raised an eyebrow at him. “Love?”
“Hmm?” He pushed a small table over six more inches.
“What are we doing?”
“The furniture was all wrong,” Alistair answered, though it should have been so obvious. It was getting better, but honestly. Who had decorated this place? A death dragon?
“Oh.” Des’s expression changed to humor the lunatic kind of thing. Or maybe humor the preggers guy.
It was a little maddening.
He poked Des right in the chest. “Don’t do that.”
“What?”
“Don’t be all, oh he’s crazy because he’s preggers.”
Des gave him a fond smile. “Oh, love. It’s going to be okay.”
“I know. It is. Help me get the furniture where it belongs.”
“Of course.” So Dez threw in with the guys and got the big couches moved, directing everyone to clean where they’d been, the rugs a little worn around them but mostly pristine underneath…
“Can we get the rugs cleaned?”
“I’ll get someone in today, sweet. But you don’t need to be around all those chemicals.” Des stroked his hair, then bent to kiss his nose. “Are you hungry?”
“Oh.” He could eat. His belly rumbled, and he hummed. “Yes.”
“Let me tell Reed to get someone in to clean the rugs. We have a company to do that. And security will be with them.” Des took his hand, leading him toward the kitchen.
When he looked back at the front room, the furniture looked right.
Des sat him at the kitchen counter, the buckety bar stools so nice and padded.
“So, what do you want, love?” Des started opening the fridge, the cabinets.
“Are you going to cook for me?” They had a cook, but she was probably out doing the weekly shop.
“I am. There’s stuff for grilled cheese and tomato soup, or I can do spaghetti and meatballs. Or if tomatoes are too acidy, I can make a quick potato soup.”
“Potato soup sounds amazing.”
Des bowed, then pulled out cream and milk. “Done. How are you feeling, my love?”
“Heavy.” He chuckled. “And I have this compulsion to clean things. To make them perfect.”
“The midwife says that’s all natural.”
“I know, but it itches when something isn’t right.” In fact, the cannisters were out of order. He popped up to move them around.
Des just chopped onions and got oil going in soup pan. Serene, for the big alpha. Damn his eyes.
“You’re such an ass,” he told Des.
“I love you.”
Alistair beamed. “I love you too.”
“So how is Reed doing as your assistant?” Des asked, stirring onions, which, thank the gods wasn’t bothering his tummy now.
“Well. He’s fitting right in. He loves to plan things, and he never acts like I’m a hormonal mess. And he loves to take calls.”
“Then he’s perfect.” Des chuckled, then pulled out the mandolin to slice potatoes.
He knew no one in Des’s corporate circle would believe this domestic, loving dragon. Des was considered ruthless and dangerous to cross.
Alistair knew how different he was, how much more he was. Des was wicked smart and all alpha, but he was loving and generous and had the heart of a lion…
Alistair loved him so much he thought his heart might burst.
“So now that the living room is done, we should pick a room for the nursery, love.”
“Mmm.” They should. The old “nursery” was a holdover from another era, far away from the adult bedrooms on another floor. That would never do.
But it made his head spin, the possibilities.
“What do you think we should do the room in?” he asked, watching Des slice potatoes. He hated that mandolin. It always looked as if someone would slice off a finger.
He distracted himself by going to put on the kettle.
The potatoes and a box of stock went into the pan, and Des popped the lid on. “I think we should do something fanciful. Fairy tales and dragons. Whales in the ocean. Dinosaurs. Something like that.”
The wheels started to turn. “Yes. Okay, yes. I’ll call Carolyn tomorrow.” His decorator was a wonder as far as ordering and organizing.
“Sounds perfect, my love.” Des’s dark amber eyes twinkled with what looked like joy. He dropped a kiss on Alistair’s mouth. “Now we just wait for the potatoes to cook.”
“Want tea?”
“Sure. I’ll put mine on ice.”
Alistair chuckled. Des loved all his drinks on ice. He was funny that way.
“Okay. I’ll get a glass.”
“I can get it.” Des steered him back to sitting, and he shook his head.
“I’m not made of glass.”
“No, but I want to spoil you.” Des made a face, regret showing in his eyes. “I missed so much time.”
“You did.” He held out his hand. “But you’re making up for it.”
Des took his hand, coming to lean on him. “Thank you, Starry.”
“Mmmhmm.” He loved how Des smelled. “I love you.”
“Love you.” Des kissed the top of his head as the soup tried to boil over. So he had to go rescue it.
Des was always rescuing something.